Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
FINN
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wraps around me as I push through the doors of the coffee shop, like I do every Monday morning. The rich aroma used to be comforting, a familiar part of my routine. Today, it reminds me that something is missing.
The barista behind the counter, a college-aged blonde with a tired smile, perks up when she sees me.
“The usual, Finn? Two Americanos, one black, one with two percent?”
I shake my head. “Not today. Swap the two percent for a ginger tea.”
Her brows lift slightly, but she doesn’t ask questions as she rings me up. I slide a bill across the counter and step to the side to wait for my order.
Genevieve can try to push me away all she wants. She can deny her feelings, pretend what we shared means nothing. But I’m not like her father. I’m not like Ethan. I’m not going anywhere.
I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to realize that.
The barista calls my name, and I grab the two cups, the warmth seeping into my fingers as I step outside.
It’s a short walk to the library, and the town is already waking up — shopkeepers flipping over their “closed” signs, a couple of early risers walking their dogs. This place has always felt steady. Unchanging. But today, I feel off balance, like I’m moving through a version of my life where something — some one — is just out of reach.
When I enter the library, the quiet swallows me. The smell of old books and polished wood lingers in the air, familiar and grounding.
At the circulation desk, Taylor looks up from her computer and smiles. “You’re early today. Genevieve’s not in yet.”
“Just wanted to drop this off for her before heading to the fire station.” I hold up the cup. “Should I leave it with you?”
“You can take it to her office. Her hands are always full when she comes in.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course.”
I head toward the administrative wing, the sound of my shoes muted against the carpet. Genevieve’s office is exactly the same as it’s always been, but being here without her feels different. The room smells like her — warm vanilla and soft flowers, with a faint hint of aged pages — and it makes me miss her even more.
I set the tea on her desk and pull the small bag of hard candies from my pocket, placing it beside the cup. Then I grab a notepad and jot down a quick note:
I took the liberty of changing your order to a ginger tea (it’s caffeine-free). I also read hard candies are good for morning sickness.
I hesitate for a second, then write the last part.
Love, Finn
The words sit there, staring back at me. My fingers twitch to cross them out, to soften them somehow. But I don’t.
She can ignore them. Pretend she didn’t see them.
But I won’t pretend I don’t mean them.
Folding the note, I place it underneath her tea. Then I turn and head to the firehouse, hoping work will distract me from thinking about Genevieve.
But nothing does.
Instead, I find myself checking the clock every few minutes, wondering if she’s at the library.
And if she is, why haven’t I heard from her?
I didn’t expect her to drop everything and declare her love for me after leaving her a tea and some hard candies. But I hoped for something .
Not the continued radio silence that’s plagued our relationship for the past week.
“Jesus, man,” Murphy snorts, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You waiting for a hot date?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You keep looking at your phone like you’re expecting it to ring.” Murphy stretches out in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Hasn’t buzzed once, by the way.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie.
Which Murphy picks up on easily. Of course he does. We may work together, but being in this profession, he’s more like a brother than anything, considering the hours we spend together any given week.
And the fact we depend on each other to stay alive.
“I haven’t seen Genevieve around much lately,” he remarks after a beat. “You two have a lovers spat or something?”
“She’s been busy. And we don’t have lovers spats. She’s just a friend.”
They’re words I’ve said to him dozens of times before, but for the first time, they feel wrong. Because I don’t want to be just friends with Genevieve. Not anymore.
And I have a feeling Murphy already senses that, considering he responds by shaking his head with an amused chuckle.
I’m about to re-iterate my argument, but am cut off by my phone buzzing on the table.
I grab it, relieved when I see Genevieve’s name.
Finally .
I swipe the message open.
Genevieve:
Thank you.
Two words. But they’re the first two words she’s said to me in over a week. Even if it’s just through a text, it’s better than nothing.
I type back quickly.
Me:
You’re welcome.
And then I wait.
* * *
The air in the waiting room is thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic and something vaguely floral, the kind of artificial fragrance meant to be soothing but only makes me more on edge than I already am. A stack of magazines sits on the table beside me, but I don’t pick one up. I can’t pretend to be interested in anything other than the reason I’m here.
I shouldn’t be here. I know that.
Genevieve made her wishes clear, and I promised I wouldn’t interfere. But I’m not only here because I’m the father of her child.
I’m here because I can’t not be.
Because every day that’s passed without seeing her, without hearing her voice, has felt like I’ve lost something I didn’t even realize I couldn’t live without.
I shift in the chair, my knee bouncing with restless energy. A pregnant woman across from me glances up from her phone, her eyes flicking to my leg. I force myself to still, and exhale slowly, dragging a hand over my jaw.
The clock on the wall ticks on.
Every second feels like an eternity as I anxiously wait for Genevieve to walk through those doors. I can already picture the look on her face when she sees me. The shock. The confusion. Maybe even a flash of something sharper. Annoyance. Resentment.
Despite any negative reaction, I knew I’d regret it if I wasn’t here, even if I’m relegated to the waiting room. So I reached out to Claire.
I half-expected for her to insist that if Genevieve wanted me here, she would have told me herself.
That’s not what happened.
Claire didn’t hesitate to give me all the details. She even agreed to tell Genevieve something came up at work preventing her from coming so she might let me be a part of it.
Not that I think for a second she actually will.
She’ll probably take one look at me and proceed to ignore me, just like she mostly has since I poured my heart out to her.
But I have to try. I don’t care how long it takes for her to finally realize I’m not Ethan or her father. I’m not abandoning her.
And not just because she’s carrying my child.
But because I can’t imagine my life without her.
So I’ll wait.
Suddenly, the door swings open and my pulse kicks up as Genevieve steps in. Her gray eyes lock onto mine, and she freezes in the doorway as the air shifts and thickens. Like the room is suddenly too small.
She gapes at me, her fingers curling around the strap of her purse, her lips parting on a silent inhale as she stares at me in confusion.
I take her in, my gaze sweeping over her like I’m seeing her for the first time.
Her dark hair is pulled into a low knot instead of spilling over her shoulders in gentle waves. Her frame is still tall and slender, but there’s something different about the way she holds herself. A subtle shift in the way she stands. Maybe I’m imagining it, or maybe I’m just searching for some sign of the life growing inside her.
There isn’t one. Not yet. But she’s softer somehow, her features a little more tired, her lips pressed together like she’s holding something back.
And fuck, I’ve missed her.
It’s only been two weeks, but it might as well have been a lifetime.
I went from seeing her nearly every day to nothing. No small smiles from across the kitchen as we cooked together. No conversations that stretched late into the night. No laughter. No teasing. No Genevieve.
But now she’s here, and I have no idea what to do or say. I didn’t exactly think past being here for her.
Instead, all I can do is hold her gaze and hope I haven’t made things worse.