Page 22 of Never Too Late

“About?”

“Names.” I figured the white lie was better than telling the truth. A bolt of inspiration hit as I stared at the elaborate brickwork of Notre Dame. “I’ve got it!” Finn quirked an eyebrow and didn’t look convinced. “You wanted a name that wasn’t perfect, right? That sums up his slightly unusual appearance? And I wanted something French.”

“I don’t remember it being half your cat, but yeah.”

My gut filled with warmth at the idea of sharing something like that with Finn. First, a cat, and then maybe a few years down the line, kids. I still had an awful lot of damage control to do before that became anything but a pipe dream, though. And I needed to remember that he’d said wedidn’tshare a cat. “Quasimodo,” I said.

Unlike all the other names that Finn had summarily dismissed, some silly, some serious, he thought about that one, tipping his head to one side as he considered it. “That does kind of fit,” he finally admitted.

“French and imperfect,” I said.

He nodded. “Quasimodo, it is.”

Finn shifted in his seat, the movement bringing his thigh closer to mine. My fingers itched to reach out and touch, the urge so strong that resisting took willpower. Not being allowed to touch was the hardest thing about our estranged relationship since my arrival in Paris. At first, because I knew it would be unwelcome, and then in the moments where he’d mellowed toward me, because I hadn’t wanted to risk being accused of trying to seduce him in case it ruined everything.

Finn had said it himself when we’d raked over the ashes of our dead relationship—the relationship I’d killed—that sex had never been the problem. Therefore, that part didn’t need fixing. It needed placing reverently on a shelf like the finest of bone china, only to be brought down when the time was right, and to be handled with the utmost care when it was.

When I broke from the rather strange analogy of comparing Finn to something I might take onThe Antiques Roadshow, he’d removed his sunglasses and was staring at me with a quizzical expression. “What do you think might happen if you touch me?”

Surprised by his directness, I weighed my answer. “If I’d tried it that first time I came to see you, probably a punch in the face.”

“Probably,” Finn conceded with a wry smile. “But what about now?”

“I don’t know. Your feelings about my presence in Paris seem to oscillate from one moment to the next. It’s hard to keep up.”

Finn grimaced. “Fair. And true. But you know why that is.”

I did, but his request that I articulate it surprised me. “Because you still have feelings for me, but you wish you didn’t. You’d rather fight it with every fiber of your being.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No.”

Finn’s thigh jigged up and down, muscles flexing beneath the denim. “You should try it and see what happens.”

“You’re baiting me now?”

“Maybe.” He left a deliberately long pause. “Maybe not. You won’t know unless you try.”

I half expected him to retract his leg as I reached out cautiously. He didn’t, my fingers curling around his knee. I left my hand there, warmth seeping into my palm and everything suddenly right with the world. Sun. Good food. And a handsome companion. What more did you need in life?

“Bit different,” Finn said after another bite of his pastry, “to the night we first met. I don’t remember you being shy about touching me then.”

I let my hand stray further up his leg. Not high enough for anyone looking over to be scandalized, but high enough that it became less like friends and more like lovers. “I don’t remember you being shy about being touched.”

Finn leaned forward over the table. “What do you remember about that night?”

“I remember a very boring party, and working out how early I could leave without upsetting anyone. And then I remember looking across the room and seeing you.”

“Did your heart skip a beat?” There was an amused look on Finn’s face that said he was taking the piss and didn’t believe that for one moment.

“Pretty much.”

He laughed. “Right…”

“It did. You were by far the best looking man there that night. That’s why I made a beeline for you. It was only the length of the restaurant, but it was the longest walk of my life.”

Finn frowned. “Why?”

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