Chapter 19
Finn
HOOKED ON A FEELING BY BLUE SWEDE, BJORN SKIFS
The tiki torches flicker against the night sky, throwing gold light over everything.
Cal’s laughing at something Savvy said, leaning back in his chair like a man who didn’t know he was going to catch feelings this week.
Rowan’s next to me, one bare knee brushing against mine under the table, and it’s so damn comfortable I almost forget this is our last night here.
The table’s covered in empty drink glasses and half-eaten appetizers. A breeze rolls off the ocean, and somewhere in the background, someone’s playing guitar. It shouldn’t feel perfect, but it does.
Savvy looks happy, which is a miracle considering how the trip started for her. She deserves a fun time with Cal.
Her ex showed up earlier at the bar like some cheap romcom villain, sunglasses still on after sunset, and the smuggest face I’ve ever wanted to punch.
Savvy froze, all color draining out of her face.
Before I could even stand, Cal was up like it was instinct.
He slung his arm around her shoulders, leaned in close, and said loud enough for the guy to hear, “Hey, babe. You want another drink?”
The ex blinked like he’d been punched. “Babe?”
“Yup,” Cal said, grinning wide, daring him to do something stupid.
The guy started sputtering some nonsense about “unfinished business,” but Rowan stepped right up next to Savvy, and I moved in beside them. That guy didn’t stand a chance.
“Time to scram,” I told him, voice flat. “She’s not interested.”
He actually looked at me like he might say something back, but then Cal’s grin sharpened a little, and I think the guy saw his life flash before his eyes. He muttered something about a “misunderstanding” and left with his tail between his legs.
Savvy had tears in her eyes, the holy shit, I’m free kind. Rowan hugged her like they’d been best friends for years. Because that's how Rowan is. She's a momma bear through and through. You don't mess with her or the people she cares about.
And now… here we are. All of us at dinner, full of drinks, and pretending tomorrow morning isn’t creeping closer when we have to go home and face real life.
And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about how things are going to go when we go back to real daily life.
What if we go back to the way we were and not how we are now? Because I love how we are now.
Cal leans over and says something to Savvy that makes her snort into her cocktail. Her hand brushes his, and he doesn’t move it.
Rowan squeezes my knee under the table. “You’re a good man, Finn Bennett,” she murmurs, and I swear the whole world could stop right now and I wouldn’t give a shit.
“Nah,” I say, grinning. “Cal’s the one who went full knight in shining armor tonight.”
“True,” she says. “But you looked ready to deck him if he didn’t leave.”
She’s not wrong. I hate guys like that think they can treat a woman like that and get away with it.
By the time we ended up at the tiki bar dancing, the night’s soaked in warmth and salt air. Fairy lights loop between the palms, and the little band on stage is playing something too upbeat for anyone to sit still.
Rowan tugs my hand and drags me onto the dance floor, her hair catching the light, her laughter carrying over the music. She’s barefoot, spinning in the sand like the world is hers, and I swear my chest might crack open just watching her.
I pull her in close. She loops her arms around my neck, looking up at me with that look that does me in every single time.
“You’re staring at me,” she whispers, her eyes locked on mine in a place of being half buzzed and half in love.
“Yeah,” I admit. “And you told me you loved me last night.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She presses her forehead against mine, and for a second, the music fades out, and all I feel is her. “I love you so much, Finn.”
I kiss her softly and murmur, “I love you so much, baby.”
Over by the bar, Cal’s got an arm slung around Savvy’s shoulder. She’s laughing, looking up at him like she didn’t expect to meet a good guy here. I catch his eye over her head, and he grins at me.
I hold Rowan tighter, swaying with her until the song ends, then another one starts, and neither of us moves to leave. If I could trap this night in amber, I would.
We say our final goodbyes to everyone and head out. We hold hands and take our time walking the beach on the way back to the cottage. Neither of us say anything and enjoy the evening, the palm trees making beautiful shadows against the starry night sky.
Back at the cottage, I look at our pile of packed bags ready to go for our early morning flight. I'm sad this trip is coming to an end, but it will always be a special trip for us. The trip that tipped us over the edge and got us together, finally.
She turns on the shower and steps in, glancing back at me through the steam. “You coming?”
I don’t need a second invitation.
The water’s hot, and the tile fogs up instantly. She presses her hands to my chest, eyes searching mine. “I can't believe we're really leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
Her lips find mine, and everything else falls away. Water runs down her back as I lift her against me, her breath catching when my hands trace her hips.
It’s slow, desperate, and beautiful.
She wraps her legs around me and I pound into her, making her moan and pant into my shoulder as I tell her, “You're mine, Rowan. Mine. No matter where we are.”
When we finish and the water is starting to run cold, she rests her forehead against mine, both of us still under the spray, breathing the same air.
“I don’t want to go back,” she whispers.
“I know,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her lips. “But Wisteria Cove's home. And wherever you are, that's where home is.”
She laughs softly, watery and real. “We're going home two completely different people.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No.”
“Good,” I say. “I don't care who we are, as long as we're together.”
She falls asleep in my arms, hair still damp, the sheets twisted around us. The moonlight sneaks through the curtains, soft and silvery. I watch her breathe for a while, wondering how I got so lucky.
She looks peaceful. Maybe a little too peaceful for a woman who’s changed my entire life. I hope she always feels like she's enough for me and knows how incredible she is. She's everything to me and I'm going to make sure she knows that.
Our bags are ready to go, and our ride is scheduled. But I’ve got a feeling that this magic isn't going to wear off when the plane takes off in the morning.
The first thing I notice is the smell of rain that fills the air from the open windows. The second thing I notice is Rowan, warm and snuggled into my chest, her knee hooked over my thigh like she’s trying to anchor me to her, and I don't mind at all.
The sky is still dark, mostly because it looks like we're going to get a storm. Above us, the fan turns slowly. Her hair tickles my collarbone. I slide my palm along her spine, and she sighs without waking.
Our alarm hasn’t gone off yet, and the numbers on the clock glow at 5:11. I kiss the top of her head. She murmurs something that sounds like my name. My entire chest squeezes.
The breeze pushes the curtains, and they sway like they’re dancing. The air is cooler, a whisper of rain on hot sand. Rowan wiggles closer until she’s nearly on top of me, hand sliding to rest on my stomach.
“Morning,” I whisper.
“Five more,” she mumbles into my throat. “Minutes. Years. Preferably years.”
“Years might make us miss our flight. And we get to go home to Allen. I hope he still remembers us."
“I do miss, Allen.” She peeks up, sleep-soft eyes and pillow-creased cheek. “Of course he'll remember us."
We lay there and her fingertips trace idle circles across my ribs. I only know that I can’t imagine not waking up like this. Not hearing her little morning-croak voice.
“You’re staring,” she says, eyes still closed.
“Not my fault.” I nudge her nose with mine. “You make it hard not to.”
“Flattery accepted.” She kisses my chin, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. “Payment due.”
“Invoice me.”
I roll and pin her gently, sheets sliding, her laughter warm against my mouth.
The storm smell deepens, and a shiver runs through the room.
Goose bumps kiss her shoulders, and I smooth them away with my palms, slow circles, slow breath.
We keep it soft. Lazy. Sunday morning is slow, even though it’s not Sunday and it’s not morning enough to count, and we're going back to real life today.
When I pull back, her lips are a little swollen, and she looks like trouble I’d gladly sign up for every time.
“What time?” she asks, stretching like a cat.
“Car’s at six thirty.” I glance at the clock. “We’ve got time.”
“For coffee?” she says.
“For whatever you want.” I kiss her forehead. “Always.”
She rolls onto her back, hair spilling everywhere, and stares up at the ceiling. “Do we have time for me to stress spiral about what life is going to look like for us back in Wisteria Cove together?”
“No,” I say, and hook an arm around her middle. “We have time for me to distract you.”
“You’re very useful.” She pats my chest. “Like a human Swiss Army knife. With abs.”
“I’ll add that to my résumé, right next to my official title of Power Ranger Ken.”
She laughs and we finally peel ourselves out of bed and stumble to the tiny kitchen.
The first drops of rain hit the porch while the coffee maker fills.
Rowan stands at the screen door, my shirt hanging off one shoulder, watching the rain begin.
It starts tentatively, then commits, the way she did with me.
I too have been thinking about what life will look like for us back at home, together, and I can't wait. I've wanted this for so long.
Outside, thunder rolls and the cottage smells like coffee and rain and her shampoo, which I’m not above stealing when we get home. We drink, hips touching, and count lightning like kids. She smiles whenever I miscount on purpose just so she’ll correct me.
Rowan sighs and leans her head on my shoulder. “Okay,” she says. “We do this.”
“We do this,” I echo.
We move through the cottage like a team that has practiced. I wash the mugs. She folds the blankets. I zip my bag. She tries to zip hers, gets the fabric stuck, and swears in a voice most sailors would respect. I kneel, fix it, look up into eyes that are bright for the wrong reason.
“Hey.” I touch her knee. “We’ll come back.”
“I know.” Her mouth tilts. “I still reserve the right to be dramatic.”
“Wouldn’t dream of stopping you.” I stand and kiss her. “Dramatic is one of my favorite Rowan features.”
She laughs and sniffs at the same time.
She checks under the bed even though neither of us put anything there.
I do one last sweep of the bathroom and grab her forgotten mascara, and we pull our suitcases to the door.
The rain thickens, a proper tropical curtain now.
Rowan watches it like it’s a movie she’s seen a hundred times and still cries at.
“It’s like Coconut Beach is crying,” she says, voice small and a little wobbly. “Because we’re leaving and our trip is over.”
I step in close and tip her chin up. “Our trip is over.” I kiss her. “Our new life together is just starting, baby.”
Her breath catches. For a second she searches my face like she’s reading fine print on the contract. Then she nods once, decisive, like she’s choosing us again on purpose.
“Okay,” she whispers. “You're right."
I tuck her into my chest and sway to the rhythm of the rain. Stupid and sappy and perfect. If anyone asked me when exactly I surrendered, I’d say right now. In a wet doorway with her heart thumping against my shirt and the whole island applauding in water.
The car isn’t here yet. We’ve got twenty minutes to kill and a storm to play in.
“Come on,” I say, and grab her hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating breakfast.” I say as I kneel down in front of her and pull her legs down and put my mouth right on that pussy that's wet just for me.
“I'll melt,” she warns.
“Then I’d better eat you fast if you're going to melt.”
Her eyes flash and she moans. “Finn.”
“What.” I grin as I lick, suck, and pull her into my face.
She shakes her head like she can’t take it and absolutely can. I grip her legs with my hands and keep going until she trembles and comes on my mouth.
“Finn,” she murmurs.
Our driver pulls up and I stand, wiping my mouth with my hand, “Go freshen up, baby. I'll load our bags,” I say with a smirk.
“You're going to pay for that, later,” she mutters.
“I can't wait,” I tell her and grab the bags and carry them down to the car while she gets herself together. Yeah, I'm going to have fun with Rowan.
We're in the back of the car headed to the airport when she lays her head on my shoulder and says, “Say the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That our new life is starting.”
“Our new life is starting,” I say into her hair. “Today. With coffee and rain and an airport that will probably lose our luggage.”
She laughs. "I hope not."
“Ready?” I ask.
“No,” she says. Then she smiles. “Yes.”
Rowan grabs my hand on the seat between us. I turn my palm up and pull her fingers to my mouth. I kiss her knuckles slowly. One, two, three, the rhythm we’ve invented, the way to say everything without embarrassing ourselves in front of a stranger.
She watches, eyes shining in the wet morning light.
The driver asks a polite question about the radio and Rowan picks a station of rock. I pull her closer. She rests her head on my shoulder and watches Coconut Beach glide by through a film of rain.
The island is crying, or maybe it is baptizing us. I just know the road out looks like a path we take together, and my chest feels loose in a way that makes room for the future.
The airport sign appears around the curve. She squeezes my hand once, firm and sure. I squeeze back.