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Neal sat down at the edge of the dark night Atlantic and listened to the sound of rhythmic waves, a distant rumbling of thunder, and the tolling of church bells. He picked up a handful of sand and let it cascade through his fingers like a waterfall, almost iridescent in nature as the moonlight reflected off bits of nacre from crushed seashells. He could go back to join Maya in his bed, but after the conversation with Peter, maybe that wasn’t what Neal wanted tonight. Maybe retreating into her embrace would be nothing more than an old tried and true modus operandi—his go-to habit for seeking comfort in the moment.
Neal certainly had feelings for the pretty island woman, but it was far too early to label it anything close to love. Maya was a sweet, unassuming, and gentle soul, and he’d never intentionally hurt her. But at the risk of sounding hackneyed, maybe Neal regarded her as a friendly port in the storm. He wasn’t exactly looking at this as his forever existence here in quiet Cape Verde. Until he figured things out, James Maine was merely a respite from Neal Caffrey’s life. Did that make him a despicable, loathsome cad? He hoped not, but his track record with women wasn’t exactly sterling.
Neal had had his share of female encounters, enough to realize that women viewed intimacy differently than men, who seemed ruled by their hormones rather than their emotions. It was probably excusable when he was a fumbling teenager falling “in love” with one cheerleader after another, but over time, he had managed to be a bit more discriminating, although perhaps no wiser. While in France, a very young and still immature Neal had become enamored with an alluring lady of the night, or, as the French say, a prostituée haut de gamme. When he told the somewhat older woman that he thought he loved her, she had smiled and held his face in her delicate hands.
“Ah, mon cherie, true love exists in the little grey cells between the ears, not in the heat between the thighs. This thing that we have is quite enjoyable, but it is merely a pleasurable arrangement, not true love. One day, my young stallion, you will learn that lesson, and I hope a very special person will be worthy of you.”
And Neal thought he had found “the one” when he wooed and won the lovely Kate. To him, she was pure and innocent, and he wanted to be her knight in shining armor. He yearned to protect her and provide for her every desire. He saw himself having babies with her and growing old beside her. But now, years later with the clarity provided by time, he began to wonder if it had all been as naïve as that. When we look back on the past, we tend to reshape it, maybe even distort what really was. Back in the dawn of his con man days, he and Kate had fought like cats and dogs after being left destitute by Vincent Adler, and the “love of his life” had abandoned him more than once.
So, in time, an older and wiser Neal next gave his heart away to someone he envisioned as the antithesis of Kate. Sara Ellis was shrewd, driven, and tough as nails. She didn’t want anybody protecting or taking care of her because she could handle that business herself, thank you very much. Intellectually, she challenged Neal, and he relished the game of one upmanship. It was fun and intriguing and kept him on his toes. Not to mention, the sex was mind blowing and had him wanting more.
Unfortunately, no matter how ardently a heart cherishes love, it is a fragile emotion that can be damaged, even shattered, by the harshness of reality. Sara couldn’t let herself be what Neal wanted her to be, and he wasn’t willing to change who he was for her. So, as sad as it was, a future with them remaining together wasn’t in the cards.
So tonight, Neal found himself being cruelly introspective and seeing the man behind the façade that he had built over time and tragedy and disillusionment. He really did want to be a decent person and stop hurting the people around him. He thought he had done the right thing tonight by telling Peter it had been a good run, but it was now over between them. However, if Neal were being honest, it sort of felt like breaking up with yet another lover and stepping away from a life of promise. Maybe a more candid man finally realized what he did want. As dumb as it sounded, he coveted Peter’s life—a white picket fence fortress enclosing warmth, acceptance, and security. Wasn’t there an old trite saying about “home is where they have to take you in?”
But if a former con man allowed himself to be brutally honest and heed the tingly feeling in his stomach, Neal knew it was more than that. Maybe what he really wanted was the man in that house—strong, dependable, straight as an arrow Peter, who knew Neal so well and still seemed to desire having him in his life. Peter knew all of Neal’s faults and his sins, his shortcomings and his needs, and yet he had tracked Neal to a location on the other side of the world, not to pursue him, but to warn him of a possible danger. Isn’t that what you did for those you loved?
It was like a pipedream for Neal to imagine himself with Peter and Elizabeth, nurturing something that Neal knew would be real love. Each would give and take what they needed from the union and be stronger for it. They might occasionally bend to each other’s needs, but they’d never break. The three of them would be like a Gordian knot that no one could ever unravel.
Maybe from the very beginning that’s what Neal had really wanted but was too blind to see as he taunted his former hunter with phone calls and hand-drawn cards over the course of three years, and then even more personal missives from prison. Had all of that been a type of subtle flirtation and courtship between two unlikely partners who could become lovers? Regardless of any subconscious intent, Peter always seemed to be residing somewhere in Neal’s head. Perhaps it was just as a certain very wise French mademoiselle had once explained. Love begins in the little grey cells between the ears.