Chapter 23
Finn
HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE RAIN BY CREEDANCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL
Marilyn’s the last damn person I want to see behind the mayor’s receptionist desk as I come in for a meeting that I've been dreading. She’s chewing her gum slowly, tapping her pen against a stack of manila folders in an annoying beat.
Of course, she’s wearing a saccharine smile that means she’s about to say something awful in a nice tone. I hate it when people do that. I don’t do passive aggression very well. Just be aggressive for fuck’s sake. Why people are like this, I don’t understand.
“Well, well,” she says, voice high and fake. “If it isn’t Finnegan Bennett. What are you doing here?”
I give her a blank look. “Marilyn,” I say flatly. “Didn’t know you still worked for the mayor, given your close relationship.”
“Oh, just helping out until I can go full-time at the Pilates studio,” she purrs, twirling her pen, ignoring the jab. “You know me, always keeping busy.”
“Busy ruining other businesses, yeah,” I mutter.
Her eyes narrow, but the smile doesn’t drop. “I'll let the mayor know you're here,” she says, pressing the intercom button with one of those super long bright red talon nails. “Finnegan Bennett says he's here for a meeting.” She enunciates Finnegan as if she knows that it will get under my skin.
None of this feels right. I don’t want to be here. I want to turn and walk right back out to my truck. But I want to figure out what Sammy’s up to.
A crackle on the phone, then Sammy’s voice, “Send him in.”
She leans back, nails clicking against the desk as she gives me a slow once-over, my jeans, work boots, polo shirt. “Try not to track dirt into his office. The mayor’s not much for… grime.”
I smile sweetly. “Relax. I rinsed off with the tears of people who peaked in high school, like yourself.”
Her mouth drops open.
I tilt my head. “Kidding. Sort of.” Then I push through the door without looking back. That one was for Rowan.
Sammy Briggs’s office smells like expensive coffee and political bullshit and I hate it. This place feels so off and I don't want to be here. The flowers on his desk are fake, the leather chair behind it shines like he polishes it more than he works in it.
He’s waiting with that too-bright smile, Mayor Sammy, king of ribbon cuttings and small talk that doesn’t equal action. Two men in tailored suits sit across from his desk, flipping through glossy renderings and blueprints that resemble sales pitches more than construction plans.
The door shuts behind me, and for a second, the only sound is the faint hum of the air conditioner.
Sammy stands, all charm. “Finn Bennett. Appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
I nod, keeping my voice flat. “You said it was urgent.”
“It is.” He gestures for me to sit and slides a thin folder across the table. “Before we start, standard procedure. Nondisclosure agreement. Just protects city plans. Won’t take a second.”
I glance down at the NDA. The top of the page looks routine, but there’s fine print halfway down about “project scope participation.”
My gut twitches. “This seems extreme.”
He smiles as if I just told a cute joke. “It’s just protocol, Bennett. A requirement from the city.”
One of the men sitting with him, with his slicked-back hair and shiny large watch, chimes in. “Can’t show you the magic until the paperwork’s official.”
I should walk out. But my brain drifts straight home, and I can see her there.
I picture Rowan barefoot in the kitchen that I haven’t finished yet, hair up in a messy knot, sunlight spilling over her shoulders.
Her laugh echoes off half-painted walls.
Her coffee mug resting on the kitchen table.
She has plants all over the house and has decorated it to her own style, making it her own.
I picture her leaning over the counter I still haven’t installed, taste-testing something she made on the stove, pretending not to notice me staring. I can see her hips swaying to whatever song’s playing while she cooks, her soft hum carrying through the house.
That’s what all this work is for. Every nail, every splinter, every late-night sanding down trim, it’s all for her.
If I can finish it and give her something whole and solid, maybe she’ll finally believe and see that what we have is real.
So I sign, hoping to get this over quickly.
“Perfect,” Sammy says, snatching the folder back like a magician palming a card. “Now, let’s talk opportunity.”
He flips the plans around, flattening them on the desk. “This,” he says, “is the future of Wisteria Cove.”
The drawings stretch across the desk are bright, bold lines carving through the map of downtown. My stomach sinks fast.
What the actual fuck is all this?
Those red lines slice straight through the block that holds Willa's bookstore and Rowan's apothecary. The heart of Main Street looks nothing like it does now. It's full of chain restaurants, all the small-town New England charm gone. It's a disaster, and it’s repulsive. I don’t want to live in a town that looks like this. If this happens to the town, it’ll be ruined.
“What the hell is all this?" I ask slowly, looking around expecting this to all be a sick joke. This isn’t Wisteria Cove. This is terrible.
“This is us revitalizing the town,” Sammy corrects, grinning. “New sidewalks, new frontage. A modern look for a new era.”
Then it dawns on me that these two guys in the suits are the developers. Lovely.
The developer to his left adds, “We’re introducing commercial chain potential. Tourists love that.”
Commercial chain potential. Jesus. I look over and everything that is there now is replaced by bright neon chain stores that is nothing like Wisteria Cove is now.
It's terrible and right down the street from my new house that is now rezoned and most of the sidewalk taken out and part of the yard in an imminent domain commandeering.
“That's my house, Briggs,” I say as I point to it.
“We're offering an honest and reasonable amount of money for the properties that have to make room for the new businesses.”
I skip right past that part, because there’s no universe, parallel or otherwise, where I’d ever agree to something that stupid.
What really knots my stomach is knowing the town has no clue what kind of chaos Sammy’s cooking up behind closed doors.
The kind that could gut Wisteria Cove from the inside out.
“You’re talking about demolishing businesses and homes,” I say, my voice rising. “Shops and homes that have stood for generations. People’s livelihoods.”
Sammy’s smile is all politician-slick. “We’re improving everything. Everyone will be compensated. It’s called progress, Bennett. We’re evolving to better the town.”
I arch a brow. “Into what? Strip malls?”
He steeples his fingers, studying me. “Let's just keep all of this professional.”
My heart pounds. “You can’t just—these are family businesses and homes. On what planet do you think anyone in this town would agree to any of this?”
He leans back, his smile never slipping. “Sometimes you have to make tough calls for the greater good. And for you—well, this contract could mean stability. You want that, don’t you?”
Something in my chest ices over. “You don’t know anything about me or what I want."
“I know that you signed this NDA. So, you can’t talk about this with anyone. Besides, I’m giving you a shot to be a part of this. We’re going to do big things, Bennett. I can make you a very rich man.”
I glare at him, trying to decide if I should shove his face into the wall or light that NDA on fire and let his whole office burn down.
He waves a hand. “Come on now. I know you can convince the town that this is a solid plan. After all, word is you're with one of the Marens now.”
The room goes silent when all three of them see my face. My knuckles tighten on the arm of the chair.
“You ever bring up any of the Marens again,” I say quietly, “and this meeting ends with you picking your teeth out of the carpet.”
The two developers stiffen and Sammy’s grin flickers. “You signed this, Bennett,” he says, tapping the folder. “You’re in. Try to back out now, and I’ll make sure every project your business is attached to gets audited, delayed, or denied. I will ruin you and everyone around you.”
He’s still smiling when he says it. That’s what makes it worse.
He’s one sick bastard. You know, he made a few mistakes here that he’s about to learn from.
Number one, anytime anyone tries to strongarm me, it never ends well for them.
And anytime anyone threatens someone or the town that I love, well… they’re about to meet a new Finn.
I stand and the chair screeches back. “We’re done.”
“You’ll regret this,” he says softly in a singsong voice.
“Not as much as you will,” I growl, and storm out before I break something I can’t afford to replace.
In the hallway, Marilyn looks up when I blow through the door. “Oh,” she says lightly, “how was it?”
“Go to hell, Marilyn,” I say without looking at her.
“Already here, sweetie,” she calls after me. “It’s called City Hall!”
This town’s about to find out what happens when the wrong people get pissed off.
By the time I get to the farmer's market, it's in full swing.
Booths line up on both sides of Main Street around the square, string lights glowing against the early evening sky.
The air smells like kettle corn, fresh bread, and sea salt drifting in off the bay.
Kids run past holding ice cream cones, and the band on the corner is playing something upbeat.
It’s the kind of night that makes you forget villains like Sammy Briggs who always think they’re untouchable. They’re about to learn otherwise.