17. Finn
SEVENTEEN
FINN
Me
Are you busy tonight?
Reluctant Runner
I’m glad we upgraded to texting instead of randomly running into each other and falling into bed together.
Still not convinced you’re not stalking me.
Me
For the record, you ran into me at the bar. So, technically, you were (are?) the stalker.
Reluctant Runner
Whatever you say.
What do you have planned tonight?
Me
Want to go to the Museum of Art and look at the decorated trees?
Reluctant Runner
That sounds like a date.
Me
It’s not.
Trust me. You’ll know if I’m taking you out on a date.
This is a friend enjoying the company of another friend in a holiday environment.
Reluctant Runner
I’m intrigued by the decorated trees. Are you going to wear a festive sweater?
Me
Of course I am.
Reluctant Runner
You have a drawer full of them, don’t you?
Me
Two, actually. There are about 300 of them.
Reluctant Runner
I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.
Okay. Let’s go see some trees!
Do you want to meet there?
Me
You still think I’m a serial killer, don’t you?
Reluctant Runner
I’m putting a fork in my bag. Just in case.
Me
We can meet there. I’d never want you to feel uncomfortable.
Unless you were fucking yourself with an ornament.
Reluctant Runner
I can’t wait to see your video next year where you discuss how only ceramic Christmas trees can be used for insertion, and only if they have flared bases.
It’s snowing when I make it to the Museum of Art. I shove my hands in my pockets and spot Margo climbing the steps to the entrance. She looks damn good with her hair blowing in the wind and her pink cheeks, and I can’t help but smile at the sight of her.
“Hi,” she says breathlessly, and I bend down to give her a hug.
“Hey. How was your day?”
“Good. I went shopping with Kat—which was a disaster—then spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch watching trashy reality television.” She laughs. “I’m normally more productive, but I’m taking advantage of being lazy these few weeks I’m off from school.”
“As you should. I can’t imagine how hard you must work during the school year.”
“How was your day? Did you run fifty miles? Record any fun audiobooks?”
“I finished up the stalker one. It’s a lot easier to get things done when you’re not naked in a chair in front of me touching yourself, believe it or not.”
Margo swats at my shoulder, and it’s my turn to laugh. “What book do you have next on the list? A bodyguard romance? A basketball series? Maybe cowboys?”
“All appealing, but next is something totally different. It’s a romance with rival meteorologists. They chase a category five hurricane together. And fall in love along the way, obviously.”
“Whoa. That sounds fun.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I lift my chin to the building. “Want to head in? Your hands are shaking, and I could use a hot chocolate.”
“Let’s do it.” She loops her arm through mine, and I lead her to the entrance. “You’re a hot chocolate guy?”
“I am, but it has to be made with milk, not water. And, speaking of milk, my favorite thing to drink after a run is chocolate milk.”
“Wow. T.G. Lee should give you a sponsorship. Why chocolate milk?”
“It’s good for recovery, and as someone who could run a hundred miles a week while training for a marathon, I need to recover the best I can.”
“I still can’t wrap my brain around how much you run and how good you are at it.” She looks up at me as I scan our tickets into the museum. “Have you always liked the sport?”
“Yeah. I played soccer as a kid, and my coach constantly had to tell me to cool my jets when I was on the field. I took up track and cross country in high school, and I’ve stuck with distance running as an adult.” I shrug and hold the door open for her. “It’s therapeutic, to be honest. My life and my job force me to be mentally focused, and running is the only time I don’t have to talk to anyone. I don’t have to think. I’m not a person with responsibilities. No one is counting on me. I can lace up my shoes and just be.”
It's so damn easy to talk to Margo.
I noticed that the first time we met; she’s snarky and sassy with a bite behind her bark, but she’s also kind and a good listener. Someone who leans into nonverbal communication with her nods and her smiles. Everything she’s thinking is written on her face, and right now, her wide eyes and the soft and sweet curve of her lips tell me she likes what I’m talking about.
“You might be the most interesting man I’ve ever met,” she says.
“Why? Because I put on sneakers and run?”
“That’s one of the reasons.” She rests her head on my shoulder and smiles. I like her there. I like how she fits perfectly in my hold and how my arm feels wrapped around her. For a split second, I wonder what it would be like to have her like this every night. To take her out on dates and show her off to the world. I like the thought more than I probably should. “You have so many cool things going on in your life. It’s impressive.”
“Don’t be fooled. Until you came along, I was really just a boring guy who sat at home most nights.” I point to a large tree in the corner of the main room. “My hospital decorated that one. I picked out the ornaments.”
Margo untangles our arms and leans forward. “Artificial? That’s a letdown.”
“Tell me about it. I called a whole committee meeting about the reasoning behind needing a real one, but I was shot down. Artificial is the only way it’ll last all season for the show.” I tap the syringe and stethoscope ornaments. “We’re going to put it in the hospital after New Year’s to brighten the place up for the kids in the pediatric area.”
“Wow. That’s a great use for it, and now I’m totally onboard with the artificial decision. Was it your idea to bring it back for the kids?”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck and give her a sheepish smile. “It was.”
“Such a nice guy. You sound like you really like your job. Especially if you help to bring holiday cheer year-round.” She moves to the next tree and tilts her head to the side, assessing. “This one is fine, but your tree is much better.”
“Did these people even put in any effort? And I do like my job. It’s not always fun, but it’s always worth it, you know?”
“That’s how I feel about teaching. Some days, I’d rather do anything else because it’s physically and mentally draining. But then my kids show improvements in their reading or make their first friend in the classroom, and all the negativity goes away.”
“You get it.” I drop my hand to the small of her back and lead her to the last tree on this side of the room. I’m finding any excuse I can to touch her, to be honest, and if I have to give a tour of every damn decorated Fraser fir in the building, I will. “Thoughts on this one?”
“Are you sourcing opinions for next year’s entry?” Margo asks with a teasing smile, and the beam is a jolt to my heart.
It feels like I’m being shocked with an AED. Like I’m getting resuscitated after spending minutes flatlining. I’ve seen her done up in makeup and cute outfits. I’ve seen her stepping out of the shower with mascara under her eyes. I’ve seen her in the middle of the night, half asleep and smiling at me like she’s far away in a nice dream, and one thing is true: she’s so goddamn beautiful.
She’s sexy and a goddamn tease, but there’s something soft about her. Something loving, and it’s making me feel like a teenage boy with my first crush all over again.
My palms get sweaty when she’s nearby. I want to puff out my chest and do something stupid to keep her attention when she’s looking at me. I crave her in a way I’ve never craved anyone else, which is exactly why I asked her to meet me in public instead of tumbling into my bed again—I want to get to know her, because I think there’s something here. Something bigger and better than sex, and it has me really goddamn curious.
It's been a while since I’ve dated someone; two years, maybe?
I’ve had fun with other women. I’ve had the casual hookups and the quick encounters back at my place after a night at the bar, but none of them have ever held my attention this long.
Margo does, and she does it easily.
I like everything about her.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and tug on the collar of my snowman sweater. “We finished in third place this year, and anything less than first next Christmas is going to be a disappointment.”
“Your tree was third? What the hell was first? Something sent from the North Pole?”
“Come here.” I hold out my hand and she takes it, her slender fingers locking with mine. We wind our way through the rest of the entries from local businesses and big-name brands. I stop us in the last room toward the back of the museum, and point at the twelve-foot tree in the center of the space. “That one.”
“Holy cow. They put a whole town on their tree?”
“Yup. Houses. Roads. A train that weaves through the branches. Check out the icicle lights. It makes it look like it’s snowing.”
“Okay, no offense to your Grey’s Anatomy tree, but this is incredible.” She walks around and stares at the masterpiece in awe. “It reminds me of this general store back home that decorates for the holidays. It’s incredible.”
“Where did you grow up?” I ask, watching her excitement as she touches one of the house figurines. “Is it a small town you’d find in a Hallmark movie?”
“Hardly.” Margo laughs and moves back to my side. “I grew up in Michigan, and I moved to Chicago after college.”
“Are your parents still residents of The Mitten?”
“They are. My dad is a pilot based in Detroit, and he snagged a five-day London trip over Christmas. My mom is joining him, so I’ll see them after the holidays.”
“No aspirations to be in aviation?”
“I thought about it. I like talking to people, but I prefer to be grounded.”
“Any plans to leave Chicago in the near future?”
“Why?” She turns to face me with a sharp, sly grin. When she looks up at me, I have the urge to kiss her. To pull her into a hug so I can keep hearing about her hopes and dreams. “Would you be sad to see me go?”
“Yeah.” I make a show out of looking her up and down. I’m committing parts of her to memory, like how her left hip pops out when she’s trying to be sassy and how her hair has the slightest curl to it. “I would be.”
“Well.” She adjusts the hem of her skirt, and I want to run my hand up her thigh and along warm skin. I want to pull her into my arms and make her see there are good people in the world who can treat her better than my son. “I’d be sad to leave. Especially now. So I’m not planning to go anywhere.”
I have no fucking clue what happens to us after next week.
Could we date and be serious about each other?
Would we do a friends with benefits thing until one of us decides to settle down with someone else?
That’s a problem for down the road, because I tug her to me. I cup her cheek and rub my thumb down her jaw, grinning when she gives me a megawatt smile.
“Sounds like you enjoy spending time with me, Miss Andrews,” I murmur.
“What can I say? Your sweaters have grown on me.” She pauses and rests her hands on the center of my chest. “You’ve grown on me too, Mr. Mathieson.”
I fight back a groan and drop my forehead against hers. “You can’t call me that here. It makes me want to be young and stupid and yank you into a closet and go down on you.”
Margo giggles, not sorry at all. “I’m going to grab us some hot chocolates.” She stands on her toes and kisses my cheek. “If you decide you want to be young and stupid, you know where I’ll be.”
She pulls back and offers me a wink. I watch her saunter away, hips swaying from side to side, and I’m hit with the terrible fucking realization I’m going to miss her a hell of a lot after this is all said and done.