Colton had said yes, without hesitation, even as Joel had apologized for the failure of the case. Colton waved it off; he would think about it later, he said. He had plenty to celebrate anyway. And he’d see him soon.
Joel had been on private planes before; even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have given a whit for the fine leather or the handsome smiling steward. He was staring out the window, heart racing, on the verge of panic at doing something so very, very out of his ordered life. At several points he felt like simply ordering the plane to turn round. But he didn’t.
“Look, look!” the steward shouted as they descended. And there, outside his window, were great chains and rods of light, shimmering and dancing as the small plane prepared to land. He looked at them in consternation, confused by their beauty, then realized something: he’d never seen Mure in the dark before.
There was no one at the airport. He grabbed his bag; he was wearing a suit, because right up to the last minute, he hadn’t been able to decide whether or not he was going. He could call Colton again, he supposed, see if he could send a car . . .
She was standing on the tarmac, the lights of the sky behind her, her skirt and hair blowing in the wind.
They looked at each other for a very long time. He put down his bag. They didn’t run toward each other. It felt, strangely, too important for that. Flora felt like she was moving underwater as she stepped toward him. He took a step too, and gradually they drew closer. Then they both stopped, as though there was an invisible line between them. She looked at him, her jaw jutting out slightly, as if she was struggling to control herself.
“If you take another step,” she said. “If you take one more step. You have to mean it. You have to . . . I can’t. I won’t. Do you understand?”
He did. He blinked. He had fought so hard. He looked down at his shoes. Could he take this last step? Could he?
Suddenly there was an explosion of fur and barking. There was no way Bramble was going to let Flora go out on such an exciting nighttime mission without him. No way. Flora had left him in the Land Rover, but he was having none of it and had simply leaped out of the back. Now he was jumping up at Joel to show his appreciation and happiness at seeing him again. Flora watched, still terrified.
Joel’s face broke into a huge grin.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey, Bramble. Hey.”
He got down on one knee, right there on the tarmac, and proceeded to rub the dog’s tummy, just as Bramble liked it, and scratch all the way up his neck to under his ears.
Flora blinked.
“You like dogs,” she said.
Joel straightened up again, fiddling with his glasses.
“Who the fuck doesn’t like dogs?” he said. “But not half as much as I like you.”
And he took the final step forward.
Chapter Fifty-three
The Presidential Suite at the Rock, although not specifically designed for losers, Colton had pointed out, was just as beautiful as Flora could have wished. A fire burned high in the grate; there was a huge claw-footed bath in the middle of the room. Outside, it was pitch-black now; the Northern Lights had faded; the green man was long gone, although if you opened the window, you could still just about make out the noise of the very late revelers. There was a vast four-poster bed. She glanced at it nervously.
Joel stood in the doorway.
“Are you . . . I mean, we don’t have to,” he said, mindful of last time.
“No,” she said, fiercely. “No. I want to. Very much.”
And very gently, he unbuttoned her dress, unleashed her white shoulders.
“No sealskin,” he said, smiling as he kissed along the top of her spine.
Flora blinked those pale eyes at him and slowly removed his clothes. And nothing, Joel realized, nothing he’d done before with women—no performance, no boundary-pushing act—had been as terrifying, as mutually vulnerable, as exposing to each other as this, this extraordinary unfolding of every inch of the very beginning of a story. They both had to apologize for crying. It did not matter.
When Joel woke the next morning, alone in the great bed, he had a sudden panic, until he read the note she’d left him.
He pulled on the blue sweater Margo had bought him so long ago, and a pair of jeans, of all things, and set off across to the harbor, remembering to thank Bertie as he stepped off the boat.
He was starving. Thank God, there she was, outside the Café by the Sea, the delicious smells already playing on the fresh morning air. She turned and saw him, beamed, bounded up to him. Kissed him in front of the staff and anyone who cared to pass, and didn’t give a jot; and neither, he found to his surprise, did he.
“Feed me,” he said.
“In a minute,” she said, smiling.
“What are you doing?”
Flora pointed upward.
“Well,” she said. “Two things. One—much as I’d like to stay at the Rock forever, I think I’m going to have to rent a flat. And there’s one for rent above the shop. So I’m thinking about that.”
She looked at him closely.
“And second . . .”
Iona and Isla heaved, and the rope lowered gently, bringing down the sign above the door.
“So what are you putting up there instead?” said Joel.
“Annie’s,” said Flora, after a pause. “Annie’s. Um. It was my mother’s name.”
Joel nodded.
Flora loaded up a bag with pastries—she was definitely taking the day off—and they wandered back to the Rock, hand in hand. They didn’t see Lorna, on her way to work, pause slightly, and sigh, and carry on; but everyone else they met, slightly the worse for wear, many of them, after the night before, waved cheerfully, and Joel felt the strangeness of it.
They went back to bed, getting crumbs everywhere, Flora giggling cheerfully, bubbling over with happiness and adoration. Afterward, she lay tucked under his arm, listening to his regular breathing.
“Don’t go,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes, not remotely asleep.
“How can any mortal man resist the siren call of an ocean sprite?” he said, stroking her lovely hair.
“But you’re going to work for Colton, aren’t you? Kai said you were going to New York.”
He nodded.
“Sure am.”
Her face looked distraught.
“Oh, you,” he said. “Well. It’s only . . . it’s only five hours from Reykjavik. Given that you live at the top of the world, I thought . . . I thought maybe I could commute.”
“To New York?”
“Already halfway there,” said Joel. “And Colton will be here most of the time anyway, if he needs me. He may not have gotten what he wanted with the wind farm. But nobody’s going to turn down a fast broadband network if he puts one in.”
“They aren’t,” said Flora. “Gosh. Oh my God. Gosh.”
“And I have some . . . I have some friends in New York I’d really like you to meet.”
“Oh my God!”
“Stop saying that,” said Joel. “Actually, I can think of a way to make you stop . . .”
He ran his hand up her back.