Give Me Butterflies (Oaks Sisters #1)

Chapter 20

Millie

The sun stains the sky a deep purple as it sets over Wilhelmina’s city park. The grassy slope toward the amphitheater is full

of families for an outdoor movie, and Moana has just begun from the projector.

Finn laid out a pale yellow blanket on the lush grass and spread a picnic out around me and the girls. He has a cooler with

sparkling water and juice, along with containers of fruit, cheese, lunch meat, crackers, and some chocolate-covered strawberries

for dessert.

“This is perfect,” I tell him as Moana ’s first song starts playing through the park while Avery and Eloise devour their snacks.

“I’ve been meaning to bring the girls to this, but I haven’t felt brave enough.” He grabs two jackets out of a bag and helps

the girls into them then pulls out a woven blanket and wraps it around my shoulders.

Watching him fuss over us like a mother hen is almost too much for my heart.

“Thanks,” I murmur, reaching for a grape and popping it into my mouth, flooding my tongue with its tangy sweetness. Finn positions

a pillow behind me, and I sigh at the immediate relief when I lean back into it.

“Comfortable?” he asks, reclining on his own pillow with a sparkling water in his hand.

“Completely.” A smile tugs at my lips, my answer meaning so much more than he knows. I’m absolutely at ease here with all

three of them. “Do you want a plate?”

“No, thanks. I’m just going to drink some water for now.” He winces and rubs his fingers across his forehead. “My head’s hurting,

but I’m probably just dehydrated.”

We settle next to each other and the movie plays on, but I will have no recollection of it. Moana could turn into Gladiator , and I wouldn’t know because I’m utterly distracted by the man beside me.

My weight against the pillow is making me slide toward Finn a millimeter at a time until it feels like I’m leaning on him,

and if I tilted my head a few inches, I think it might be resting on his chest.

Finn hasn’t moved at all. He’s a firm stone wall beside me, heat bouncing off him in waves. It’s a welcome warmth on this

cool evening, and I could stay here forever, pressed against him like this.

Beds? I don’t need them. Finn’s body is much more comfortable.

We’re reaching the end of the movie when I realize his steady breaths have turned into quiet snores. Every time he exhales,

a small puff of air moves the hair on my forehead, and my shoulder settles into him more firmly.

A loud scene from the movie cracks through the air, and he twitches. His snoring stops, and he breathes, “Millie?” against

my face.

“Yes, sleepyhead?” I turn to look up at him.

“Do you have any pain reliever in your purse? For a migraine,” he says, his voice pinched with discomfort.

“Oh, yes.” I fumble as I sit up and clumsily reach for my bag. Finn rises with a groan, dropping his face into his hands.

I shove aside my wallet, ChapStick, emergency apple, phone, and fifteen receipts to find the ibuprofen and turn to see him in a full-body shiver. When he lifts his face, it’s pale in the light from the movie screen, with dark circles under his eyes. I hand him the pills and his water. “Can I feel your head?”

He downs the medicine quickly and leans his forehead toward me. I rest my palm against him, and my heart stumbles.

He’s burning up.

“I think you have a fever,” I whisper. He leans back against his pillow and tosses his arm over his eyes.

Working quickly, I pack up the picnic. By the time the credits roll, I have everything in the cooler, and poor Finn still

hasn’t moved. Ave and El grab their things when I tell them we need to get him home. I nudge Finn’s shoulder and softly tell

him we are taking a load of things to the car and will be right back for him.

“Keys... pocket,” he mumbles. My eyes drop to his pants, and I see the outline of them against his upper thigh.

Holding my breath, I cautiously slip my fingers into his pocket until the warm metal touches my skin. His whole body tenses

as I push in a little deeper to grasp and pull them out as quickly as I can.

My breath comes back in a rush. “I’ll be right back.”

Ave and El help with the pillows while I try to balance the rest under my arms with the cooler in one hand. We’re slow going,

but we finally arrive and load everything into the trunk. When we make it back to Finn, he’s in the exact same position.

“Girls, if I get Uncle Finn up, can you grab the blanket?”

They nod, even though Ave is yawning and Eloise is rubbing her eyes. I start the task of pulling Finn up. He’s conscious enough

to help with getting himself upright, and I wrap my arm around his waist as he leans on my shoulders all the way to the car.

The girls climb into their seats, and I try to shove Finn into the passenger side. He manages to help me get his legs in the

right spot, and I lean across him to buckle his seat belt.

He drags in a deep breath. “Mmm. Lemons,” he sighs, then leans forward until his face is buried in my hair. “Why do you always smell so good?” he whispers, lost in the haze of a fever.

I don’t want to laugh at the man, but he’s already growing uninhibited, and it’s adorable. What else can I pull from him in

his fragile state?

I guess that’s not nice, but my greedy heart wants it anyway.

Shutting the door, I jog around to the driver’s side. I have to hold down the button to move the seat forward for no less

than five minutes since a giant sat here last. When I turn to check the girls are buckled, Avery is already asleep in her

seat.

“Is he okay?” Eloise asks, her voice wary.

I pat her leg. “He’s going to be fine, sweetie. We’re going to take good care of him.”

***

I’m already winded from carrying two sleeping five-year-olds up the stairs and tucking them into bed, but getting a grown

man out of a car, into the house, and up the stairs is a workout.

Apparently, I should be doing more cardio.

Pausing at Finn’s closed bedroom door, I peek up at him. His eyes are shut, but I know he’s slightly coherent because he’s

been helping me get him up the stairs.

I scan his dark lashes resting against his flushed cheeks. He’s stunning, even in sickness.

“Can I open your bedroom door?” I whisper, trying not to startle him with too many loud noises.

“Always,” he breathes, and it sounds rough with meaning.

I slowly turn the handle and enter his dark bedroom, where only an outline of the bed is visible. I make my way there, nudging

him to sit on the side. With a snick-click , I turn on a lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in a dim golden light. It illu minates the space enough to see the room is painted dark green, with warm wood tones in the furniture, and a crisp green duvet across the bed.

My fantasy about life with Finn is still fresh in my mind days later, and being in this room with him makes my ache for that

dream burn a little hotter. I’m slightly devastated I can’t just slide into bed with him right now, because I’m exhausted.

Careful not to startle him, I pull his glasses off and leave them folded on his nightstand. The act feels surprisingly intimate

in the privacy of his room. Much more intimate than coworkers should be.

“Not how I wanted to bring you to my room for the first time,” he mutters, tilting to the side.

“Wait. Hold on. Stand up one more time so we can get you under the covers, okay?” I wrap my arms around his waist to pull

him up. Once he’s standing, I keep an arm in place and tug the covers over.

But when I try to sit him back down, he plants his feet and stands solid. He blankets his arms around me until we’re in a

secure hug. His chin drops to the top of my head, and for the first time, I’m completely embraced in his arms.

“Millie.” He breathes out a sigh and hums contentedly as his body relaxes into me, and all my worries evaporate for a moment.

I fit perfectly here, in this place I’ve dreamed about. Like this spot was made for me. He’s so warm, and I know part of that

is his fever, but I have a feeling his arms would be this cozy and secure anyway.

How could I not come back to this now that I know how right it feels?

His arms tighten around me before his legs give. I reluctantly sit him on the sheet and steady his shoulders. Once he’s holding

himself up, I kneel to remove his shoes.

A miserable groan bleeds from his chest. “Not how I wanted you on your knees for me either.” Heat flashes up my spine in a fiery wave, and my fingers still over his laces like they’ve forgotten how to move. My head snaps up, but his eyes are closed, his face etched with pain. Willing all my focus back to his shoes, I force my fingers into movement and work as quickly as I can. I’ll analyze what his words are doing to me later.

I slip the shoes off his feet and stand between his knees. With his eyes still shut tight, he reaches up to undo the top button

of his shirt. He gets the first one open but fumbles on the second, so I nudge his hands away and undo it myself.

Never in the plans for my day did I think I’d be undressing Finn Ashford in his bedroom, but here I am. I get the first few

undone with a clinical focus on my movements, but the lower my hands get, the more his breathing picks up. I can’t stop my

gaze from wandering to his bare skin and the muscles I’m revealing on my path. My fingers accidentally brush the hot skin

on his stomach, and he hisses.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying not to touch him again.

“Don’t... be sorry,” he grinds through clenched teeth.

As I get the final button undone, Finn leans his brow against my collarbone. I slide my hands across the scorching skin at

his shoulders to slip the shirt down his arms. His warm breath coasts over the swell of my breasts, making me lose track of

what I’m supposed to be doing.

He’s weak with sickness, and he needs my help. But his gravelly voice and exposed skin are muddling my thoughts and sending

heat rushing through my veins.

Mustering every ounce of my willpower, I drag myself away and lean him over on his pillow. I’m not emotionally prepared for

removing pants, so he’s going to stay in those. Lifting his legs onto the bed, I get him settled and tuck the blanket over

him.

His eyes open briefly, hazy and cloudy as they focus on me. He lifts his hand to rest against my cheek, and the wonder in his eyes unravels something tight in my chest. He looks like he’s not sure if the fever fog is making him hallucinate me.

“ Grazie, stella mia ,” he whispers as his eyes drift shut and his hand drops to the bed.

***

Oaks Folks

Millie: Can anybody send me Dad’s chicken and rice soup recipe?

Mom: Are you sick? Need me to come down there?

Millie: No. Thanks, though. I’m making it for a sick friend.

Mom: Oh, okay. I’ll send you a picture of his recipe.

Fabes: I want some soup, Mom. *cough, cough*

Fabes: You don’t have to drive an hour to make me some. I’m just upstairs.

Tess: I’ll take some. It’s soup-er delicious.

Dad: I’m a real soup-er star for making that recipe.

Fabes: He really soup-ed in and saved the day.

Millie: Thanks for the recipe. It has soup-er powers.

Millie: Miss you guys. Can’t wait to come visit.

***

“You’re the best,” I tell Lena, pulling groceries out of the bags she brought.

I couldn’t find any medicine in the downstairs bathroom, and I don’t want to rummage around in Finn’s. So I asked Lena to

go to the store for a few things and the ingredients for my favorite soup when I’m sick.

“I am the best.” She nods, dropping a bag of overnight clothes near the stairs and looking around the room.

Finn’s kitchen is magnificent. Dark gray lower cabinets support white granite counters. Exposed beams run along the ceiling,

and big windows give a view of the backyard. The front of the fridge is covered in pictures drawn by the girls, and my dark

green mixer adds a beautiful pop of color in the corner.

“You look good in here,” Lena says with a wink.

I duck my chin, not wanting her to see what that comment does to me. I don’t think I’m ready for anyone to know how comfortable

I am in this house.

“Okay, I see you need to sit with that thought for a little while before you accept it,” she teases, coming around the island

to kiss me on the cheek. “Text me if you need anything else.”

She slips out the door quietly, and I lock it behind her before walking back into the kitchen to start the soup.

I spend the next few hours checking on Finn and the girls in between making chicken-and-rice soup. It feels like I’m house-sitting downstairs by myself with a cup of tea and the smell of chicken and herbs simmering. I find a blanket in an antique chest in the living room and curl up on the couch with my Kindle.

When the soup finishes, I take a break from my book and make a fresh cup of tea for Finn. Once it’s done steeping, I tiptoe

upstairs and open the girls’ bedroom door. They’re sound asleep, curled toward each other. I press my hand to their foreheads

to see if they’re getting fevers too, but so far, so good.

Next, I peek into Finn’s room. He’s still under the covers, but his jeans are lying in a clump next to the bed. I set the

cup of tea on the nightstand and lean over to check his forehead.

His skin seems pale in the dark room, and his hair is damp against his brow. He looks so peaceful with his lips parted in

sleep and deep, sighing breaths escaping them.

I have no idea how he feels besides the migraine he mentioned. Maybe a stomach bug? Or a sinus infection? I won’t know until

he tells me more symptoms.

His eyes blink open and focus on me. “You’re still here?”

“Yeah. Wanted to make sure you were okay. The girls are asleep.”

He breathes a sigh of relief as I sit on the edge of the bed near his hip.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like two planets have collided in my skull,” he groans, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard.

“Does anything else hurt?” I ask, picking up the tea and handing it to him.

He takes a slow sip and closes his eyes with a hum. “My whole body aches. All my muscles weigh a ton. And my stomach is cramping.”

He takes another drink and opens his eyes. “I’m sorry about our evening. This wasn’t the plan.”

I set my hand on his blanket-covered leg. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had quite a nice time snooping through all your secret drawers and searching the cabinets.”

“I wish I was doing it with you. That sounds more fun.”

“It does.” I nod. “I haven’t found your blow-up Princess Leia doll yet, but I’m not ready to give up.”

He manages a weak smile and stretches to set the mug on his nightstand. “What time is it?”

“About one in the morning.”

“Oh.” He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “You should go home. You’ve done so much already that I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Then don’t. I’m happy to help.”

He blindly wraps his hand around my forearm. “It’s too much,” he whispers as his fingers slowly move up and down my arm in

a soothing, light touch. I close my eyes and breathe in the sage scent in his room. The feeling of his calloused hand gliding

along my arm is tugging directly on the thread in my heart, and I let it.

It sweeps me away into an imaginary world, where I’m not just house-sitting, and we can be together without the fear of what

it means for my job.

I let myself get completely lost in thoughts of more .

He does the movement once more before his fingers pause and his chest lifts with the steady, deep breaths of sleep.