Page 44 of Taste

I turned back to Finn, who was helping Ben up off the floor. “Can you give me half an hour?”

“Sure. See you by the staff entrance?” he asked quietly, even though there was no point being all secretive about it now, judging by the cheeky grin Ben gave him.

“Look after this one, Christensen. More trouble than he’s worth.”

It was one of those moments where he could have thrown out anything. His words could have cut and wounded or dismissed me completely. I’d dealt with Finn Christensen for far too long, and I didn’t quite trust him yet. I didn’t expect anything. I may be nothing to him, and he could still be just an infatuation because I still didn’t trust my feelings, or that this could become real.

I had doubts. I had insecurities. I was fucking Mark Quinton, and Mark Quinton didn’t—

“He’s wonderful,” Finn said, looking right at me. “He’s wonderful, and I hope he knows that.”

I didn’t feel wonderful standing there covered in God knew what and with a tremendous knot in my chest, but I smiled back.

“See you in a bit,” Finn said, letting go of Ben, who was safely slumped on the stool, inspecting his bandaged hand.

“Bye.” I wanted to say more, but for now, I was exhausted and stunned into silence.

FINN

I felt stupid, but a hopeful stupid, standing by the staff entrance, nodding as the last trickle of people from the evening shift clocked out. I was rocking on my now worn-out heels; I couldn’t quite keep still, which wasn’t like me. But I had changed, and I was still changing, morphing into someone who, strangely, gave a fuck. Because I did, I knew that now. I was responsible for a shitload of mistakes in the past, but my brain was firmly set to a new mode, which I was struggling to reconcile.

I was in love. For the first time in years, I wanted a different future that didn’t revolve around scouring the grandiose adverts for general manager positions. I had no interest in handing in my resignation, not when he was right here and I stood a chance of making things…good was the wrong word. Better sounded lame. I could never take back words or make that long-gone bruise on Mabel’s face disappear; those would forever be part of our past. But I was going to bloody fight for Mabel to be happy and perhaps make myself happy in the process.

“You can’t make me happy,” Mabel had said earlier when I’d found them downing a cup of the cheap powdered coffee the hotel provided to its esteemed staff. “Not as long as you make me drink this shit.”

“I will put in a suggestion for better coffee,” I’d said sincerely, and they’d laughed in my face.

“Babes, you only have to ask, and I will make things happen. We have a spare coffee maker downstairs since we banished that god-awful breakfast buffet. Just say the word, and that little gem of a machine will magically get installed up here. You’ll need to get Mark to approve the extra coffee orders, of course, then your staff will be firing on rocket fuel. There’s a reason I’m the maître d’hôtel, my darling, and all you need to do is…?” They had tapped their fingers impatiently against the cup.

“Ask?” I said.

“Yes, babes. Ask, and Mabel will deliver.”

“One day, Mabs.” I’d looked around, because it was not really the time or place to have that conversation, but I needed to start somewhere, and for once, we’d been alone. “One day, Mabel, will you forgive me?”

“For what?” They’d smiled, and it seemed genuine. “I got over you years ago. I don’t wake up every morning dwelling on how my first marriage failed epically, or how my ex-husband just wasn’t prepared for everything I am. I wasn’t innocent in what went down during those two years. I didn’t just sit in a corner, Finny. I pushed—pushed you to your fucking limits. Remember that, when you go all stupid, like you are right now. There were two of us in that marriage. You were in the wrong, and you can be a total arsehole, but God knows I can be too. I’m not saying that you giving me a black eye was my fault. That was all on you, and me fucking someone else in our bed? All on me. I wasn’t always good for you, just like you weren’t always good for me. We were in that marriage together, youandme, and looking back…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we split up. Because…well. I’m me now. I’m doing well, and I’m happy we can talk. I’d even go as far as to say I’m kind of thrilled to have you back in my life and—”

“I’m sorry.” I’d said it so many times lately that the word had started to sound hollow.

“Forget it,” They’d replied in a voice that had carried so much fucking sadness, but they didn’t need to explain. I bloody knew. Of course I did.

“I didn’t mean for it to be Mark.”

“I know.” They were quiet, and I didn’t like it. Mabel wasneverquiet. “I don’t dwell. Give me a few weeks and I won’t feel like I’m getting stabbed in the guts every time you look at him like you want to swallow him whole.”

“A fewweeks?”

“He’s quite a force. Leaves you kind of broken, trust me. I’ve seen what he does to people who don’t realise he’ll never commit. But you’re different. He—”

“You’re wonderful—”

They held their hand up and stopped me. “Don’t. Don’t be that cliché.”

“Okay.”

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