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The sun glistens off the picturesque sea. The gentle waves calm Chanté’s racing mind and reward her with a rare moment of peace in the villa. Tensions and nerves are running high and almost all the islanders, in different ways, are scrambling about. Somehow, Chanté manages to avoid whatever emotional merry-go-round that Gabi, Suresh, and Lulu are riding. She snuck away from listening to Dana's frets and worries, and Alfie’s persistent one on one chats. In the distance, she can make out Johnny's not-so subtle performance of their coupling with Kat, Arlo, and Pete.
Chanté shakes her head and returns her gaze to the ocean. She takes a deep breath, exhaling the cool air. The salty seabreeze tickles her lips and the sun kisses her rich dark brown skin as it gradually sets behind the waves. In times where she has thoughts for herself, without unsolicited advice and opinions, Chanté ponders where the summer went. And how did a carefree holiday of a lifetime with hot sexy singles seem to be overrun with drama? Now with the potential of her stay in the villa coming to an end, a thought that keeps recurring is, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
“What’s not such a bad thing? If you’re thinking of this handsome mug…,” Finn stands in the entryway of the roof terrace. He flexes and gives his best smoldering gaze at Chanté.
“...then you’re wrong. It’s just a tad misunderstood. Can’t help if it broke a few hearts in the past,” he winks.
Chanté tenses, not expecting anyone, but relaxes at the sight of Finn.
“Well, I’m curious to gain a bit of understanding,” Chanté says, as she replaces her grim expression with a more sultry smirk.
Finn saunters toward her and sits. Chantétries to hide her shiver as Finn’s body heat radiates near her cool skin. Just him near her sends goosebumps up and down her curvy frame.
“Chilly? I’ve been told I’m Finntastic at warming the ladies up.”
Finn scootches closer and holds up his hands.
Chanté giggles, “Such a melt.”
“Big hands, you know what they say.”
Chanté raises an eyebrow.
“I actually don’t. I need to see it to believe it.”
“I can help with that.”
Finn pulls her in, his hands scooping her into his tall frame. Even at 5’10, Chanté feels petite compared to his 6’4 stature. She knows this is a dangerous position to be in, but with the high chance that she could go home, she throws caution into the wind.
“You were right…,” Chanté grazes her fingers down Finn’s chest, her eyes watching his face. He squirms at her touch. She glows at seeing his bravado falter from her effect.
“I think I understand the hype of big, strong hands,” Chanté presses closer as she feels Finn’s hands grip her tighter, his hands venturing toward her lower back.
Finn cleared his throat. “I didn’t interrupt any thoughts in that pretty little head of yours, did I?”
“No, not really. Mainly thinking if I were to be the one to leave it wouldn’t be too bad.”
Finn stiffens at her words.
‘Why’d you think that?”
Chanté adds a bit of space between the two, but not much as she shrugs her shoulders.
“I don’t know. It’s been a whirlwind since I’ve stepped foot in the villa. Drama after drama and headache after headache. Maybe I’m not meant to be here and should cut my losses.”
She looks up and sees Finn staring, listening intently.
“Unless you think there’s a reason I should stay something…or someone worth my while.”
“I know I’m usually bantering and having a good time, just talking to have some fun. But I was serious earlier today. I have strong feelings for you, Chanté, and the thought of you walking out of the villa---
Finn falters, his face is pensive as he hesitates to speak.
“I’d rather not think about you leaving, not my Rose of Tralee.”
Chanté looks away from Finn, a blush heating up her cheeks. She looks up at the moon, which is surrounded by stars.
Finn closes their gap as they cuddle close under the night sky.
“Will you ever tell me what exactly that means?”
“It's an old Irish folktale turned song. When I was a little lad my mum would sing me to bed. Every night I’d ask her to sing to me, ‘Rose of Tralee’.”
“Do you know the words?”
“I’m not much of a singer--, '' Finn explains.
“Please. For me? I’d love to hear it,” Chanté pleads.
Finn’s eyes softened, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
In a rough, off-key voice, Finn sings softly.
“ The pale moon was rising above the green mountain, The sun was declining beneath the blue sea; When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain, That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee… ”
Finn cusps Chanté’s chin and pulls her attention to his face. She lets her eyes shut as his fingers trace her lips. He leans just inches away.
Down below, the islanders' voices grow louder.
“There’s a text! Everyone come quick!”
Chanté is shaken from her stupor and attempts to pull away, realizing the messy position she’s in no matter how right it feels. Finn holds her in place, his eyes determined and genuine. Much more vulnerable than she’s ever seen.
Finn continues singing as he softly palms Chanté’s cheek.
“ She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, 'twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning, That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.”
Finn rests his forehead on Chanté’s. They stay that way for a few seconds, just enjoying the silence and comfort of one another.
Chanté murmurs quietly, “That was beautiful.”
Finn chuckles,“No need to lie, I’m no Bing Crosby.”
Chanté eyes his lips, losing the will to not press her own to his. “Who needs Bing Crosby, when I have what I want right in front of me?”
Finn slowly breaks away from her and stands up as he speaks.
“Each time my mum sang to me, she always said, Finny, ‘one day you’ll find your rose’. As I got older, I just dismissed it, never truly believing her.”
He sighs as he shoots Chante a sad look, torn from taking any steps further away from her. He murmurs one last thing as he leaves the terrace.
“That is until I met you.”