Chapter Seven #8
He laughed, a real laugh, and Flora noticed that she liked it. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile wide and easy like his brother’s… but better.
She looked away, hoping he couldn’t read minds, then cleared her throat and turned the volume up. “I like this song.”
They rounded another corner. The entire drive up was nothing but turns, tight corners, and drops that sometimes made Flora sick. She happy she wasn’t on the bus.
An old Hozier song came through the speakers. Of course, Finn had done research and found all her public playlists. A week ago, after the concert, he’d built a playlist—Flora’s Siren Songs—a private collection engineered to her exact taste.
Flora reached over and turned the volume up.
They were approaching the estate gates. Finn had a choice to make—drop her off like he said or do something very unexpected.
He drove past the gates.
Flora said nothing. She just rolled the window down.
They were going on a drive.
It was a sunny day—about seventy-two in the sun, cooler in the shade—and the afternoon was just beginning. They had the speaker turned up to drown everything else out.
“This is a good playlist!” she called, hair blowing everywhere. “You’ve got better taste than I expected.”
“What? You think this is impressive?”
“Kind of! Not every guy likes B?RNS.”
Finn was having to make stuff up now. “Love her.”
Flora threw her head back laughing. “Oh my gosh, that’s funny. I think Allison thought he was a girl forever until she saw an album cover and realized he’s a guy. But he does sound like a girl.”
Finn heaved a sigh at his luck. He’d just assumed it was a girl based on the sound of the voice. Flora thought he’d been making a joke.
“He’s super talented,” he said, recovering.
“You know, I’ve wanted a record player forever,” she went on as they sped down the hill. “My dad has a copy of the original Sticky Fingers vinyl, like disc fifty or something, and I want to hear Can’t You Hear Me Knocking.”
“I have a record player,” he said. “Use it.”
“No way. It’s yours!”
“Seriously, what’s mine is yours. Record player, car, pool… what’s all this wealth if I can’t share it?” he replied, meaning it. “What other records do you have?”
“My dad has a few other Rolling Stones albums, but that’s all. I want a zillion. I’d kill to get my hands on some Led Zeppelin, but they’re like crazy expensive. I know it’s probably nothing to you, but I’m broke.”
“Spend the money we gave you on records.”
“I have a college loan and I need a car!”
She socked him in the arm.
“Ouch!”
They drove for another hour before Finn took them out of the Marin backroads and over the Golden Gate into the city. He parked them at Amoeba Records in the Haight-Ashbury.
Flora eyed him suspiciously.
“What are we doing?”
“What do you think we’re doing?”
Without another word, Flora was out of the car and inside before he could lock it.
Finn was right behind her. She darted through the first section.
He watched her scan through things. She had a way about her that was almost hypnotic.
Everything she did had a rhythm and a poetry to it.
Lost for a moment, he didn’t hear what she was saying.
“Finn! Are you here?”
“Huh? Sorry.”
“Okay, I really want Ghost in the Machine by The Police. Have you heard The Human Condition by Jon Bellion?” She wasn’t picking any of it up, just pointing. “Bastille’s Bad Blood is now a classic and so is Torches by Foster the People.”
“Pick them up so you can take them home,” he said, shoving Zenyatta Mondatta at her. “We have to physically purchase the items. Otherwise, it’s stealing.”
“What? I thought we were just looking.”
“You’d be happy with just looking?”
There was a silence.
She looked at him—shocked that he knew so little about her.
“I’m happy with anything.”
Finn had never heard those words before. And there was no falseness about her. She meant it.
“All the more reason to find something you like. I’ll buy it, but you have to promise to let me listen too. I’ve been so busy running a company I haven’t had enough time for music. I do like The Police, though.”
Flora pondered this arrangement and then nodded. “Deal.”
From there, the day unfolded easily.
They spent time pouring over records at Amoeba, walking out with eight.
Finn pushed for thirty, but Flora said it was irresponsible.
They drove to Hayes Valley and stopped at Souvla, both getting their vegetarian salad and Greek fries, because Finn was also a vegetarian. Or he was until this was over.
“You’re a vegetarian?!” Flora was utterly shocked at this news. “I had no idea!”
“Neither did I,” he muttered to himself.
They wandered, shopped. Mango sticky rice, The 1975, film camera, a visit to the Sutro Baths.
Finn spent most of the day trying to keep up—
“Flora, slow down a bit, I’m not wearing the right shoes!”
And chasing her away from dangerous cliffs—
“Flora, get away from there! It’s quite dangerous where you’re standing!”
And arguing with her about money—
“No, Flora, you are not paying for gas! You just said you’re broke. I’m a billionaire. Literally.”
While he was filling the car up, Flora emerged from the gas station mini mart, still covered in bike grease, wearing a goofy pair of huge overalls, holding a bag of Cheetos.
She set them in his lap. “You like these, right?”
“I do.”
She looked satisfied and sat back for half a second. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two pink woven bracelets. “I <3 SF” was stitched across them.
“Friendship bracelets. We’re friends now, Finn,” she said.
She side-eyed him, daring him to argue.
He put his hands up in mock surrender.
She grabbed his wrist and put his on. “Lovely color. I think it’s called ‘garbage explosion.’ Here—tie mine.”
Finn did as he was told.
“Now we match,” she announced.
“Just what I always wanted,” he said dryly, then cowered. “Don’t punch me again.”
Flora would never have said it directly, but she was surprised by how much she’d enjoyed the day. She could actually see herself spending more time with him by choice. The bracelets had said enough. In Flora language, they meant: I like you.
Not anything more than that, but still.
Finn got the message.
They arrived back at the estate eight hours later, bruised from the day’s misadventures, hair unbrushed, and with a genuine mutual fondness.
Finn walked into the house and headed straight for the kitchen, more fulfilled than he’d been in months, years maybe. He’d actually forgotten the reason he’d dragged her out of the estate in the first place.
However, this was very short-lived.
He was humming a song from their drive, poking through the pantry, thinking about doing that again sometime soon when—
“I can’t marry Jane!”
Finn smacked his head on the cabinet and groaned as a box of Lucky Charms spilled across the Spanish tile.
Roman had him cornered.
“What now, Roman? Can’t you give it a rest for a day? An hour? One bloody minute?”
“What am I, insane? I’m too young!” Roman grabbed Finn’s shoulders and shook him. “What was I thinking?!”
“Get off me!” Finn said, shaking back and forth. He managed to get control of his right arm and slapped Roman across the shoulder.
“Ouch! Ouch! You’ve always had the worst slap. Stings like the dickens!”
“Let go, Roman!” Finn demanded, now grabbing a dishtowel nearby. He twisted it and snapped Roman across the chin.
“Ouch again!”
Finn made a motion as if he’d do it a second time.
“Alright, alright! Older brother wins again,” Roman said, letting go and holding his chin which was going red.
Finn stood at a distance, still poised with the dishtowel.
Roman shook his head. “I can’t marry her, Finn. I can’t. I need to sew my wild oats. See? Listen to me, I’m already talking like an old man. I can’t have children! I’m not ready. Plus, I like Flora so much. She’s so perfect, and I never saw it before.”
Finn growled and threw the dishtowel onto the granite, glad no one else was around.
“Roman, shut up. It’s too late,” he said, leaning on the counter, head hanging down.
“You are going to marry Jane whether you like it or not. She’s a brilliant woman with only a bright future ahead of her and will be a better provider than you will.
She’s a doctor. Good Lord, Roman. She won’t be a burden.
She won’t sit around all day and spend my money under the guise of raising children.
You will not blow this. She’s smart, kind, and beautiful, and she has every reason to leave you, not the other way around. ”
“Yes! Exactly! She’s still hanging around! Doesn’t that make you a little nervous about her—” he gestured to his head— “mental health?!”
“No! It just means she likes you. Flaws and all. And get excited, Roman, you got to pick the girl you’re marrying. She happened to be a wealthy, smart girl who knows how to have fun.”
Finn straightened, annoyance turning into something much more personal.
“Not every girl is interesting and sweet, some girls go to law school.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.”