Chapter 11 Finn
Finn
IN THE SUMMERTIME BY MUNGO JERRY
“Sorry,” she mutters, shifting for the third time in ten minutes. She smells like coconut lotion and mint gum, and I swear this middle seat suddenly feels like first class.
Did airplane seats get smaller or did humanity just collectively bulk up?
“It’s fine,” I whisper, already leaning into her so I don’t crush the poor guy on the aisle.
He’s built like me with broad shoulders, and zero legroom.
We’re two full-grown men crammed into a row built for toddlers.
The tray tables in front of us might as well be decorative.
If one of us tries to lower it, someone’s losing a rib.
But the thing is, leaning into Rowan doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. It feels stupidly good, like it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Her shoulder presses against mine, warm and soft. Her thigh is flush with my leg, sending these electric little sparks up through me like a power surge.
I could sit like this for hours. Hell, she could crawl into my lap, and I’d gladly be put on a no-fly list.
I try to act normal, like my pulse isn’t doing cartwheels, like I’m not thinking about how damn easy it would be to tip my head and rest it against hers.
Best friends. That’s what this is. Just two best friends on a flight.
Half an hour in, she let her head fall against my shoulder. My heart does a high five with itself because this is shaping up to be an even better trip than I dreamed it could be.
The flight attendant stops to take our drink orders, and she glances over at Rowan laying on me and gives me a smile, she says, “Will your wife want anything?”
I shake my head, smile, and don’t correct her. Because I love the sound of that so much. Wife. I dream that to be true. It feels so good to pretend for a second.
At our layover, we’re at a restaurant and bar, she’s sipping a fruity cocktail with a tiny pink umbrella like we’re in the opening scene of a summer romcom where the two idiots at the bar don’t realize they’re each other’s plot twist.
I try to play it cool while she leans her elbows on the counter and props her chin in her hand, all casual and dangerous. It’s unfair, honestly. Nobody should be allowed to look that good while holding a drink with a paper umbrella.
“So, Coconut Ken.”
I grin and play along with her. “So, Beach Barbie.”
Her mouth curves up like she’s already plotting trouble. “Should we set our dating apps to Coconut Beach and see what our odds are of meeting the love of our lives?”
I snort. “No.”
Hell no.
She tilts her head, teasing. “Why not? I mean, clearly, we’re not hitting the jackpot in Wisteria Cove. Maybe we just needed to expand our horizons.”
“I like my horizons just fine,” I deadpan.
Because my horizon is currently sitting across from me, twirling a drink umbrella and making my brain crash out with the idea of her on a date with anyone in Coconut Beach.
She lets out a soft laugh and lifts her drink, eyes bright.
“It’s probably for the best anyway. I’ve decided I’m not wasting time on anyone who doesn’t match my energy,” she says, voice soft but certain.
“I want someone who’s just as obsessed with me as I am with them.
Mutual chaos. Ride-or-die vibes is what I’m going for. ”
I nearly choke on my drink. Of course she describes the exact way I already feel about her.
Our server drops a tray of appetizers between us, mozzarella sticks, southwest eggrolls, chicken bites, which is a great distraction from this conversation.
She twirls the umbrella between her fingers, completely unaware that she’s short-circuiting my brain with every small movement.
“Coconut Beach is full of hot strangers,” she says, flashing that grin that kills me every damn time.
“You’re totally going to fall for some sun-kissed Barbie named Tinley.
Or Savannah. She’ll wear those tiny bikinis, have perfect beach waves and a flower in her hair.
You’ll fall madly on your Coconut Beach Ken face. ”
I snort. “Sounds so cliché.”
She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t mean any of this. In fact, if I had to guess, she’s nervous that I would meet someone and that is what she’s afraid of right now. “That’s because it is cliché.”
I lean in a little, voice low. “Nah. I’m more into hexy witches who steal all the cheese sticks.”
She pauses, mid–mozzarella stick grab and gives me a look of surprise.
I wink at her, smirking, and let her do with that whatever she will. Because I don’t want anyone else. I never have.
Yeah. My horizons are exactly where I want them.
She points her fork at me after she spears a chicken bite, trying to change the subject because she’s nervous.
“Or maybe we should just have a love free week. Just time to recharge. I’m not wasting my energy on some random dude in Coconut Beach when I could relax on vacation.
No more half-assed energy. I want full ass. ”
My brain: You’re the one I want.
My mouth: “Oh yeah? That’s a lot of ass.”
I don’t tell her I want a love free week. Because that’s the last thing I want. What I want is for her to see me right in front of her and want me back. But I’ll give her whatever she wants.
She laughs soft and low and leans a little closer for the air to shift. “But if you did end up matching with someone who owns a boat, I’m inviting myself. That’s non-negotiable.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be awkward at all.” I chuckle.
“We’re going to be busy having such a good time, there’ll no time for awkwardness,” she says bringing her straw to her lips and I have to look away to keep from staring.
“Don’t worry,” I murmur, my voice dropping into that quiet space meant only for her. “I’ve already got plans to have a fun week.”
Her head tilts, curiosity sparking in her eyes like I just dangled a secret in front of her. “Yeah? Who? Does Cal have someone he’s setting you up with?”
I bark out a laugh. Of course, she thinks Cal’s involved.
Cal, my cousin, the professional flirt, Coconut Beach’s unofficial bad decision mascot. The guy can’t commit to a sandwich, let alone setting me up with someone. And also, Rowan is very much off limits to Cal, and I’ll make sure he knows it.
I lean in just enough that she has to tip her chin up to keep her eyes on mine. Her breath catches, and I swear the air gets thicker between us.
“If I told you,” I say, letting a grin tug at the corner of my mouth, “I’d ruin all the fun.”
Her knees brush mine under the table, her coconut scent messing with my ability to think straight. Then her gaze flicks down to my mouth and it’s quick, unintentional, lethal.
For half a second, the entire airport melts away.
It’s just us. That tiny, electric space between wanting and almost…
And God, if she leaned in even an inch, I’d kiss her right here.
Right in the middle of this overpriced restaurant with bad lighting and plastic menus.
I’d make her forget that fucking app and all those losers she’s dated on there.
Then some guy two seats down laughs way too loud, snapping the spell. She blinks, laughs softly, and shakes her head like she’s shaking off the moment.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” she says, bright and easy.
I grin, leaning back just enough to keep it light, but my voice comes out lower than I mean it to. “Yeah,” I murmur, holding her gaze. “But just so you know… I’m planning on being your favorite part of it.”
When we drive into Coconut Beach, it feels like walking straight into a postcard.
Palm trees sway like they’re saying welcome back, and the air smells like salty sea air and food from the taco truck parked on the street.
I’ve spent a lot of time here as a kid. My mom has a younger sister who lives here, and my cousin Cal.
“Here’s your song,” I tell her as I play In The Summertime by Mungo Jerry.
She laughs and dances to it, the breeze flowing through our open sunroof and windows.
Rowan pulls her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head and I resist the urge to release it and let it be wild.
Her cheeks are a little flushed, lips soft and pink, and there’s still a slight crease on her cheek from where she leaned against me on the plane and napped on the way here on our last flight.
She looks like summer: warm, bright, impossible to look away from. And damn if it doesn’t knock the breath right out of me.
The cottage is exactly how I remember it, but somehow it is even better now that I am standing here with Rowan beside me.
Heat wraps around me the second I step out of the car, thick and soft like a warm blanket.
Humidity clings to my skin, carrying the sharp tang of salt and the sweetness of something blooming nearby.
The ocean is close enough that I can hear the waves rolling in slow, steady breaths, each one brushing the shore with a sound like a long exhale.
Sunlight pours through the palm trees, catching on the bright pink bougainvillea climbing the porch railings.
The cottage sits beneath it all, small and whitewashed, the paint a little weathered, the blue shutters faded from years of salt and sun.
It looks like a place that has stories soaked straight into the wood.
The front steps creak in that familiar way under my feet.
A soft breeze moves through the wind chimes hanging from the corner of the porch, sending a light, tinkling sound across the air.
The smell hits me next. Sun-warmed wood.
Coconut sunscreen left over from who knows how many summers.
Citrus from the lemon trees flanking the walkway.
A hint of ocean spray drifting in through the open windows.