“Anne, there’s something I have to tell you.” He glanced down at the table, twirled a napkin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, you have secrets? Do tell?”
“I can dish up lots on Finn.” Bethany scurried to their table, a notepad and pencil in hand. “But first, why don’t I take your order?”
Anne shrank into her chair. This respected woman of the community would think her cheap, for sleeping with a man she barely knew. A bloody good job their hostess didn’t know who her mother was, or fingers would be pointed and married men kept away from her. Not such a bad idea, given her history.
“You know Finn?” Anne asked, struggling to curve her mouth into a smile.
“Vaguely.” Finn retorted. “Not at all, really, right, Bethany?”
“Drilling me for dirt on your boyfriend, right in front of him. I like your guts. But sweetheart, the whole Isle knows everything Finn related.” Relief coursed through Anne. Her virtue was safe, for now. “Except for where he’s been for the last four years.” Bethany glared at him. “So, Finn, where have you been hiding? I’m not complaining. Since you’ve been away, the girls come here to score my landscapers and drink wine. All under the guise of a book club.”
“I...I...I worked, erm—”
“Worked where?” The owner pointed her pencil at him, her gaze traveling over his chest and down to his lap. Anne coughed, nearly choking at the obvious ogling from a woman she’d always deemed respectable. She suspected Finn had reduced many a woman to slobbering pools of mush with his good looks, hulk-like presence, and boyish charm.
“Overseas.”
“Nowhere warm I’m guessing, because you’re pale, dear.” She patted him on the shoulder, lingering for a few seconds.
“Bit of a local legend, are you?” Anne blurted.
“He’s the man who has a string of broken hearts trailing behind him, but we never saw him around. Well, except for those girls who used to go Finn-watching at the farm back in the day.”
“The ones from the book club?”
“The same ones, mind you, who could blame them? He is
so
good with his hands.”
Anne glanced at him holding onto a coffee cup. “Really?”
“He renovated the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage for his parents and built all the out-buildings on the Kneale farm. The pretty gazebo, the windmill, all the barns. Oh yes, he’s very talented, aren’t you, Finn?” Bethany’s tone held a hint of something she couldn’t quite fathom. Bitterness?
He nodded.
“Impressive.” Anne glanced at his hands. Good-sized. Her mind wandered to when he had patted down her thighs and when he had held her close. Such a gentle yet commanding touch. “Such smooth skin dinnae belong to a workman.”
He cleared his throat. “I moisturize.”
“You know, most men wouldn’t admit tae such a girlie thing.”
He grinned, smile lines warming his yummy features. Was that flecks of seafoam in his steel blue eyes? Coupled with his wiggling nose....
Could he be selkie?
“I don’t know a single woman here in Port St. Mary who wouldn’t want this guy on her arm, including my daughter. You’re a lucky lady.” Bethany poised her pencil over the notebook. “Are you two ready to order?”
He reached over the table and intertwined his fingers in Anne’s. “Would you like to take a walk?”
“It’s a bit too blustery out there for a walk, don’t you think? Besides, I’m starving.”
“Maybe stroll along the coast after dinner?” Bethany interrupted. “Go see those beautiful seals. If legends are true, there is a selkie in human form searching for their one true love tonight. Mystical things happen on this Isle during Leap. I have some winter coats you lovebirds can borrow if you wish. I noticed you didn’t bring one with you, Anne.”
“I’m starving.” She grabbed a laminated menu then hid behind it.
“I’m so sorry, dear. Here I am, rabbiting on when all you want is a romantic night alone with this handsome thing.”
“Tell me more about this selkie legend,” Finn piped up, much to Anne’s surprise.
Bethany tsked. “Don’t play dumb with me, Finn. Everyone around here knows about the selkie.”
“I’ve been away for four years. Why don’t you refresh my memory?”
“Are you telling me you can’t recall the families who suffered the most terrible curse after capturing a mermaid?”
“Maybe I can’t.” He smirked “Or maybe I enjoy hearing you tell your stories.”
“Fine. After they caught the mermaid and separated her from her family and her beloved ocean, she cursed their children to be lifeless, to walk earth in a mindless, goal-less existence.”
“Go on.” He placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.
She folded her arms. “Every leap year, they hear the song of the sea luring them in. If their toes touch the ocean, the wild water claims them as selkie. Only when they find true love can they return to their human lives. But those poor souls, so separated from the world, how could they ever find a love powerful enough to break such a curse?”
Anne had heard this story a thousand times over, read books on the subject in the library, heard tales from townsfolk, seen passages in her mother’s journals. Each version differed slightly.
“Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this tale, Finn? Being a native to the Isle and all,” Anne questioned.
He lowered his gaze and tapped at the cutlery.
Overly keen interest in seal myths, unruly hair, wild ways, and wiggling nose begged her to wonder, to find out…. Was he selkie? Did he belong to the ocean?
He caught her glance. “Pollack isn’t on the menu, but I reckon you’ve got some hiding in the kitchen somewhere?”
“You betcha! Want me to throw some chips, cheese, and gravy on your plate, too? Your old favorite?”
“That will be fine, yes.”
Anne scrunched her face. “Cheese and gravy? On the same plate? Eww. I think I’ll stick with a bowl of good old winter warmth. I’ll take Manx broth, thank you, Bethany, with some sourdough bread. Maybe some mashed tatties on the side.”
“Broth, a side of mashed potatoes, bread...of course. And to drink?”
“A bottle of local wine. You select for us.” She passed her menu to Bethany.
“Red or white?”
“I think red would go well with the broth.”
Bethany nodded, scribbled in her order book, then scurried away.
“Not a drop of Manx accent in you Anne. One-hundred percent Scottish?” She loved the way he said Scottish, how he lingered on the “ish” pronunciation.
“I was born on the Isle but brought up in Scotland. As soon as I visited Port St. Mary, I knew I had to live here. So quaint, so pretty. And I love my job.”
“Yes, your eyes light up when you talk about your work. Tell me, do you miss Scotland, or do you have plans to stay in this little corner of the world?”
“This is probably going tae sound silly, but fate led me here so here is where I’ll stay.”
“Oh?”
“I know, daft, right?” She sipped on the last of the coffee now gone cold.
“Not at all. I’m a huge believer in destiny. It’s why we are here together, tonight.” Finn reached over the table and took her hand in his.
“It’s the only reason I’m sticking our date out a while longer. Sex-starved men aren’t my usual turn ons.”
“Noted.” He snapped his touch away. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out to play, sorry if I came on too strong.”
“Sounds like you haven’t been out tae play at all. You do fascinate me, Finn. Seems like you’ve got stories tae tell. For instance, where
have
you been for the last four years? Is your family from around here? Have they always owned a farm?”
“Out to sea, like I said, and yes, my family is from ‘around here.’ My great-grandfather manned the lighthouse for most of his life, and my grandfather, Fergel Kneale, after him. Fergel was legendary around these parts. Some say he founded the Mary Mafia.”
“Oh, really? How interesting. My grandfather worked the lighthouse, too.” She scuffed her chair closer. “Colyn Radcliff.”
“Maybe they knew each other.” His stare transfixed on her mouth, reminding her of their kiss.
“So, where out to sea? In the forces? Fishing? Digging for oil?” She tried to stay calm, to focus on the conversation at hand, and to ignore the heat pooling in her sex.
“Erm, guess you could say I’ve been fishing.”
“You’re not married with children, are you? You’re being evasive.”
“No, Anne. I’m not married, engaged, or even dating anyone else. I’m all yours.”
She gulped at his confession. If he put two and two together, he’d soon figure out she had the most wanted mother on the Isle. Well, most wanted by wives of the port…or rather, their husbands. Would the knowledge put him off? That sort of thing wasn’t hereditary…
was it?
“Good to know. And you’re here tae stay in Port St. Mary?”
His eyes darkened. “Depends.”
“On?” A wisp of unease curled through her chest.
“You.”
Oh
.
“Dinner is served. Enjoy.” Bethany banged his meal on the table, gravy slopping over the purple-trimmed plate. Was she still holding a grudge? Her daughter had rejected him, not the other way around. Next, she’d probably spill the beans and ruin their evening.
“Everything okay, Bethany?” Anne murmured, a frown creasing her lovely forehead.
“Short staffed this evening, and the film crew is due to arrive any minute.”
“You must be rushed off your feet.”
And if so…why wouldn’t she leave them alone?
“Yes. A lot of my staff phoned in sick. I suspect they’re out watching the seals, though. Or pruning themselves in anticipation of some science fiction actor coming with the filmers.”
“Who’s the actor?” Anne swept her long fringe to the side. “Do you know?”
“No idea, they’re being super secretive, but the place will be swarming with press in a few hours. You’d be wise to eat up as quick as possible. I threw coats over on the rack by the door in case you decide to go outside. Dinner is on the house, so you can go wandering as soon as you’re finished up here.”
“Oh, no, you dinnae need tae do—”
“Nonsense, Anne.
You
see my daughter right, do all those home visits on your own time. This is my little way of saying thank you. Besides, I’ll need the dining room for the news crew in an hour. I won’t feel so bad if I hurry you to finish if I don’t charge. Come on. Chop. Chop.”
“Rowena’s pregnant?”
Bethany turned and trotted out of the restaurant. Would she alert Rowena of his presence? Crap, he really didn’t want to see her tonight.
“How do you know Rowena?” Anne’s eyebrows dipped and she leaned forward.
“Went to school with her.” Explaining how Rowena hurt him would put a damper on the whole evening and make him appear weak.
“Cool, she’s my patient. Lovely woman—has great taste in music, too.”
“Oh?”
She spieled off a list of grunge rock bands mostly from the 90s, many of his own favorites. When they’d dated, Rowena had professed to hate any kind of rock music, especially grunge. He hadn’t known her well at all.
An urge to stick his face in the dish to suck the perfectly grilled fish up screamed at him. He fisted the knife and fork then attempted to slice off a bite to eat, but his fingers tangled trying to hold the cutlery. Eating had never seemed like a hard task before.
Pull yourself together, Finn
. He dug a knife into the flaky flesh, sawed the fish in half, then flipped the piece into his mouth. Expecting the morsel to slide down his throat, he opened wide to accept the tasty treat. The slippery bugger jammed in tight. Gasping for air, slamming his hands on the table, he tried to swallow the darn thing.
“Want some help?” She scooped up a spoonful of broth and took a sip, unusually calm considering he might be choking to death.
Nice
. “Maybe if you tried cutting your food in smaller bites?”
He reached into his throat and dug the food out. “Guess it was too big for me.” He chuckled. “Made me gag.”
“Bit of payback for women all over the world.”
“Pardon? Oh! Ha, ha.”
She curved her rose-colored lips into a grin. “So, Finn, do you really like seafood?”
He hadn’t even considered such a question. Instinct had taken over, edged him to stuff his face with as many of the slippery buggers as he could. But did he actually like it? He used to, but after four years of eating nothing else….
“No. Not really.”
“Would you like tae share my broth?” She dragged her chair next to him and slid the bowl between them. “The veggies and meat have already been diced into small pieces, see, so I’m sure you won’t have any problems fitting them in your mouth.”
They strolled for half an hour along the promenade, her arm linked with his. She listened, amused as he shared stories from his childhood. With each shop they passed, his face emanated excitement and his grin grew wider.
He stopped in front of the red and white façade of the Isle Rock and Sweets store, then dragged her past the window display of sherbet straws and gobstobbers. While she caught her breath, he bought a quarter of rhubarb and custard boiled sweets.
“I enjoyed them every Saturday morning,” he told her, “after delivering the local paper to half the residents of Port St. Mary.”
“Cola squares are my favorite.”
“We’ll take a quarter of those, too,” Finn told the young lass who served them. “Where’s the owner? Mr. Radbury? I bet his Labrador puppy must have grown into a beauty.”
“Uncle Dave doesn’t work the evening shift anymore.”
“You’re his niece? Yes, I can see it…you have his freckles.”
She blushed and fluttered her lashes. “Yes, I’m Sarah.”
“Does he still live in the semi down by the dock?”
The server nodded and replied, “He’s at home with Molly at his feet, no doubt.”
“Molly, yes, that’s what his pup was called.”
Sarah poured their measured sweets into paper bags.
Several men burst into the store, waving note pads and throwing questions at the girl. They wanted to know about the science fiction actor whose imminent arrival had everyone in an uproar.