Chapter Ten #5
“I was standing down there with everybody and—” his voice trailed off. “I—I was. Well, I suppose I really didn’t… I left.”
Without another word, she stepped back and opened the door wider, inviting him in.
He hesitated for half a second and then stepped over the threshold. He had seen the apartment all his life from the outside but never the inside.
It was littered with books, hanging flowers, and bright colors mixed with brown manuscripts. A large leather armchair in the corner, a well-worn couch, no TV. It smelled faintly of sunscreen and lilacs. Like Flora.
They climbed the loft ladder.
Her room was as colorful as she was—exploding with flowers, watercolors, herbal remedies, candles, and photos. Nothing matched on her bed, just patterned quilts and a floral duvet thrown on top in a mess.
She dropped on her bed and laid back.
“You gonna just stand there all night, or sit down?”
Finn lingered in the doorway.
“I don’t bite,” she added.
“I do though,” he replied.
“I’m immune.”
Finn sat on the edge of the bed, rigid at first, like he was preparing to be poked with something sharp. He glanced at her. She was leaning back on her pillows, arms crossed, trying not to laugh.
He took a breath and leaned back finally.
Apparently, there was a method to the disastrous bedding situation because the bed itself was incredibly comfortable.
He felt her shift closer. His heart took off.
Within minutes, they were two bookends. Closer, closer, closer until she was lying on his chest, breathing peacefully. Loud fireworks now boomed overhead.
The weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders.
“I’ve never really cared for the Fourth,” he said.
“Well, you are Scottish,” Flora replied.
“Yes, but I’ve been in America since I was seven. Still never cared for it. You know I don’t care for much.”
Flora looked up at him.
“I know, but that’s only because you’ve been taught that the things you care about bite. So you bite first.”
He felt transparent suddenly. She reached up and turned his head toward her, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
“I didn’t come with fangs, Finn.”
Something in him gave.
He nodded, hugging her tighter without thinking.
They spent the rest of the night watching Sabrina, the one with Harrison Ford.
Finn rarely laid in bed and watched movies alone. It was an even rarer occasion to find himself cuddling with a date, er, whatever Flora was. She felt much more significant than a date, much deeper. His eyes grew heavy and he was sleepier than he’d been in years.
He never made it back to his room.
Flora woke up, momentarily forgetting last night, and then nearly tripped over him on her way to the bathroom.
Finn was on the floor with a pillow and several of her blankets from the hall closet.
Flora felt a swell—one she hadn’t felt in a long time.
He was passed out, buried in the blankets, still in his clothes from last night. He was a sound sleeper—and a cute one, too—curled up like a little deer on the floor. It was so nice to see him there that Flora felt it was an accomplishment of some sort. He had fallen asleep and stayed.
Big, bad Finn Woodhouse, asleep on the floor of a small studio loft. It made him less intimidating, but then again, Flora no longer found him to be so.
Much less cheerfully employed were Allison and Jack.
They’d come in at one in the morning. Allison was on the couch, and Jack was sleeping in her father’s chair—they both looked terribly uncomfortable.
Allison’s hair looked like she’d been electrocuted, and Jack had a mysterious purple stain running down his white shirt.
Finn woke up, late for a meeting, and in a hurry to get out and take a shower. Jack and Allison were up too, not remembering much of anything and with pounding headaches from the jungle juice, which apparently was as bad as all the legends.
While they were shuffling around ordering food to cure their buzzing heads, Flora was outside with Finn.
His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, his pants wrinkled, and he was yawning like a puppy. He smiled at her sheepishly and then cracked his neck, which sounded like a glow stick snapping.
“Yikes,” Flora said.
“Well, I did sleep on the floor.”
“I made you a bagel,” she said, shoving a bag into his hand. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I just did plain with butter and jam. Hope that’s okay. It’s raspberry… do you like raspberry? I just assumed since you’re a sugar addict.”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Alright then.”
She knew he had to get to a meeting.
He knew he had to get to a meeting.
They lingered.
“I’ll see you,” she added, shyer than she’d been since she left for Paris.
“Yes, seems we are destined to see each other.”
Finn leaned forward, as if he couldn’t stop himself.
Flora leaned in too, without thought…
About five inches separated them.
A few moments passed.
And without a word, they backed away.
Flora cleared her throat. “Anyway… have a good meeting!”
The door shut and about two seconds later—with shouts of agony from Jack and Allison—I Wanna Be Sedated by The Ramones flooded from the apartment.
Finn turned, let out a breath, and shook his head.
Back to work.