Chapter 16
Rowan
A BAR SONG (TIPSY) BY SHABOOZEY
The light is soft when I wake up, a hazy gold that always makes everything look a little dreamlike. The ceiling fan hums lazily, the air warm and salty, the waves outside soft like background noise.
And then I realize why my breath is already catching.
Finn's between my legs, the sheet pushed down, his hands on my thighs, his mouth on me. He's slow and intentional and making my body vibrate from his tongue.
I let out a soft, startled sound that melts into something breathless and want-drunk. His grip tightens, and everything inside me pulls taut like a bowstring. It’s not just the way it feels—it’s the way he looks at me when he lifts his eyes, like I’m something he’s waited his whole life to have.
I fist the sheet in my hands, trying to stay quiet, but a laugh gets tangled up in the moan that escapes me. Of course, this is how he wakes me up. Of course, Finn is both a menace and a dream.
“Finn…” My voice breaks around his name, shaky and low.
He makes a soft murmuring sound against me that feels like it slides straight up my spine, and I arch up against him, already dizzy from how good it is the way he moves like he knows just what to give me.
And then, right before I feel like I'm going to come harder than I ever have in my entire life, the universe has a sick sense of humor and there’s a knock at the door.
I freeze, still breathless. Finn groans low into my skin like he’s personally offended.
Another knock. Louder this time. “Rowan? Finn?”
Shit, it's Birdie.
Birdie. The witchy, Stevie Nicks–esque Coconut Beach auntie who’s basically everyone’s fairy godmother and neighborhood gossip in one. She owns one of the neighboring cottages and I’ve known her since we were teenagers coming here.
I slap a hand over my mouth, half laughing, half dying. “Oh my God, of course this is the moment Birdie comes over,” I whisper.
Finn lifts his head, hair a mess, face flushed, looking like pure sin. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, voice rough. “Ignore her. She'll go away.”
Please go away, I look up in silent prayer. I need Finn. Right now, I need this orgasm.
The knocking continues. “I know you’re in there, sleepyheads,” Birdie sings out. “I brought donuts and coffee.”
Of course, she brought my favorite donuts, and it's obvious that she's not leaving.
I scramble, nearly tripping over the sheets, and hiss, “Get dressed.”
Finn smirks up at me, still sprawled out, very pleased with himself. “Pretty sure I was in the middle of something.”
I throw his shirt at him. “Pretty sure Birdie just heard my almost orgasm, so move. Let's get this over with.”
He laughs under his breath, a warm, low rumble that makes my stomach flip even now, and hauls himself up just as I peek through the window.
Birdie stands on the porch in her flowy floral kaftan, hair loose, probably smelling faintly of sage and patchouli like always.
When we're both dressed, I finally open the door. Her eyes twinkle as she looks between me—flushed, probably glowing—and Finn, who is absolutely not hiding his smug grin at all.
“Well,” she says, tapping her painted fingernails against the door frame, looking pleased, “I see that you two have finally figured out what we’ve all known for a long time.”
I resist the urge to hide in the bathroom in mortification. “Morning, Birdie.”
She breezes past me into the cottage like she owns the place. “I just got back into town. I had to see for myself what everyone has been talking about between you two. How’s Donna? Does she know you two are finally a couple?”
Finn chokes on a laugh behind me. I glare at him, which only makes him laugh harder.
“Donna’s good,” Finn says with a grin as he helps her with the drink carrier. “Working on a new book. And no, this is…new.”
“Mmhm, she’s going to like this. And of course she’s on another deadline. I don’t know how she does it. On my way back, I spotted someone in the airport reading her newest book. It's my favorite so far,” she adds.
“You say that about every book she writes,” Finn teases. He's always had a closeness with Birdie. Her, Donna, and my mom have been friends for a long time, and we always had get-togethers when we'd come down here. She's been up to visit Donna and my mom too.
Birdie gets a little more serious when she says, “And how’s Pete?”
Finn gets quiet, and I know Pete has been on his mind every day since we've been here, as well as mine.
“He's good for right now. Just taking every day as a gift,” I tell her softly.
“Oh, good. I was hoping he was still raisin' hell. Pete’s a good man.”
Birdie is already making herself at home like she lives here as she unwraps the box on the counter. The scent of cinnamon sugar and warm dough fill the cottage, making my mouth water. I love the donuts from Boardwalk Donuts, especially when they’re still warm and fresh.
Finn and I try not to be awkward like two teenagers who just got caught making out in the backseat of a car.
He’s wearing low-slung board shorts and nothing else, still flushed, hair mussed from my hands.
I’m drowning in one of his T-shirts, hair everywhere, thighs still shaky and tender from his touch.
“Nothing like the smell of sugar and sin in the morning,” Birdie says, voice all breezy mischief.
Finn actually chokes on the water he’s pretending to drink. I whip my head toward him, wide-eyed. He just grins like the smug little shit he is.
“Birdie,” I huff, unable to keep from smiling.
“What?” she says, feigning innocence so badly it’s practically a performance. “I didn’t say anything specific. But sweetie, you’ve got the glow. Don’t even try to deny it.”
I press my palms to my face. “Oh my God.”
Finn leans close to my ear and whispers, “She’s not wrong.” I elbow him so hard he laughs.
Birdie sets out the donuts like she’s hosting brunch for royalty, then plants her hands on her hips.
“It’s good to see you two together. Been years since you’ve been down here at the same time.
Donna used to say she couldn’t tell if you were going to get married or blow something up together. You’ve always been thick as thieves.”
“Both are still on the table,” Finn mutters.
I nudge him and he doesn’t flinch. Just smiles that soft, wicked smile that gets me in trouble.
Birdie raises a brow like she definitely notices the under-the-table shenanigans. “Mmhm. Well, you’ve got that look of love, Rowan.” She waves a hand at Finn. “And this one has the energy of a man who’s about to do something about it.”
Finn laughs, leans back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, looking entirely too good for someone who was just nearly caught between my thighs ten minutes ago. “Oh, Birdie,” he says.
Birdie grins like she can feel the tension radiating between us. “Ah, young love. Or whatever we’re calling it these days.”
“Birdie,” I say, dragging out her name, half mortified, half laughing.
She chuckles. “Relax. I’m just happy for you two.”
Birdie chatters about her garden, the moon cycle, and some neighbor who has just moved to the beach.
Finn listens and laughs. And that's one of the things I love about Finn.
He always makes people feel seen and heard.
He is almost always present and when you're talking to him, he's really listening.
In whatever Finn is doing, he's all in. I love just being with him and talking.
And somewhere between her talking, I catch him looking back at me. Not in the “I want to get you naked” way (though, yeah, that’s probably in there too), but in the real way. The kind that says: this isn’t just a fling.
My stomach does that fluttery, terrifying thing.
Birdie reaches for another donut and says, “Well, this is nice. Don’t screw it up, kids.” Then she breezes out the door as if she didn’t just casually light our morning on fire and walk away.
The second the door clicks shut, Finn bursts out laughing.
“She’s the best meddler,” he says between laughs.
“She knows everything.” I groan, hiding my face in my hands.
Finn pulls me in, laughter still hot against my throat, but there’s something darker underneath it like he’s thinking about exactly where his mouth was before we got interrupted. “Yeah.”
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask, pretending I’m capable of a normal conversation when I can still feel the ghost of his tongue on me.
“It’s a surprise.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me slowly, as if he knows I’m still aching and he’s enjoying every second of it. His lips taste like heat and control and the kind of trouble that leaves bite marks.
I try to act casual even though my pulse is pounding between my legs instead of my wrist. My fingers tap restlessly on the mug. “So… about earlier,” I murmur, voice dropping into something shameless, “when you were so rudely interrupted…”
I lean closer, lips brushing his ear. “Are you planning to finish what you started? Or are you really going to make me wait through your whole little surprise while I’m still so wet for you?”
Finn freezes for half a breath. His smile is slow, filthy, hungry. I’m in big trouble now.
“Baby,” he says, voice scraping low as his hand slides down to my thigh, “if you’re still that wet for me, I could make you come right here on this counter before the coffee even cools.”
A shiver shoots through me so hard. He grazes his thumb over my lower lip, tugging it down.
“You want me to fuck you now?” he asks softly.
“Right here?” His hand tightens on my thigh, dragging me a half-inch closer.
“Or do you want to spend the next hour thinking about my mouth right where it left off when all you had to do was ask?”
I swallow hard, heat rolling through me so sharp it’s almost painful. “Finn…”
He grins, wicked and victorious. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” His knuckles brush the inside of my thigh and I actually gasp.
“Tell me,” he whispers, “how wet are you for me not letting me finish you?”