A New Leaf (Hemlock #1)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Charlie

I’ve never been one to turn down hot chocolate, so I follow Finn like a moth to a flame. Is it smart to follow a near stranger to an undisclosed location? Absolutely not.

Though, at this point, the man seems pretty harmless.

While we walk down Main Street, I take in the vintage lamp posts emitting a soft glow, reflecting on the damp pavement. It’s a perfect autumn night here in Hemlock. As we walk, our fingers subtly brush up against one another—twice.

My chest flutters—twice.

Within two minutes, we find ourselves in front of a café called Dark Side Brews. I press my palm to my forehead. “That’s right, the nephew with the coffee shop.” I drop my arms to my sides, annoyed that I didn’t piece these facts together.

He chuckles. “You would be the worst detective, you know that?”

“Got me there. I tend to be in my own little world most of the time,” I say on an exhale.

Finn smiles down at me while taking his keys out. It’s a soft, knowing smile that says, I know this, and that’s okay. When he unlocks the door and switches the lights on, my eyes take in every intricate detail of his coffee shop.

This guy poured his heart and soul into this place, and it shows. From the vintage photos in wooden frames that line the walls to the whimsical trinkets and colorful mismatched furniture—it looks like a home away from home.

I take a seat on an oversized blue armchair, continuing to observe the space.

“Uh. Nope. You come up here with me, sweetheart.”

His deep voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I lock eyes with a smiling Finn. With two fingers, he gestures for me to join him by the shop’s wooden counter.

Well, if my head wasn’t fuzzy before, it sure is now. I brush off the nickname and get up from my comfortable spot on the chair.

“Where do you want me, then?” I ask, clearing my throat and anxiously running my hand through my hair.

Finn’s behind the counter, grabbing ingredients for hot chocolate, when he nearly fumbles two mugs the moment those words left my mouth.

Whoops.

Without looking at me, he pats the counter next to him. “You can sit right here.” He blushes, looks over his shoulder, and gives me a shy smile.

I hum with joking uncertainty. “Am I allowed to sit on the countertop?”

He glances at me over his shoulder once again. “Don’t worry about it. I know the owner.” My eyes roll in amusement, and he doesn’t miss it. “Oh, come on. That was clever!” He points a spoon at me in a weak attempt to get me to agree with him.

As I laugh and remove my jacket, I’ve become a bit too flustered in his presence due to his bad flirting. I’m not used to guys giving me this kind of attention.

In the past, the men I dated were subpar at best. I always felt I was a “just enough” girlfriend. Just nice enough to make pleasantries with. Just pretty enough to look put together. Just smart enough to hold a conversation. I was simply “just enough” and nothing more.

When I could finally let my guard down and breathe, they always wanted more from me than I could give them. More touching, more vulnerability, more emotional connection, and more . . . love. I was “just enough” but yet never enough for them. I couldn’t open up because, deep down, every relationship didn’t feel right. It seemed that no guy could accept me for who I was, and I got tired of pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Eventually, I wanted to take the pressure off of myself and gave up dating completely. Dating and finding someone to be vulnerable with are so fucking hard. To build that trust and safety with someone and feel comfortable enough to let your guard down was completely, incredibly daunting. And with failed date after failed date, I was too tired and discouraged to continue.

Before my parents died, my last relationship ended in a complete dumpster fire. I remember asking my mom if something was wrong with me.

My mom and I were sitting out on the back porch, it was the middle of summer and the sun was setting. The crickets were chirping, and the air was cool, but humid. We were both rocking on the patio swing, absorbing the last rays of the evening sun.

“Mom, don’t get weirded out. Or make this a big deal . . . I need to be vulnerable with you,” I say, letting out a deep sigh.

She laughs, shaking her head. Her chocolate brown curls are extra bouncy in the summer due to the humidity. Turning to me, she smiles. The smile lines around my mother’s mouth are my favorite feature of hers. “Even when you were a kid, you always prepared us for when you were about to have feelings of any kind. It’s always been one of your most endearing qualities. Now, what’s the matter?” She pats my leg.

I glance into my mom’s warm, caramel eyes. “Is there something wrong with me? I’m in my thirties without a stable relationship to show for it.” I will not cry. I will not cry. This has been prying on my mind for years and I need to get it out.

She releases an appalled scoff. “First of all, the guys you’ve dated in the past had zero redeeming qualities. Your father and I thought it was impressive. Who doesn’t have a single redeeming quality? Seriously, Charlotte. Even your dad said mosquitoes were more useful than the last guy you were dating,” she says, shaking her head. I start to laugh and nod in agreement. “Secondly, you, sweet girl, only deserve the best. And if it takes until you’re eighty years old to find the best, then so be it.” A lump of emotion swells in my throat. I stare out into the backyard, watching the sun dip below the horizon, casting that hazy summer glow over the trees.

My mom gently turns my chin to face her. “When the right guy comes along, all those walls you have up will completely drop. Your heart will know before your brain does. You just have to trust your heart, okay? Promise you’ll do that for me.”

My eyes swell with those damn tears again, and I give her a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, I promise,” I whisper.

She gently pushes my hair behind my back and kisses my temple. “It’s all gonna be okay, sweet girl, I promise. One day, a day when you least expect it, the right man will stumble into your life and turn it upside down. He will see you for you. He will love you for you. He will want to be with you because you’re you .”

I shake the memory from my brain, shoving down the swell of emotion that bubbled to the surface. Begrudgingly, I walk behind the counter and hop up on it. Finn isn’t looking at me directly, but he coyly smiles at my closeness to him. His glasses slip down his nose, and he pushes them up with the back of his wrist. I’m momentarily distracted by the way he casually rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, revealing toned and defined forearms. Watching the muscles flex as he moves has my heart fluttering.

Finn moves with such confidence—it's quite a turn on. My eyes are entranced by Finn’s skillful hands making us drinks. Those long fingers move with fluidity, guided by the simple motions of muscle memory. His hands look strong enough to knock someone out in a dark alley, yet gentle enough to wipe away tears.

Shaking off my trance that has me ogling this poor guy’s hands, I run my own hands down my thighs. While wiping my sweaty palms, I try to think of what I should say to him. “So, is this some secret family recipe? Are you going to have to kill me after I watch you make this?”

Concentrating on the task at hand, he doesn’t look at me, but his deep laugh fills the room. “What is it with you and murder? Should I be concerned? Are you hiding something? Or someone?”

“Why do you think the plants in my shop are thriving? Human remains make for excellent fertilizer,” I deadpan, giving him a shrug.

Finn stops what he’s doing and turns his body towards me with a concerned expression on his face.

Oh, I fucked up.

I made things weird.

“What is wrong with you?” Finn says, shaking his head.

Yep. I made things really weird.

My body tenses with regret. The urge to bolt for the nearest exit is at the forefront of my mind.

“You sent me home with all those plants and didn’t think to offer me that fertilizer? You're setting this Plant Daddy up to be a failure, Charlie,” he says, shaking his head before going back to make the drinks.

This son of a . . . I blink a few times, trying to process what he said, before a bag of mini marshmallows is tossed in my direction.

“Open these up for me? I can’t have you just being a pretty face. You gotta earn your keep around here, sweetheart,” he teases.

Ignoring the increasing temperature spreading across my body, I open the bag, pop a few in my mouth, and anxiously eat the sugar pillows because what else is there to do.

“Hey, throw one of those to me.” Finn opens his mouth and waits for me to throw a marshmallow in.

“Don’t do that to me. I have bad aim.” I wince.

Again, that sexy chuckle escapes from him. Casually, Finn strolls over to me, sticking his hands in the bag of marshmallows. With my hand still in the bag, our fingers gently touch, sending a shiver up my arm. He pulls a few out, popping them in his mouth before turning his focus back to the hot chocolates.

Once finished, he tops each mug with a hefty handful of marshmallows and hands one to me.

“Cheers,” he says as we clink our mugs together. The first sip is heavenly—rich, smooth, and comforting. A hug in a mug that warms me down to my bones.

“I must say, Finn, this is much better than the powder hot chocolate mix I usually buy on sale. You did good.” I take another sip, humming in appreciation.

He sets his mug down and gives me an incredulous look that makes me laugh.

Finn’s eyes bore into mine. I could easily see myself getting swept away in his ocean-blue irises.

Overwhelmed by his gaze, I avert my eyes and stare into my mug. The energy between us is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Even though I don’t enjoy meeting new people, I somehow feel drawn to Finn. The way he carries himself, the warmth of his smile, and his kind eyes are the perfect combination to lure me in.

Jokingly, he scoffs. “If you think this is just ‘good,’ then wait till you have my specialty coffee drink. I’ve heard that it’s ‘really good.’”

It’s clear he’s amused by my word choice, but I refuse to stroke his ego. My compliments are a privilege that you must earn, and one drink isn’t going to change that . . . regardless of the dopamine rush I get from each sip.

I let out a contemplative hum. “I hate to break it to you, Finn. I don’t like coffee.” He goes to speak, and I raise my hand to stop him. “No matter what you say or how you make your drinks, you can’t change my mind.”

He releases a sigh full of regret. “Well, Charlie, it’s been nice. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve shared together. The exit is that way.” He nods his head toward the door with a crooked smile. “What do you drink in the morning to wake up if you don’t like coffee?”

My face is devoid of emotion, and my tone is deadpan. “The tears of those who scorned me in the past. Obviously.”

His piercing stare locks on mine. “Hmm. Makes sense. Things are slowly coming together now.”

Finn absolutely thinks my plant fertilizer’s secret ingredient is dead people.

He clears his throat. “Let’s play a game.” Finn rests his hip up against the counter, crossing his arms. I’m temporarily mesmerized by how his navy sweater tightens over his biceps.

Those arms. He may be a lean guy, but those arms have enough definition to show through his thin sweater and pique my interest.

“Uh. No. I don’t like games,” I blurt out, perhaps too quickly.

I do love games. Very much. But this man is making me feel things that I thought were in hibernation—putting me on high alert.

“Charlie, play along.” His tone is stern yet playful.

Well, that gave me a weird tingle.

“Do I have to?”

He tilts his head, feigning annoyance.“Yes, Charlie.”

All it takes is him saying my name again in that voice, and I fold like a lawn chair. “Fine.”

“I’ll bring you a different coffee a couple of times a week. If you like any of them, I win.” His lips part into a confident smile.

I raise one unimpressed eyebrow at him. “What the hell do you win? And, Mr. Cocky, what if I don’t like any of them? Because that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Doubt it,” he scoffs, uncrossing his arms. Finn picks up his mug and takes a tentative sip, like he’s nervous. Licking his lips, his eyes dart quickly to the ground and then back at me. “Dropping off coffee and getting to know a pretty girl is already a prize. I’ll enjoy the bragging rights.”

There was a warmth and sincerity in his voice that was difficult to ignore. I quickly glance down at my mug. “Does that usually work? The whole flirting thing?”

“Not sure. It’s my first time using the line. Is it working?”

When I look up to meet his eyes, I notice the tips of his ears are pink. Quiet lingers between us before Finn’s voice fills the silence. “I’ll give you free hot chocolate for as long as you want. That’s what you win.”

Nerves begin to settle in as self-doubt floats to the surface. Finn barely knows me. He sees surface-level Charlie—a nice- enough plant store girl. I worry that the more he gets to know me, the less he’ll like me. At the same time, I’m looking at him and his hopeful face, and something inside tells me to go for it. Because if I said no to this man standing in front of me, it would feel like accidentally stepping on your dog’s paw.

“You got a deal.” I stick out my hand.

Finn’s large hand grasps mine, and I swear my stomach plummets because of the way his long fingers wrap around my wrist. It’s that whooshing sensation you get when you drive down a steep hill, or when you’re on a rollercoaster.

My phone chimes with a text and I notice it’s getting very late. Letting go of his hand, I hop off the counter. “Well, Finn, thank you for not being a random phone creep and making me a really good drink. But I have to get going. Vera needs to be let out before she disowns me for leaving her alone.”

I’m waiting for him to scoff or groan with annoyance and convince me to stay longer. Instead, empathy flickers across his features.

“Next time, bring her,” he says softly, with understanding eyes.

Next time?

What does that mean?

My cheeks are on fire. He wants there to be a next time?

Stunned, I reply, “That . . . uh . . . sounds good. Have a good night, Finn.”

I need to get out of here fast before I ruin this moment.

“You too, Charlie.” He flashes me a devastating smile.

I leave his coffee shop with that same whooshing sensation in my stomach again.