Chapter 2
Finn
What the hell was I doing?
My phone screen fades to black, erasing the background image of my nieces, because I’ve been staring at it for so long. I’m
sure I meant to do something productive. Was I going to answer an email? Check in with Gabriella?
I press the button on the side of my phone to reveal the image of Avery and Eloise again, grinning at each other while ice
cream drips down their chins.
The view of them is way better than the one that surrounds me.
Every seat in the conference room is full of chattering people, except for the empty one beside me. No one has dared to take
it. They’re all avoiding me like the plague.
This meeting could’ve been handled in a mass email, and I’m sure my irritation is written blatantly across my face.
A rush of air glides against the back of my neck, trailed by a familiar vanilla-and-lemon scent.
The chair to my right slides away from the table, and Millie Oaks drops into it with a huff. Her auburn hair dances as she
jerks her seat forward, placing a notebook covered in insects and a sparkly orange pen down on the table.
I shove my phone back in my pocket.
Millie smooths her dress and opens the notebook, keeping her chin tipped up like she’s determined not to look my way. Her
fingers flow over a clean sheet of paper as she writes the date at the top, followed by a heading in swirly, precise handwriting.
It appears she found a sweater to cover the coffee stain. Admittedly, I feel bad about the spill. I was probably standing
too close, but my curiosity was piqued when she and Eleanor were talking about a man being charming and grumpy. By the time
I figured out they were talking about a book, I had taken a step back, but it wasn’t far enough to avoid her collision of
chaos.
I glance back at her notebook, where she has drawn two small ladybugs on the side. Then she moves her pencil to the very bottom
of the page and smoothly writes,
Eyes on your own paper, Grumpy Spock.
A scoff bursts out of me before I can stop it. That feels like a dig after I told her I wasn’t a Star Trek fan. I preferred the Kylo Ren comparison.
Her pink lips curve in a satisfied grin before she grabs her notebook and angles her chair away from me.
The door swings open, and Sharon, the museum director, and Reva, the education specialist, step through.
“Good morning, everyone. Are we ready to get started?” Sharon lays a binder down on the table and slides on the glasses that
hang around her neck. Her short gray bob swings around her face as she waves to everyone until her eyes land on Millie. “Oh,
most of you probably know, but this is Millie from entomology.”
Millie shifts in her seat and grins around the room in greeting.
“She’s joining us since Calvin is off relishing his retirement in Costa Rica.” A few murmurs of envy filter through the room.
Millie turns and settles her notebook in front of her on the table. She has doodled small flowers to cover the words she wrote
for me, and for some reason, disappointment settles in my chest.
“Okay. First order of business is our annual summer camp next week. I’m going to let Reva start with that.” Sharon leans back
in her chair, letting Reva take the lead.
“I hope you all are feeling ready for our little scientists to come visit.” She folds her hands in front of her with an excited
grin. “As you know, kids will be here Monday through Friday, visiting different departments in the museum. You should all
have a copy of the detailed schedule in your inbox, but I brought printed ones to talk about today.” She passes the stack
of schedules to her right.
I take a paper and hand the rest of the stack to Millie. When she tries to grab them, her soft fingertips graze the back of
my hand, and she flinches so much that she drops the papers, sending them fanning out across the table.
Reva continues as I help Millie gather them back into a pile, barely containing the grumble threatening to vibrate through
me. “We have a few crossovers happening, as you can see on the schedule. Engineering and astronomy are going to build rockets
together, and entomology and local ecology are taking a field trip. Hopefully, you’ve met up with those other departments
to make specific plans.”
I tune Reva out a little, distracted by the wavy hair falling out of Millie’s braid and the bones in her left hand shifting
smoothly as she writes.
The soft, musical sound of her voice snaps me out of my daze. “Yes, we will be keeping the kids very busy.” Her eyes jump around the room. “We have some butterflies that should be emerging next week, so the kids will get to see that.” She wrings her hands over her thighs. “We have some sprouts to make a pollinator garden in front of the museum. And then a field trip on Thursday to Stafford’s Pond.”
Everyone’s attention moves to the paleontology director as he begins discussing their camp plans, but my focus stays on Millie.
She fidgets with the pen in her lap and chews on her plump bottom lip.
My skin prickles as the sudden urge to say something ripples through me, and my brain loses control of my body. I lean toward
her and allow myself a small inhale of the vanilla-and-lemon scent wafting from her hair before I whisper low in her ear,
“Are you nervous?”
Millie yelps as she jumps a few inches out of her chair, and her head slams into my nose with a crunch.
Fuck.
I immediately cover my face and duck my chin to take a deep breath. My nose burns and throbs as I press my hand under it.
No blood, but I’m going to be sore.
When Millie turns her face toward me, her eyes are narrowed and her lips are pressed into a flat line. She mouths, “Asshole.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head.
Her brows snap together. If looks could kill, I would be a pile of bones at this point.
I narrow my eyes. “I meant—”
“Finn, did you have something to add?” Sharon’s question startles me as she glances between us like a principal who just caught
her students smoking in the bathroom.
“No. Millie and I were discussing our camp plans.” I try to sound as convincing as possible, donning my best poker face.
“Oh, great. I would love to hear them.” Reva smiles encouragingly.
Well, shit. It’s the share-with-the-class that is every misbehaving student’s worst nightmare. I can confirm it still sucks at thirty-four.
As I search for something to contribute to the conversation, I glance at Millie and find her biting her lips like she’s trying
to contain her laughter at my expense.
I want to laugh. It’s right there, the smile pushing against my cheeks to find the humor in our predicament. But I rein it
back in with my signature frown instead.
I’ve avoided this woman for months because something about her sunshine-bright personality makes me want to turn the other
way.
She’s glowing all the time, illuminating everything around her, and the blazing light feels like a third-degree sunburn for
a man who has been in the dark for too long.
***
By the time I make it back to my office, I have two missed calls from my mother.
I reluctantly press her name on the screen and she picks up after the first ring.
“Finneas, it’s so nice of you to call me back.” Her voice has a bite to it that makes me roll my eyes. This conversation needs
to end quickly if I have any chance of remaining pleasant.
“Well, I have a job.”
“Yes, I remember,” she brushes off. “Listen, will you be joining us for dinner Friday? I have sent a few invitations about
the party we are hosting, and you haven’t responded. I need to give the caterers a count. It’s not polite to wait this long
to reply.”
Polite. Does she even know the meaning of that word?
I would rather get a root canal than go to a fancy dinner party with my parents’ friends.
“We won’t be there, Mom. It’s not a good environment for us.” This tactic doesn’t usually work with her, but I keep trying anyway.
“Yes, son. I remember that your therapist told you to set boundaries .” She says “therapist” and “boundaries” like they are mud stains tracked into her pristine house. “But you don’t need boundaries
like that with me and your father. We are your parents, for crying out loud. I think the whole idea of someone telling you
what to do is ridiculous.”
“A therapist does not tell me what to do.” A steady throb pounds through my skull. I remove my glasses, set them on my desk,
and press my fingers between my brows. “We discuss what might help me move forward in life with the greatest level of mental
health.”
There’s a long pause. A manipulative pause. And I know she’s searching for the tender spots to dig her fingers into, forcing
me to give in.
“Finneas, you never come home anymore, and your sister...” She fades out with a delicate sniffle. I hate that this immediately
washes me in guilt. She found the spot she was looking for.
The words “your sister” will make me comply because I don’t have the capacity to discuss Clara with her and she knows it.
“Fine, Mother. I’ll be there. Alone.”