21. T.P.
Courtney
Finn’s warm body beside mine kept me asleep until nearly 10 a.m.. After a night like ours, sleep was desperately needed for recuperation. When deep, dreamless sleep had finally released me, I was unsurprised to find that I was sore in most places. Now would be a great time to get that massage I had fantasized about.
I stretch my arm across the bed, feeling for the naughty mayor who had occupied the space last night, but he’s gone.
I peek open a heavy eyelid and sure enough, where Finn had once laid is now just empty mattress. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, scanning the room. He isn’t here. A scathing ball of anxiety begins to claw its way from my stomach up into my throat as worst-case scenarios infiltrate my thoughts. Did he not enjoy himself last night? Did he regret it? Did he only intend to hook up and never speak again? Starr’s ominous words come flooding back without invitation. “There is so much you don’t know about.” Does his disappearing act have something to do with her warning?
Sneaking out while I was asleep is a major dick move, but unfortunately, if that were the case, it isn’t the first time it’s happened. The last asshole to pull that even had the audacity to leave his business card on the pillow!
I risk a glance at the pillow beside me, just in case.
I try to remind myself that Finn isn’t like the other assholes I had the misfortune of dating. If he had to leave urgently and without telling me, there was a reason.
A distant sizzling sound catches my attention. Shit! Had I forgotten to turn my crockpot off last night and caused a fire? I quickly spring from my bed, not bothering to dress before making a B-line for the kitchen. I take the steps two at a time as I internally panic, trying not to imagine what my neighbors will think about me fleeing from a burning house stark naked.
I’m bounding halfway down the stairs when a familiar whiff breaks through my mania. Bacon? I slow my pace as I step onto the cold hardwood floor and am immediately relieved to find my house perfectly not on fire.
“Good morn-,” Finn begins to greet me, clad in yesterday’s clothes and a dorky apron that reads Life Is What You Bake it. His greeting is interrupted as his eyes drop down to my breasts and I remember just how completely bare I am. The mayor wets his lips in an unintentionally attractive way before returning my gaze.
“Um,” he stutters, blushing as he forces his attention back to the breakfast meat on the stove. “I’m sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, a cherry color highlighting the tips of his ears.
“No, no I’m..” I blink a few times in astonishment before crossing my arms over my exposed chest. Why are either one of us apologizing right now? I rub my arm as I realize that this is the awkward “morning after” part, or at least, in my experience, it was always awkward. But it doesn’t have to be.
“I thought the house was on fire,” I giggle despite myself. I watch Finn’s broad shoulders relax at the sound of my laugh, had he been worried?
“Well don’t relax yet, I’m no chef so a house fire is still possible.” He smiles but keeps his gaze glued respectfully to the pan.
“Nice apron,” I tease, nodding to the well-worn garment.
“Be nice,” he shoots me a warning smirk. “It’s Agnes’ so I didn’t get a choice in the color.”
“Purple definitely suits you, I meant the cheesy pun.” I’m able to breathe a sigh of relief knowing my house is not being devastated by a fire and that Finn didn’t run away after our hookup. Not only had he not run away, he appears to be making us food. “Breakfast?” I question.
“Yeah I, um, ran to the grocery store down the street to grab some stuff. I thought you might be hungry.” The small blush that is returning to his high cheekbones causes a bubble of adoration to burst inside of me. Had it really taken me an entire move across the country to find a man who would make me breakfast the morning after phenomenal sex? “It’ll be ready in just a minute. Why don’t you get dressed so I’ll be able to have a single pure thought during our meal?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I joke but ultimately oblige, retracing my steps up the stairs and slipping on my pink robe before returning to the kitchen. Finn had served maple oatmeal with blueberries, toast, and ever so slightly overcooked bacon. As I sit at the table in awe, Finn sets a mug in front of me. I look up at him with a questioning expression.
“Your completely offensive oat milk chai,” he clarifies, fighting a smile before taking the seat across from me. “I might have also stopped at Mystic Brew.”
“Finn, I don’t know what to say.” I laugh in disbelief as I look over the assortment, unable to remember the last time someone had done such a nice and sincere gesture for me. A delicate bushel of Russian sage sits in a thin vase, decorating the center of the table that Finn and I had blessed last night.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he places his large hand on top of mine, cautiously rubbing the top of it with his thumb as if he’s unsure if the intimacy of the gesture is allowed. We had spent a good portion of last night doing the most erotic and unspeakable acts, yet somehow, we are both extremely skittish when it comes to the little things.
I lean across the table and kiss his cheek, the soft pricks of his morning stubble against my lips warming me from the inside out. It’s good to know he isn’t completely perfect; he still has to shave like normal people and may even suffer from morning breath. Knowing that Finn is capable of being flawed makes the idea of him being with me easier to swallow because, while I’m a confident woman, I’m finding it hard to believe I deserve a man like Finn Abernathy.
Finn raises his hand to his cheek, his fingers tracing the spot I had just kissed, a demure smile spreading on his lips. It’s time to admit, I’m falling in love with this man.
* * *
We don’t discuss last night’s events or the status of our current relationship over breakfast. Instead, we talk about our favorite movies, Finn’s being E.T. and I respect that choice since Spielberg directed it, as well as parts of our childhoods, hobbies, likes, and dislikes. All the inconsequential stuff that makes up a large part of who we are. It feels like a proper date; it feels like I’m Finn’s girlfriend, and that scares me as much as it excites me.
I feel so strongly for a person who is living in what was supposed to be a temporary part of my life, but I’m not going to run from my feelings. Even if our future together seems complicated and out of reach, I promised myself that I was going to give Finn and I’s relationship a chance and not lean into my self-destructive tenancies. When the time comes to go back to California, I’ll figure my shit out then. For now, the only thing I want to do is accompany Finn to his plans at the Havenwood community garden, a spot I’m very curious to check out. I’ve never heard of a community garden and wonder how it’s possible for a group of people to grow plants together. The individualism of Los Angeles culture could never.
As I dress for the day, Finn waits patiently on the edge of my bed, which no longer consists of just a mattress on the floor. It had received an upgrade, including a handmade bed frame made of wooden slats. As I had slept this morning, Finn had called in a favor from Micah, who had brought over the frame after breakfast, and the two of them set it up together. It was funny to watch them interact; it seemed like Micah was simultaneously proud yet a bit jealous of Finn for being in my bedroom. Micah made himself scarce quickly after the bed was finished, which I was grateful for. It had allowed Finn and I time for a quickie before getting ready for the day.
I dig into one of my many suitcases and fish out a pair of short denim overalls.
“Are you planning on unpacking? You have a lovely closet that’s probably desperate to be used.” Finn chuckles, watching me dig through dozens of garments to find a matching sock.
“But then you wouldn’t be able to stare at my ass while I bend over into my suitcase.” I shoot him a teasing look over my shoulder and sure enough, his icy blues are studying my backside. He looks away quickly, yet not quick enough, caught in the act. I giggle as I triumphantly find my second sock.
In truth, the thought of unpacking makes me uneasy. It feels like if I unpack then I’m making my stay in Havenwood permanent and abandoning my life and career back in California. But if I continue to live out of my suitcases, then I can stay in this fantasy limbo and pretend that my time here in Massachusetts is unending, much like the way time behaves in a dream.
I do a dramatic spin to give Finn a 360-degree view of my farmer’ s-daughter-inspired outfit, complete with brown leather lace-up boots. He gleams in approval, applauding as I strut down my imaginary runway.
“Beautiful as always.” He compliments genuinely.
“Sorry, were you planning on wearing overalls, too? I can change,” I quip, taking a seat on his knee. Finn wraps his muscular arm around my center, his soft blues looking up at me lovingly. “It’s okay; you wear them better.”
He squeezes me, signaling it’s time for our departure. We have just enough time before we’re due at the community garden to make a stop at Finn’s house so that he can change his outfit. Turns out, it’s bad PR for the mayor to not only be seen in yesterday’s clothes but to arrive in yesterday’s clothes with a woman on his arm.
Finn steps out onto my front porch first and I follow, fiddling with the archaic lock on the front door. Just as I click the lock into place, I notice Finn’s figure stiffen out of my periphery; I turn to him, noting the shocked stare melted onto his handsome face.
“What-?” I don’t immediately register what he’s glaring at, instead, I first notice Agnes standing out on the side walk, a matching expression on her round face. I assume Finn is simply embarrassed that his mom caught him sneaking out of a woman’s house but that’s not what has them upset.
I take a few steps off the front porch and turn around to face the rental house. That’s when I see it. Streams of white coat every peak and corner of 2213 Queen’s Avenue, where the grass was once visible is now a sea of snowy strands. Even the innocent red oak tree in the front yard was not spared. Its once vibrant sprouting leaves are now encased in layers of white. My house had been T.P.ed.
“What are we? Twelve!?” I growl in irritation, envisioning how long the cleanup process will be. Finn wraps an arm around my shoulders, his look of absolute bewilderment slowly fading as he attempts to comfort me.
“Who did this?” He questions softly as he surveys the damage.
“That’s what I would like to know.” Agnes looks genuinely pissed off, her normally soft eyes alight with annoyance. “You’ve been warned.” The words rang in my head. I have to applaud Starr for her cleverness, covering someone’s house in toilet paper is hardly enough of a crime to get the police involved but just enough of an inconvenience to ruin someone’s day. That someone being me.
Finn studies my face as the revelation hits me. “Probably some teenagers from Salem,” He turns to address Agnes, reassuringly wrapping his free arm around her shoulders as well. “I’ll get this cleaned up ASAP, neither of you worry.” Finn squeezes Agnes’ and I’s shoulder in tandem.
“Funny,” Agnes raises a graying eyebrow to Finn, her expression knowing as it always is. “I wonder why teenagers from Salem are upset about you staying the night at Courtney’s house.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, holding back a snort as the color drains from Finn’s caught face. He stumbles over his next few words before Agnes raises a hand, silencing him. “Clean it up, mayor!” She calls as she walks back to her house, decidedly washing her hands of the situation.
Once she’s inside, Finn turns to me, his questioning eyes meeting mine. I sigh, knowing I’ll have to fess up to him about Starr and I’s unpleasant encounter last night.
“Starr paid me a little visit last night before you got here,” I relent. His raven eyebrows knit together, concern draping across his features.
“What did she say to you?” His tone is protective as he searches my face for answers.
“Nothing important, stupid shit to try to make me insecure and drive a wedge between us.” My eyes drift to the strands of toilet paper swaying in the gentle breeze. “Although she did warn me she would exact her revenge. I just didn’t know it would be in the fashion of a prepubescent boy.”
“T.P.ing is a Havenwood tradition,” Finn shakes his head at the immature custom. “You piss someone off, your house gets T.P.ed. You join a sports team, your house gets T.P.ed. It’s your birthday, T.P.. It’s a hazing sort of thing; just ignore it. In fact, ignore her.” Admittedly, my chest warms at the annoyance present on his face when he tells me to ignore Starr, any remaining jealousy draining from me entirely.
“Maybe I should take it as a compliment then? My official baptism as a Havenwoodian.” A smile pulls at Finn’s lips as he presses them to my forehead, the action speaking for itself.
“I’ll make sure this gets cleaned up before the next rain, c’mon, we’ll have to hurry to make it to the gardens by noon.” He takes my hand in his and we set off at a brisk pace, the dangling pieces of toilet paper waving us goodbye.