Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Finn
She’s going to kill me.
I can see that spark in her eyes as they bore into mine. I try my luck (again) at breaking the tension, hoping it doesn’t go as poorly as my previous attempts.
My voice is serious when I say, “How many ways are you thinking about killing me right now?”
That gets a cute smirk, and I can feel her guard come down ever so slightly. Briefly, her shoulders drop the tiniest bit and her head tilts softly.
“About seven ways, Griffin. And my name is Charlie.” Her soft voice fills the silent room. I slowly nod as I take in her face. She really has the prettiest face now that I can see her in the light.
She looks strong, yet vulnerable. Tired, yet ready for battle at a moment’s notice.
I give her a tender smile before I register what she just said. “How the hell do you know my name?”
Now she’s laughing. “My dad always taught me to be aware of my surroundings. I checked your name on your credit card.”
Pretty and perceptive? She’s way out of my league.
A laugh rumbles out of my chest, and I rub the back of my neck. “Touché, Charlie. Touché. But you can just call me Finn.”
She gives the tiniest smirk back at me, and I notice she has a single dimple on her left cheek that has me smitten. For the rest of my night, I’ll now be thinking of all the ways I can make that single dimple appear again.
We stand there in silence, looking at one another. It feels like we’re both assessing the other, trying to figure out the other person just by their body language and facial expressions.
At the same time, we realize we’re about to walk out of the building without our two furry children. Are they still canoodling under the table? Frank always did have a thing for blondes, so his infatuation with Vera isn’t shocking to me.
Personally, I’ve always had a thing for brunettes.
Side by side, Charlie and I both begin searching for the dogs in her store. It really is like a forest here. My head keeps smacking on various hanging plants with every other step I take. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Charlie holding back a smile. At least someone is getting amusement out of me being assaulted by these green monstrosities.
We walk back to the table we last saw them sleeping under, and find both pups still snuggled next to each other. They must be in a deep sleep since their eyes are twitching, and Frank is making soft whimpering sounds.
Once we wake them up, we hook their respective leashes on their collars; Charlie grabs her things, I grab my box of plants, and we head out into the alley.
We stroll in silence for the short walk to her car. She turns to me, looking even more beautiful in the moonlight. “This is me. Thanks for walking Vera and I back here and for not murdering us.”
I chuckle, hoping my glasses don’t fog up just by looking at her. “I should be thanking you for not robbing me and my plant babies in this dark alley.” I lift the box of plants and give it a shimmy.
Charlie rolls her eyes while she opens the door to the backseat and coaxes Vera inside. As she opens the driver’s side door, she hesitates before sliding onto the front seat. Her expression shows there’s something on her mind, but she struggles to say it aloud, with her lips parting and closing.
“Thank you, you know, for cleaning up tonight. I really appreciate it,” she finally breathes out, her eyes showing deep appreciation.
The look of relief in her exhausted expression cuts deep through my chest. “O-of course,” I stammer out.
I should’ve stopped there, but I love self-sabotaging by setting myself up for rejection by a pretty woman, so I continue. “If you ever need help with anything, and I mean anything at all, I’m about to open a new café a few shops down. I’m not that difficult to find . . . unless you’re Frank.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head at my joke.
One day, she’ll think I’m cute, funny, and charming.
However, today’s not that day. I pick and choose my battles wisely.
“Ahh. So you’re new here,” she says. “I thought you were either passing by or visiting someone.”
Before Charlie closes the door of her green SUV, I find myself speaking again. This poor woman probably wants to go home, but my mouth can’t seem to stop rambling.
“Get home safe, okay? I’m sure I’ll see you around. I also can’t promise that Frank won’t wander into your store again, so I apologize ahead of time for that.”
She flashes me another tiny smile. An almost dimple smile. “Frank can come keep Vera company anytime. She mostly just sleeps anyway, so she could use a new friend.” Before she closes the door, her eyes roam over me from head to toe, and I can feel my ears heating up. “Well, have a good night, Finn,” she adds.
Gripping my box of plants tighter, I dip my chin. “You too, Charlie.”
Standing there, in the cold, dark alley with Frank snug against my leg, I watch her pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. I can’t explain it, but I wanted to see her off and ensure she was safe. Even though, once she left my line of sight, I wouldn’t know where she went. But that didn’t matter. Something in me felt the need to keep an eye on her.
Once her car is out of sight, I whistle for Frank to follow me back to the coffee shop so we can pack up and head home for the night. On the walk back with Frank, my thoughts drift back to Charlie. Our exchange while walking to her car was simple and brief but, despite our rocky introduction, I have a feeling that I’ll be seeing her a lot more.
After the quick drive out of town, Frank and I finally pull up to our small, craftsman-style home. The house is a deep, slate blue with large, white-trimmed windows, but the porch is my favorite part. It’s large, with two cobblestone columns bookending each side of the wood-plank patio. There’s a built-in swing where Frank and I enjoy our evenings peacefully—rocking and listening to music after a long day.
Just as I’m about to unlock the front door, my eighty-two-year-old neighbor, Angie, calls for me.
“Finn! Oh Finn, I’m so glad you’re home,” she calls out.
Setting the box of plants down on my front porch, Frank and I make our way over to Angie’s garage. She’s in a long, pink nightgown with curlers in her hair, and her slippers scuff against the cement floor of the garage. Her eyes are frantic as she looks around at the boxes that are too high for her on the shelves.
“Hey, Miss Angie, everything okay?” I ask her, looking around the cluttered space.
“No, it’s not. My son put these damn boxes too high up, and I can’t reach them. Can you get them down for me? I need a tall man.” She waggles her eyebrows and her innuendo isn’t lost on me. Deciding to pretend I didn’t hear what she said, I grab the boxes from the shelf.
“Oh, thank you so much, Finn. You’re a true hero.” She beams up at me.
“Not a hero. Just a guy that was blessed with good genes,” I reply, smiling down at her.
“They are good jeans indeed.” She peers around to look at my ass. “You know, you remind me of my late husband, Andrew.”
Ah. There it is. I clear my throat, needing to remove myself from the situation. “Well, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going to head in for the night.” I give her a polite smile.
“That’s all, dear, thank you. Also, don’t forget about the ladies’ book club! We’re always looking for some male perspective.” Her eyebrows waggle again. She’s been trying to recruit me to her erotica book club since Frank and I moved in.
I’ve dodged the question just as long.
“Sure thing, Miss Angie. Have a good night!” I sprint to my front door with Frank close behind me.
After we’re both safely inside, Frank drops something at my feet and runs straight for his food bowl. I kept the layout of the house uncomplicated for Frank’s sake. The living room has a simple, off-white couch with an oversized leather chair adjacent to it. There’s a large wooden coffee table on top of a soft beige rug that Frank loves to sleep on. In front of the seating area is the fireplace, complete with a TV mounted above it and built-in bookshelves on either side. I look around my house, and since I don’t have many tables, I’m left with the question of the decade: Where the fuck am I going to put all of these plants?
Choosing to ignore that question temporarily, I bend down to pick up what Frank dropped off at my feet.
Fuck. Me.
Frank stole an adult magazine. I assume it was from Angie’s late husband’s collection, since this magazine is very clearly from the seventies. There’s a lot . . . happening on the cover.
“Frank! For fuck’s sake. Out of all the things you could’ve stolen, you stole this?”
The dog couldn’t care less, and over my dead body am I returning this to Angie.
Sighing, I look at the scantily clad woman on the cover once more, wondering where I can discreetly dispose of it before Frank’s boisterous bark startles me. Even though Frank can’t see what I’m doing, a flush of embarrassment creeps up my neck. I swear he can sense what I’m looking at. Deciding to shove the magazine in the junk drawer of my entryway table, I slam the drawer shut in an attempt to pretend this whole situation never happened.
Frank’s firmly planted by his food bowl and is whimpering as if he hasn’t eaten all day, and even though he can’t see it, I shake my head at him. I usually keep a bag of treats in my pocket because Frank stays close to me if there’s a scent of bacon radiating from my body. Which means he usually gets a small meal of treats throughout the day.
Frank’s living his absolute best life.
I step into the pantry, reaching for Frank’s dog food and scoop some into his bowl. I fill his other bowl with fresh water from the sink before setting both on the kitchen floor. As my special edition pup devours his dinner, I give him a quick scratch behind his furry ears before heading upstairs to change into my pajamas.
With each step, the wooden stairs creak under my weight as I make my way back down after changing. The coldness of the hardwood floors sends a shiver up my spine but reminds me that I need to gather all of my socks that Frank has been stashing away. As I shuffle my way back into the kitchen, I decide on cereal for dinner since it’s late and I’m too tired to make anything else. Plus, I haven’t gone grocery shopping with all the chaos of opening this coffee shop.
While I’m eating at the kitchen island, I can’t help but think of my encounter with Charlie. Granted, I barely know her, but there’s just something about her that I can’t get out of my mind.
I peer over to the living room and see Frank is already on the couch for our nightly ritual. He doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. Instead of lying next to me like a normal dog, Frank lies on top of me.
Every. Single. Night.
Sometimes it’s cute, sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
After I put my dishes in the dishwasher, I make my way over to where Frank is on the couch. When I sink into the cushion, he places his head in my lap and I soothingly stroke his back. As I’m watching the football highlights, I begin zoning out and my mind begins drifting back to Charlie.
This feeling with her reminds me of when you have a crush on someone in high school. You don’t know them all that well because you see them in the hallway or a classroom. There’s just something about this person that you can’t shake from your mind—that makes your stomach flutter with excitement. Your thoughts are consumed by when you’ll see them next, how you’ll act when they notice you, and what you’ll say when they do. So until then, you push your desk a little closer to them, linger outside their classroom for a few more minutes, and maybe “forget” your pencil just for a chance to talk to them and be near them for a little longer. Then, finally, when you lie down at night, you replay that previous exchange with them over and over again until your eyes close, and drift off to sleep, hoping to dream about them.
And tonight, I know I’ll dream of her. My eyelids are heavy as I think about the guarded girl with the doe eyes and a single dimple in her left cheek that appears when she smiles ever so slightly.