Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
FINN
Late May in Mississippi was not the time to be working on renovations in a closed-in space without a functioning air conditioner, but we didn’t have much of a choice. The stale, thick air hung in the former soda fountain, the humidity nearly choking me. I wanted nothing more than to spend the next hour in a walk-in freezer, but that wasn’t going to happen.
“Jesus,” Drew said, swiping an arm across his forehead. “It’s hotter than two rabbits fucking in a wool sock.”
Nash barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he hauled in a few replacement planks of wood for the floors. “Y’all’ve gone soft on me. It hasn’t even hit ninety yet. Quit your bitchin’.”
Ten years in California probably had made me go a little soft, but facts were facts. And the fact was it was hot as hell in here. “Drew’s right. When can we get some ceiling fans in here? And get that new AC installed?”
“AC is on order. As for the fans, soon as we get the ceiling done up. Y’all decide for sure if you want them covered in that old barn wood I’ve got?”
I nodded, thinking over what Drew, Nola, and I had discussed over the past few days. We’d spent the weekend sizing up the competition, seeing what their interiors looked like, what kind of vibe they gave off. It’d turned out the three of us were in agreement on one thing: We had no interest in going the typical honky-tonk route. Instead, we wanted something with an industrial vibe—old, reclaimed wood and corrugated steel all blended together.
The only problem we were having was figuring out how, exactly, to incorporate it all. I didn’t know a sconce from a hole in the wall, which meant it felt like I had my head up my ass most of the time.
I could pick out what I liked for all the different pieces we’d need, but I had no idea if it’d all flow together well or look like a hodgepodge of randomness. We really should’ve budgeted for a designer, because I wasn’t so sure the three of us could pull it off without help. And this place was too important to wing it.
Friday night, we’d headed to a place in Parkersville, almost an hour away. The bar had been a bit of a dive, but then again, there hadn’t ever been much competition around the area. The people of Havenbrook had always had to go outside the county lines to get to a bar of any sort—and it was clear those bars hadn’t had to do much at all to bring in customers.
Saturday night, we’d narrowed our search, coming closer to town and closer to our more immediate competition. My first impression of Ropers had been mediocre at best. Nothing about it had stood out to me—at least, not until I’d spotted Willow across the bar, sitting at a high-top table.
She’d been with her assistant from work and a girl who, based on my memories, looked a hell of a lot like Willow’s younger sister Mac. Shock at seeing Willow there had faded into that ever-present attraction as I stared at her, noticing the low dip of her shirt and how much of her legs had been on display in those nearly indecent shorts she’d worn.
After that, I’d had no hope of noticing anything but her. I’d kept my eyes glued to her as I’d followed Drew and Nola around the place, pretending like I was paying attention to what they’d been saying about the decor, the band, the beer selection. Truth was, I’d been thinking only of Willow. My body had been wired into her presence—that hadn’t changed over the years. And even with twenty feet separating us, I’d felt the buzz in my veins.
That pleasant hum I’d always welcomed in Willow’s vicinity had turned into an unmistakable surge of jealousy when some dickhead had taken her out on the dance floor. I knew I’d had no right to feel it, knew it wasn’t my place. Knew it made me an asshole for it too. Even worse, though, had been when I’d told the other guy to fuck off and had taken my place behind her, allowing myself the pleasure of putting my hands on her.
It’d been a chaste touch, only my hands on her hips, but the sensation had shot straight to my cock, hardening it like steel. Willow had done a good job of pretending not to notice when I had stepped up behind her, but there was no denying how aware she’d become as soon as my hands had settled on her.
Having her tight little ass pressed right up against my cock had brought me nearly to the brink of insanity. But Jesus , what a way to go.
And then, because it hadn’t been enough for me, I’d had to push. Too damn hard, too damn fast, and off she’d shot like her ass had been on fire, fleeing from me as fast as she could.
And I’d done nothing but spend the past few days thinking about what an idiot I was.
“All right then,” Nash said, placing the wood planks in the corner and pulling me back to the present. “I’ll get those boards hauled in tomorrow and start workin’ on that so we can get some ceiling fans in place for you sissies. Until then, I reckon I’ll run over and buy some box fans so you delicate pansies don’t wilt.”
Drew just laughed as I gave Nash a one-finger salute. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to find a text from Nola.
Nola:
Will needs some paperwork signed. Can you swing over to town hall?
I glanced down at myself, bare chest covered in a sheen of sweat, patches of dirt caked on my skin. No, I wasn’t exactly town hall appropriate.
Finn:
Can you check if Willow can bring it by instead?
Nola:
Uh, no. If you want Will to be your errand girl, grow some balls and tell her yourself. Godspeed.
Willow’s number came through a second later as a contact attachment. I chuckled, shaking my head. My charms hadn’t been tested this much in a while, and I knew damn well they’d get a workout when it came to Willow. Knew, too, it was probably a really bad idea to call her and ask this. Still, I dialed the number Nola had sent, waiting for Willow to answer.
“Hello?” Her voice was wary, probably because my number was one she wasn’t familiar with.
“Hey, it’s Finn.”
There was a brief pause before she asked, “Why’re you callin’ me on my private number?” Her voice was tight, that anger I’d only recently seen come out simmering under the surface. I’d never had that anger directed at me before—had never given her a reason for it to be. And I shouldn’t like it as much as I did, but there was no denying she was hot as hell when she was fired up.
“Ah, sorry,” I said. “Nola sent it to me. Said you had some paperwork that needed to be signed.”
Willow made an impatient huff. “I’m still not seeing why that involves calling my cell phone, Griffin. I have an office phone for a reason, especially considering this is office business.”
I closed my eyes and scrubbed a hand down my face, hating every time she uttered my full name. Knowing damn well she was using it as a way to put up imaginary bricks between us. She could keep putting them up all she wanted, and as long as I was there, I’d keep knocking them down.
I ran a hand through my hair. “Drew and I are workin’ in the bar today with Nash. We’re not exactly dressed for town hall. Any chance you can swing that on by?”
Nothing but silence came from her end, and I could just imagine her in her office, her jaw tight, paperwork clenched in her fist. I waited for her to tell me to try my hand at skydiving, minus the parachute.
Instead, she snapped, “Fine.” Then the line went dead.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and glanced up at Drew, who was watching me intently.
He raised a brow. “How’s that plan of yours workin’?”
“Fuck off,” I said and turned my back on my brother.
His laughter followed me as I went back to pulling off another section of baseboards. The truth was I didn’t have a plan, not when it came to Willow. And maybe that was the problem. All I wanted to do was make sure she was happy here, that me leaving had served a bigger purpose. But it seemed like any time we got around each other, all common sense fled my head.
I didn’t know what I’d have to do to get through to her, to get her to actually have a conversation with me, but I wasn’t giving up just yet.