Page 1 of Match Made in the Maldives

Chapter One

Luna

As I zoom down the moving walkway, dodging weary travelers who waddle along with bulging suitcases, the gate finally appears. A clueless woman stands smack dab in the center of my path, so I weave around her and mutter, “Scuse me,” with the terseness of someone who’s about to miss an international flight but knows she only has herself to blame. The reality of this trip hits me hard as I step off the walkway and slow to real time. Even the reassurance of the words Final Boarding flashing above the door does little to soothe my nerves.

But the sight of Finley Robertson waiting by the counter brings me some calm. My older brother’s best friend waves at me as his face relaxes into a reserved smile. He says something to the gate attendant while my attention skitters down and up his body. Finn’s sporty sweatpants and fitted tee accentuate his lean, athletic frame gained from years of soccer. He has wild brown locks and facial hair that he can barely control, and his gentle eyes are a striking, sharp shade of light blue. And, he has a reallynice mouth that tugs up at one corner in a smirk, with lips that taste—

“C’mon Lou,” he calls to me.

“I’m here!” I jog to the gate, praying that the frantic process of taking multiple trains, checking bags, and getting through security at Chicago O’Hare Airport hasn’t worn me down to a sweaty, sloppy mess.

“Another minute more and I would have had to stage a peaceful protest to keep the doors open.”

“I’d pay decent money to see that.”

“Luna.” My name on his tongue tugs at my insides. “You had me worried.”

While he isn’t related by blood, Finn spent more time at our house than his own growing up. My parents treat him like one of their own, so he’s part of this tropical family vacation too. Especially considering what went on with my dad this last year, Finn is as much of a Moore as I am.

“Well, you know me,” I say, whipping out my boarding pass with an innocent smile. “I like to keep things interesting.”

The gate attendant scans my ticket, and my relentless anxiety about the week ahead nips at my heels. Can I spend seven days ignoring my mountain of work projects? And on a scale of bearable to gag-inducing, how easily will I manage being single in the most romantic destination in the world?

My family and I are lucky to have something to celebrate and that my dad chose such a special place for this trip. I just wish my life had chosen a different time to crumble to pieces.

“Got you a chai latte,” Finn says, holding out a beverage in my direction.

“Thanks. Glad I didn’t miss drink delivery.” My fingers brush his when I grab the cup, and the skin-on-skin contact sends a zing of awareness up my arm. “Look,” I say, pointing to a lineof people on the jet bridge waiting to board the plane. “All that rushing, and I’m right on time.”

“Your brother may disagree.”

“Surprise, surprise. Aaron will take any chance to pick on me.”

“He knows how important this trip is to your parents.”

“So do I. And it’s important to me too. The morning got away from me.”

More like the past few months. As our getaway approached, I engaged in an unhealthy amount of freaking out over what to talk to my family about, since any details about my job and love life must remain off-limits. We can enjoy some wonderful discussions about the weather, and I have an entire folder of cat photos on my phone to share. Hopefully that will suffice.

We reach the end of the line and slow to a snail’s pace, so I turn to him. “You didn’t have to wait on me, you know.”

“Just in case.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Good. You?”

Ah, a man of many words.

“I’m good too.” If coping with a breakup and managing a fledgling graphic design business count as good. “Still doing barre class. I painted a forest green accent wall in my living room last week for kicks. Oh, and I got Newman set up for my bestie to pop in and cat-sit him, so hopefully he remembers me when I get back. You know, the usual.”

Finn grunts in response. I wonder if he’s chattier with the people he dates, although I’ve seen him with a few women before, and he never had issues with them. But I’m under no illusions. I’m his best friend’s annoying little sister who always has some artsy project she’s working on, asks fifty questions at once, and wears clothing with loud colorful prints. But Finn makes space for me in a way that I rarely experience as the youngest child. As a result, I’ve had a simmering crush on himfor years—the kind that exists on the back burner but heats up to a boil when I overanalyze something sweet that he said or did. It’s silly. All I have to do is remind myself that he says and does these things to be nice—because that’s just who he is—and the feelings cool down.

“Not gonna drink that?”

“Oh,” I say, clutching the chai tighter to my body as we step onto the aircraft. “I will.”

I can’t. Earlier this year, I cut out dairy per my doctor’s recommendation, but Finn wouldn’t remember that. He went out of his way to get me tea, so I’ll pretend to sip on it until I can covertly slip the cup to a flight attendant.

---