Page 8 of Match Made in the Maldives

“I spent most of the summer after my junior year of college crying into pint after pint of mint chocolate chip on the sofa.”

“Aw, Lou.”

“It’s true,” I say. “You saw.”

“Yeah, but…” He looks at me with gentleness in his eyes, almost in apology that I’ve brought up something not only embarrassing but also kind of sad. “Breakups don’t count. Besides, nothing tops that radio show I hosted in college called—”

“Ear Orgasms!” I shout over him with a cackle. “That was when you would only listen to music from bands that nobody had heard of. You were such a snob.”

“This is a judgment-free tub.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize. Then I withdraw my statement.” I laugh and my eyes catch his over the frothy mountains in the water. “You know, you’ve successfully managed to put me at ease. I feel like way less of an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he says, his voice solid, certain, and matter-of-fact. “You don’t actually think that, do you?”

“They have a public sauna and steam area here too.” I pick up a rose petal and tear it in half, then in half again, and again. “How did I envision that would go? Like I’d walk around nude through the whole place?”

The muscles in his neck seem to tense, like he’s grinding his jaw. “You could have borrowed one of the island bikes and gone back for your suit. I would’ve done it for you.”

“People needed some self-care, and I wanted everyone to have a nice time while we’re here, you know? Didn’t want to interrupt the flow of things.”

“You deserve to have a nice time too.”

I give him a soft smile. Finn’s always looking out for me. “I am.” Pulling my hands below the surface, I shake the torn rose petals from my hand. “Thank you, by the way. For everything with my dad. Don’t think I ever told you that.”

“’Course. I liked helping out. My own was never around, so Dave’s a father to me.”

“Yeah.” My vision goes blurry and my throat grows thick with emotion. “It was just nice having people care for him.”

Finn watches, his expression unreadable as I wipe under my eyes, smearing bathwater on my cheeks.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Not even for forgetting my swimsuit?”

“Simple mistake. Same as the issue with the booking. Besides,” he says, tapping his thumb against the tub again, “it wasn’t supposed to be me in here with you.”

Right. My ex, again. I wish Finn would stop bringing him up. Part of me wants to confess the reality of my last few months, and I trust he wouldn’t say a word to my family until I’m ready. Something halts the confession in my throat, though. Tanner and I didn’t have a mature, amicable breakup or run the natural course of our relationship—he was unfaithful to me, and more than once. If we want to talk about embarrassing situations, mine tops them all.

I can’t have anyone, especially Finn, seeing me the way my ex did—as someone who’s disposable, even after she’s tried her hardest.

“Seems like you miss Tanner more than I do,” I say.

“Trust me.” Finn pins me with a stare that makes me squirm. “I don’t.”

A barely there knock sounds at our door, and one of our masseuses enters. The massage is up next, so she exits again and gives us a few minutes to lie face down on the tables. We take turns drying off and slipping under the crisp flat sheet while the other closes their eyes. I go second, so I get a full view of Finn’s back, all corded muscles and delicious lines I’d like to trace with my fingertips. If I wanted to do something to make Finn think I’m even weirder and more obnoxious than he already does, that would do the trick.

I cover my lower half with the sheet as instructed and rest my head on the circular pillow with a hole. The floor has a glass cutout so we can study the shallow water below.

Finley Robertson blue.How embarrassing. I can’t believe I said that.

The staff returns and I raise my head to peer at Finley. “Have a good massage,” I say, surprised to catch him already looking at me. Not at my face, though—lower down my torso, at the spot where my side boob squishes out. His eyes flick up to mine.

“Yeah. You too.”

Like an ostrich, he plunks his head into his pillow, obviously content to ignore me for the next fifty minutes. I put my head down too, but I can’t fight the grin spreading across my face.

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