Chapter 46 Finnian Matthew Stewheinz
KARA’S POV
Morning arrives gently as sunlight spills through the thin curtains of the hotel room, painting the walls in soft gold and warming the quiet space around me. For a few seconds, I simply lie there, listening to the distant sound of waves rolling toward the shore.
The ocean again and it feels lighter today. Maybe it’s the calm after last night, maybe it’s the way my chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore, or maybe it’s because somewhere in my mind, I know Finnian kept his word. He walked away and that thought still lingers somewhere warm inside me.
I stretch slowly before sitting up, the white sheets sliding down my legs as the cool air brushes against my skin. Outside the balcony, the sea glitters like scattered diamonds beneath the morning sun. A sudden excitement bubbles up inside me of the thought of island hopping. I’ve always wanted to try it, but life never really gave me the time. Work, responsibilities, and routines. There was always something more practical to do.
But today? Today feels different.
I swing my legs off the bed and head to the bathroom, letting the cold water of the shower wash away the last traces of sleep. By the time I step out, I feel refreshed and strangely eager.
I pull on my white bikini, the soft fabric hugging my skin before I slip the black sheer cover over it. The light material moves easily when I walk, barely hiding the bikini underneath. When I glance at my reflection, I pause for a moment. My hair is still slightly damp, falling loosely over my shoulders, and my cheeks are lightly flushed from the shower.
Not bad.
I grab my phone and room key before stepping out of the room. For some reason, I expect Finnian to still be asleep somewhere. Maybe recovering from his heroic sacrifice of sleeping in a cheap room with nothing but a tiny fan. The thought almost makes me laugh, but the moment I step into the lobby I freeze.
Because he’s already there.
Finnian sits comfortably on one of the lobby couches, a newspaper spread open in his hands. The morning light pours through the glass walls behind him, outlining his tall figure in warm gold. He looks unfairly good. Beach shorts rest low on his hips, paired with a simple white beach tee that clings slightly to his chest. His sunglasses sit casually on top of his head, pushing back his dark hair.
And the tattoos.
God.
They trail across his skin like dark ink vines, curling along his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Others stretch along his arms, bold and intricate, each design moving with every small shift of his muscles. It’s distracting. Dangerously distracting as if sensing my presence, he lowers the newspaper slightly.
Our eyes meet and then he smiles.
That slow, devastating smile that always seems to hit me right in the chest.
“Well,” he says, folding the newspaper neatly and setting it aside. “Good morning.”
My brain takes a moment to restart.
“Morning,” I reply, trying to sound normal even though my eyes keep drifting to the tattoos on his arms.
He stands up, stretching slightly before walking toward me. Up close, he looks even more relaxed, like the beach air suits him too well.
“You look…” he pauses, scanning me quickly before meeting my eyes again. “…dangerous.”
I raise a brow.
“Dangerous?”
“Yeah.” His grin widens. “Like every man on this island is about to become my enemy.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me with a small smile.
“I was thinking of trying island hopping today,” I say casually.
His grin grows.
“Good.”
“Good?”
He casually offers his arm like a gentleman escorting someone to a royal event.
“Because I already booked it.”
I blink.
“You what?”
“Island hopping,” he says, counting with his fingers. “Jet skiing. Snorkeling. And something called banana boat riding, which sounds mildly dangerous but fun.”
My jaw drops slightly.
“I was about to do that.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
He shrugs casually.
“I had a feeling.”
“And you just… booked everything?”
He tilts his head slightly, studying my face.
“It’s our last day here, Kara.” His voice softens just a little. “I wanted it to be memorable.”
Something warm spreads through my chest again. I clear my throat quickly before it becomes too obvious.
“So… how was your sleep?” I ask.
His lips twitch.
“Luxurious.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Finnian.”
“Okay, fine.” He chuckles softly. “Cheap room. Small fan. Questionable pillow.”
My guilt hits instantly.
“Oh my God.”
“But,” he adds quickly, raising his hands in surrender, “it didn’t kill me.”
“You slept in a cheap room.”
“I survived.”
“With a fan.”
“A heroic experience,” he confirms dramatically.
I groan and cover my face briefly.
“I feel terrible.”
“Don’t.” His tone becomes gentle. “I slept fine.”
“You could have stayed.”
“And risk you thinking I was trying something?” he raises a brow.
I open my mouth to argue… then close it again.
He smiles knowingly.
“Exactly.”
Before I can respond, we step outside the resort.
The beach is already lively with tourists and locals moving around the shore. Small boats sway near the docks while the bright blue ocean stretches endlessly under the morning sun, but what catches my attention most are the children. A group of them walk along the sand carrying small trays filled with handmade beach accessories made from sea shells.
Bracelets, necklaces, and anklets. One small girl separates from the group and walks toward us. She can’t be older than eight. Her dark hair is tied in messy pigtails, and she holds up a delicate sea shell anklet.
“Sir, ma’am,” she says shyly. “Please buy? Last one. So I can go home.”
I crouch slightly to look at it. It’s simple but beautiful, small white shells woven carefully into a thin cord.
“How much?” Finnian asks gently.
“One hundred fifty pesos,” she answers.
Before I can even reach for my bag, Finnian pulls out his wallet. He hands her a thousand-peso bill and her eyes widen.
“Sir… I don’t have change.”
“Keep it,” he says simply.
The girl’s face lights up like someone just turned on a hundred tiny stars.
“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”
She bows politely before running off to join the other kids, waving excitedly.
I turn to Finnian in disbelief.
“You just gave her—”
But I stop talking.
Because he’s suddenly kneeling.
Right in front of me.
“Finnian, what are you doing?”
He gently lifts my foot before I can protest, his fingers warm against my ankle and my entire body freezes. The beach noise fades into the background as he carefully wraps the sea shell anklet around my ankle. His touch is careful and almost reverent. When he finishes, he leans back slightly to admire it. Then he smiles.
“Your feet fit it perfectly.”
The way he says it is quiet, respectful, and admiring. My heart starts beating so fast it almost hurts.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Because I’m too busy staring at the man kneeling in front of me… realizing that somehow, without trying, Finnian Matthew Stewheinz keeps doing things that make it harder and harder for me not to fall.