Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Finn
“Ugh.” Flopping into my office chair in the backroom of the shop, I tip my head back and blow out an exhausted breath. It’s been a ridiculously long day. I’ve been here since dawn and now night has fallen.
Everything hurts. My body. My mind. My soul.
Even a bit of my ego.
All of it hurts.
After taking my glasses off and setting them aside, I press my palms into my eyes, hoping to relieve the tension headache that’s been building for the last week.
These last few days preparing for the opening have been relentlessly brutal. Being a one-man show and opening this coffee shop has kicked my ass. And, because I love self-destruction, I keep forging ahead like I know exactly what I’m doing.
Me? Struggling? Never.
My parents called last night, asking if I needed their help with anything. They said they’d be more than happy to drive down and stay for a few days to help with the opening next week. Being the stubborn man that I am, I said, “It’s fine! I have everything under control. I know exactly what I’m doing over here!”
I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.
Then again, does anyone really know what they’re doing? I don’t trust people who have their lives all figured out. Those are the people you have to watch out for.
Every morning since I decided to open a business, my breakfast has consisted of two ibuprofen, a shot of espresso, and a silent prayer to the universe that I won’t spontaneously combust. Although working for myself is exhausting, it’s also freeing.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I see that it’s my younger sister on FaceTime. Ellie recently moved to Hawaii with her husband, Evan, who’s in the Navy, and their newborn.
“Hey, Finnster!” she says with a beaming smile. Her excitement is infectious.
Ellie is holding my nephew, Owen, in the crook of her arm. He’s sleeping so peacefully and looks so content that my heart brims with happiness. The sun hasn’t set yet over there, casting a warm evening glow over the two of them.
“Ellie! And baby Owen! How are you guys? How’s Evan?”
“We’re doing great.” She smiles, her face sunburnt, making her cheeks rosier than usual. “Owen is finally sleeping through the night. Evan is working his ass off as usual, but he’s doing great as well.”
I smile. “Good, good. But how are you doing?” I pointedly ask, raising one eyebrow at her.
A soft smile spreads across her face. “I’m doing a lot better. I think I finally found a routine for me and Owen, and I'm really getting to know our new neighborhood. Plus, I don’t need GPS to get around anymore!”
“See, now that you said that, you’ll need the GPS tomorrow,” I say, laughing. “You’ve always been exceptionally horrible with directions.”
Her unamused stare pierces through me from the screen. “First, fuck off. Second, I’m a landmark person. Tell me what corner the nearest McDonald’s is on and I’ll be there in no time. But tell me to get off at exit thirty-seven? No. I don’t know what that means.”
I roll my eyes, chuckling at her.
“Anywho,” she continues. “How’s the coffee shop? I’m so glad you got out of your old job.” Her face drops the slightest bit. “That corporate world was sucking the life out of you.”
I’m a guy who doesn’t hide his emotions—a quality I appreciate about myself. I fearlessly expose my heart for the world to see, embracing my vulnerabilities. So, it was obvious to everyone that my life in New York had been wearing me down to the point of complete exhaustion.
Owen’s cooing interrupts my thoughts as Ellie glances at him with a gentle smile. A warm swell of joy settles in my chest at the sight of their bond.
“It’s going pretty good. There’s still a lot to do before I open in a few days. I just hired a couple of employees, actually. They seem promising, so I’m cautiously optimistic,” I answer.
“Oh, good! That’s amazing to hear. I can’t wait to come back and visit when you’ve officially opened!” Owen begins to stir and fuss. “Shit. Sorry, Finn, I have to cut this call short. I’ll call tomorrow?”
I smile. “Of course, of course. Have a good night, and tell Evan I said hi.”
“You got it! Night, Finnster.”
Relief floods through me when I hear how much better she’s doing. Ellie’s move to Hawaii took a toll on her in the beginning, especially since she was so far away from home. Anytime she called, morning or night, I would pick up her call. During her husband’s deployment, I would stay on the phone with her during those quiet nights, just so she wouldn’t feel so alone.
I slump back in my chair, blowing out a breath. It’s just Frank and I in my quiet, empty coffee shop. My sister looks so happy with her family and her life in Hawaii; I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Will I ever have that? All her life, she’s always known exactly what she’s wanted. A steady career by twenty-six? Done. A doting husband by twenty-eight? Secured. Have a child by thirty? No problem. Ellie had a plan, and she stuck to it.
The same can’t be said for me.
Still, I can’t help but feel the nagging pull at the back of my mind that tells me I’m running behind. Logically, I know that life isn’t an hourglass; there are no judgmental grains of sand scolding you for not checking off each life milestone.
Yet, I still feel the proverbial weight on my chest—the societal pressure of being in my thirties, without a wife or kids, and starting a completely new career.
I was able to find my way once.
Now? I’m on a mission to find it again.
Running my hands through my hair in frustration, I think I’m officially calling it a night. The sun has completely set, and my deep exhaustion is about to take me down. Between training new hires, checking inventory, managing finances, and talking to suppliers—I’m ready to turn my mind off. All I want to do is fall into bed with a good fantasy book until sleep takes over.
I whistle for Frank, but he doesn’t come.
Huh. That’s weird.
I whistle again, but don’t hear the pitter-pattering of his paws on the floor. Trying to keep calm, I look around the café, but panic when I don’t see him.
Where is that damn dog?
My head whips around and . . . shit. I accidentally left the door open to air out the fresh paint fumes. Thankfully, I have an AirTag on his collar and can quickly spot where he is. Frank tends to wander and, because he relies on his other senses, he can sometimes get a bit carried away by his overactive snout.
His location on my phone shows that he’s just down the street, and I’m relieved to find out that he didn’t get too far. When I lock up behind me, I zoom in on his location.
Perfect, only two buildings away.
I quickly jog down the street in the cool autumn air and notice another shop with its door open. This must be where Frank is hiding.
As my pace slows, I peer into the dim store. A soft, feminine voice flows over me.
“. . . where the hell did you come from? Why are you here? Where is your owner? Do you even have an owner? I don’t know if I’m ready to be a single mom to two kids.”
I make my way inside the store, but the woman doesn’t notice me. She’s too focused on comforting Frank. Behind her, I notice a lazy golden retriever slowly walking towards the chaos, and the hushed voice mentions that the dog is a terrible guard dog.
Judging by that dog’s nonchalant pace surveying the scene . . . she’s right, that dog is a terrible guard dog.
The woman continues speaking. “. . . need to stop talking to myself aloud or else people will think I’ve totally lost it.”
I have to make my presence known, but an uneasy feeling sits deep within my gut, aware that I’ll spook her. Because what person wouldn’t be scared by a random stranger, alone, in a store at night?
I’m mentally preparing myself to grab Frank and make a run for it, just in case this person decides they want to kick my ass.
“Interrupting your own conversations is considered insane. However, talking to yourself is perfectly normal. In fact, it’s actually encouraged since it helps increase emotional regulation,” I comment as I slowly approach my dog, who is surrounded by a mess of dirt.
Everything unfolds in front of me so quickly. She jolts, grabs a golf club, and threatens me.
Yep. That went as well as I thought it would.
I should’ve stuck with a one-syllable word to let her know I was in her store. In one smooth motion, I hold up my hands in surrender to show that I’m not a threat. Trying to break the tension, I tell her that a putter might be a better weapon.
She doesn’t laugh.
Definitely not surprised.
Now she’s backing up, and I’m carefully walking forward with my hands up to get into a more well-lit part of the store, to show her I’m not dangerous. I’m wearing a sweater vest and glasses, for Christ’s sake. All she’d have to do is knock my glasses off—the easiest way to get this man down and disarmed in less than three seconds.
When I reach the better-lit area of the store, my stomach drops faster than her golf club drops to the floor.
She is so . . . beautiful.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking about her looks under these distressing circumstances, but I can’t help it. Her curious, wide, brown eyes pair perfectly with her fair skin and deep mahogany hair. She’s wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt with a green apron and jeans. Her flushed pink cheeks are the same color as her soft lips, which are slightly parted in shock. There’s a swipe of dirt on her forehead, which, under different conditions, I would tell her about.
However, I’m not risking a 5-iron to the balls tonight.
She’s breathing heavily as her eyes search me, probably deducing that I’m not a threat. Being an unusually tall guy at around six-foot-eight on a good day, my worst fear is scaring other people. I know my height can be intimidating, and it’s actually an insecurity of mine.
Noticing her fear, I take a few steps back and accidentally bump into a table behind me. The table, full of potted plants, begins to tip over, sending them crashing to the floor.
A stupendous first impression.
It takes me a moment to realize I’m in a plant store and that my dog also created a mess before I walked in here.
Like father, like son, I suppose.
I can feel my face heat with embarrassment. This is not how I wanted my first impression to be with a pretty girl. I’m usually much more charming than this, but the universe seems to be working against me today. I open my mouth to speak, then quickly close it. I’m so flustered that I need a moment to collect my thoughts. The brunette looks at me with raised eyebrows, waiting for me to say something—anything at all.
As luck would have it, my brain forgot everything I learned in school.
Words? What are those?
Finally, after moments of awkward silence, I compose myself. A barely coherent string of words escapes me so fast that even I can’t keep up with what I’m saying. “F-first, I’m so sorry. Frank is blind. Second?—”
Before I can get another word out, she speaks. “Your dog is blind?” Her eyebrows shoot up again. Those big eyes of hers are swimming with questions. Mumbling softly to herself, she continues. “Hmm. Well, that explains why he was so frightened after crashing into the display.” She stands up on her tiptoes to peek over at Frank, who is hiding under a table with his tail between his legs.
For some reason, her, standing on her tiptoes, looking over at Frank to check on him, absolutely enchants me.
I roll my lips, biting back a smile because I don’t want to seem like a creep. She looks back over at me as I tell her, “Yes. He’s a special edition pup . . . on many levels.”
This pretty girl is flustering me as her dark brown eyes bore into mine. I feel like we are the only two people in the world right now. My thoughts become muddled, and I have to get my act together. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and attempt to continue. “B-before I lose my train of thought again, I’m also sorry for following Frank’s lead and crashing into another display. Where’s your broom? I’ll clean this all up.” The words spill out rapidly while I search the store for a broom and dustpan.
“Oh. Don’t worry about it.” She waves me off. “You don’t need to clean up. I can take care of this.” Her voice is quiet, and shaky with nerves. I catch her gaze with mine and she sharply inhales before hastily heading into the backroom.
I look down at what I assume is her dog, with shining brown eyes and a bright pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. Crouching down next to the dopey golden retriever who, in fact, is not a good guard dog, I glance at its name tag.
Vera.
I wonder if that’s a play on words? This must be her store, and I think I knocked over an Aloe Vera plant back there.
Mystery woman is clever.
I think I’m going to like her.
The owner finally emerges from the backroom after what feels like forever with a broom and dustpan in hand. She stops dead in her tracks, and her eyes widen. “Oh. You’re still here? You can leave, you know.”
I try to stifle a laugh because she winces at the delivery of her comment—instantly recognizing she wasn’t using her “customer service” voice. I quickly pull myself together because I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. The rosy color on her cheeks deepens, and I gather she isn’t the best in awkward situations like this one.
A tall dude and a blind dog crash into a plant store sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, so it’s understandable for her to react this way.
“Uh, yes, I’m still here. I made the mess, and I’ll clean it up. How much do I owe you? I didn’t break the plants, technically.” I shrug. “But they also seem like they’ve seen better days.” Reaching for my wallet, I pull it out of my back pocket. “Actually, here, take my wallet, I’ll buy them from you and put them to good use.” I go to hand it to her, and she just . . . stares.
Treating this situation as if she’s a scared, wounded animal, I slowly walk around her so as to not spook her and gently place my wallet on the counter.
“May I?” I softly motion for her to hand me the broom and dustpan. She furrows her brows, and her delicate throat moves as she swallows. After a moment, she quickly nods and hands me the broom. Our fingers slightly brush, her cool fingers contrasting with the warmth of mine feels electric.
She rolls her lips and nods. “I forgot something back there.” She hitches her thumb over her shoulder, then disappears into the backroom.
Again.
I look down at Vera, who is now looking at me and wagging her tail, getting even more dirt all over the place.
That tail is a broom in itself—it’s impressive.
I give Frank, the panicked pup, and Vera, the slothful pooch, a quick command to sit and stay while I clean. Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about Vera going anywhere, seeing as she moves at a snail’s pace, but I have to keep my eye on Frank.
I think he gave me five extra gray hairs tonight.
Once the dogs are settled, I begin working on cleaning up her shop and notice I haven’t heard a single sound from the backroom. Is she even still in the building?
Like her, I’m not ready to be a single parent to two dogs.
Although, one thing I can’t get out of my mind is how stunningly beautiful this woman is. She appears to be a foot shorter than me and, even though she had an oversized sweatshirt on, I could tell she has generous curves that would make any man drop to his knees in worship. Her deep, dark eyes were the first features that captivated me, though. They have purplish shadows settling beneath them. She looked bone-deep exhausted, and my heart aches a bit in my chest for her.
Even though she hasn’t spoken more than a few short sentences to me, or even told me her name, I wonder if she was okay.