Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
R ose didn’t look at him while they drove. Neither did she speak. Unusual, since she used to tell him everything, whether he wanted to know it or not. He missed that. She was in fact unnaturally quiet.
It made him think of the texts he’d received earlier, minutes before she entered the coffeehouse.
Mack
“You still keep up with Rose Finch?”
Finn
“Why?”
Mack
“Someone attacked her at the cemetery. Perp’s still at large.”
Finn
“When?”
Mack
“This morning.”
Finn
“She okay?”
Mack
“Yeah, Doc Mason dropped by and examined her. Her arm’s messed up. She’s going to be sore. Figured you’d want to know.”
Finn
“Thanks.”
Was the attack related to the warnings Ms. Magnolia had given him?
He’d slipped his phone back in his pocket, questions in his head.
Seconds later, Rose stormed inside the coffeehouse, escaping the rain.
They’d talked over their coffees, the conversation stilted, uncomfortable.
She hadn’t mentioned the incident or her injured arm.
She was hurting. He’d seen the wince when he helped her back into her coat.
Even now, in the passenger seat, she cradled her left arm against her.
Good thing her place was only seven minutes from town by car.
The continuous rain resembled a carwash. He slowed, focusing on staying on the road. Frustration coursed through his fingers as they tightened around the steering wheel. His tires found every pothole beneath them.
This storm, too much rain at once. In a mountain town. It created a landslide risk. Hollows Hospital had closed four years ago. There was no urgent care, only a day clinic with limited emergency means. The closest hospital was more than an hour away, with a mountainous road between them.
Finn had hoped to return to Evers Hollow after finishing his medical residency. He’d wanted to work in the same hospital his mom had, provide care to the people in this town. That was no longer an option.
He pulled into the long straight driveway of the Briar House estate, the water-logged gravel loud beneath his tires. The house was pitch dark. Had the power gone out? An illuminated porch light on one cottage suggested otherwise.
Rose said, “Pull in next to the gardener’s cottage. I live there.”
He parked his SUV in front of the small white house and turned toward her. “Why are you living in the cottage?”
“Magnolia suffered a stroke awhile back. I offered to move home. She agreed. We decided I’d stay here though instead of the house. Give her the illusion of independence.”
“Did it work?”
The porch light lit the wistful smile on her face. “Not really, but she and I excelled at pretending. She never admitted it, but she needed my help.”
“What happens to the house now?”
Rose was quiet a moment. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her rain jacket. Then she said, “Magnolia left it to me.” She opened the passenger door and slid off the seat, hurrying through the rain to the tiny porch.
It wasn’t his business, but he opened the door to follow her. What she said made no sense.
“Why you? There must be a story there.” The words came out before he could stop them. His curiosity tended to rise around Rose, even in bad weather.
She unlocked the door, tried to open it. Pain flickered across her face.
He asked, “Need a hand?”
“Door’s a bit warped. Sticks when it rains.” She stepped back as he moved forward. “Shove it up and to the left. It’ll open.”
He did. The door swung open with a creak.
She entered and flicked a switch, illuminating the inside. “You want to come in? I have soup in the crock-pot. It’ll be ready soon. I can make us something hot to drink while we wait.”
Her invitation was unexpected. He couldn’t resist accepting it. He wanted, needed, to make things right with her. Was there a chance they could be friends again? Maybe something more?
“I’d like that.” He followed her inside, set his boots by hers. Before she could object, his fingers undid the buttons of her rain jacket. She’d already removed her bag, set it on a nearby bench. Mindful of her left arm, he slipped it off her shoulders.
With a murmured thanks, Rose stepped away, slid around the main room in wool socks. An array of lamps came on.
She said, “Lock the door, will you?”
He did.
The cottage was small, smaller than the house he’d grown up in. An older green couch with a ridiculous number of pillows, flowered armchairs, and a scarred coffee table crowded the small sitting area. A tattered rug covered the old carpet.
Rose disappeared through a door and hollered. “Be right back. I need to get my wet jeans off.”
He was tempted to offer help.
Lightning flashed. Thunder sounded. With a yelp, she came out of her room, still hiking faded yoga pants up her hips with one hand.
Finn asked, “You okay?”
Rose ran her right hand over the long braid of her hair. “Fine. Only thunder. Took me by surprise.”
He recognized the unease in her eyes. Connected her silence in the car. How had he forgotten? It had been a weather event that took her folks.
The lights flickered.
“Crud.” Rose moved to her kitchen.
It was tiny with little counter space. Whatever was in the crock-pot smelled delicious. His stomach rumbled.
She said, “If we want something hot to drink, I better get the water started.” She got the kettle on, pulled out a can of hot cocoa mix and a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream. Marshmallows followed.
“What can I do to help?”
She had her head in the refrigerator, but straightened. “You can find the lanterns. They’re in the closet by the front door. If they don’t work, the new batteries are in the bag I was carrying.”
“On it.” He headed toward the door.
“Do you want your drink spiked?”
“Sure.”
The kettle gave out a piercing wail once he returned with the lanterns, all ready to go. She moved the kettle to a different burner, its wail decreasing in pitch. He watched her add a shot of Bailey’s to each mug.
After a thorough stir and the addition of hot water, she handed him an oversized mug of hot cocoa.
The smell of vanilla and whiskey reached his nose.
Mini-marshmallows floated on top. He studied the black mug, a dark bird along its surface with the words: Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…
Poe. Appropriate. Thankfully, he wasn’t weak or weary.
Rose had a thing for poetry back in high school. She’d often recited from books as they walked the woods together as teenagers.
With her right hand, she carried her mug into the family space. “Can you grab the Cadbury tin off the counter? It’s got shortbread inside.”
He did. The lid was off. His mouth watered at the sight of the cutout hearts. Could it be Tess’ recipe?
She flicked a switch, which ignited the small gas fireplace in the room. “Let’s sit. The soup is almost ready.” She took one armchair, folded her legs beneath her. “Help yourself to the shortbread. Tess and her granddaughter, Livie, made it. Brought it by yesterday.”
He sat carefully to avoid spilling his drink. He reached for the shortbread, took a bite. It tasted like childhood.
She studied him as she sipped her cocoa, then said. “Word around town is you never come home.”
“That’s right. I’m in the middle of my residency. I’ve been busy.”
“Why are you here now?” Her expression was neutral.
“Pa wants to sell the house. I’m helping him.”
“Of course.” She blinked. “With your dad at Wylder, he won’t need it. And you, you’ve made your life elsewhere.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You live in Chapel Hill. That’s a good four-hour drive.”
He shook his head. Local gossip sucked. It was never accurate. “I transferred my residency to Asheville. I drive up on my days off, at least once a week, to see Pa.”
She frowned. “Since when?”
“Four months ago.” He’d worked himself ragged trying to be both in Chapel Hill and here when Pa broke his hip. Their friends from Ferris Garage and his neighbors had done all they could to help, but it wasn’t the same.
It had taken time, loads of paperwork, and multiple conversations with his attending physician to find a vacant residency program slot closer to Pa.
Rose asked, “How is it we haven’t bumped into each other?”
The fireplace fan clicked on, warming the small space.
“I thought you were in New York. With him.” He didn’t need to say the asswipe’s name. Or tell her he avoided town.
Her face sobered. She took a long drink. “I didn’t marry him. You know that. The gossip was all over the town’s social media.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know. I don’t do social media. Tess told me after your grandmother’s funeral.”
“Seriously? Your pa didn’t tell you?”
“No, he didn’t.” He frowned.
“Oh.” She looked away, took a long sip from her mug.
Thunder rumbled again, lower this time, the sort one could feel through the floor. Silence followed, creating discomfort in the air between them.
His own sips of cocoa seemed too loud, the bit of shortbread an echoing crumble on his teeth. He wanted to ask what had happened, but the two of them hadn’t been close in years. He wished they could magically return to what they’d once been. The closest of friends.
Not that simple, not after the things he’d said about her asshole fiancé.
“You want to know what happened,” she said. “I see it on your face. Go ahead and ask.”
Her friendship had been the most important in his life. He wanted that back.
“I do, but first…” He cleared his throat, washed down the last bit of shortbread before he looked at her. “I need to say something to you first.”
Her face changed; her jaw seemed to tighten. She put her mug down and folded her arms. “Go ahead. Lots of people have said things about my broken engagement.”
A frisson of warning moved through him, made him hesitate.
“Maybe you want to tell me you were right about Caleb,” she said, “now that you know I didn’t marry him?
Say you told me so? Or state how na?ve I was to believe he loved me?
Or maybe the opposite, that I’m stupid for cancelling the wedding?
That I’ll never find anyone better. I’ve heard them all, both here and in New York. ”
Her words. What the fuck? Fiery anger lit through him.
Someone, multiple someones, had said all those things to her.
Probably worse. The curse of having a large family, of living in a small town.
Everyone had an opinion, especially regarding Rose’s engagement to Caleb fucking Brentwood. Including him.
He swore again, ran both his hands through his hair and looked across at her.
The anger, the hurt were all there, in her dark green eyes. She’d grabbed an afghan from a basket, hugged it to her like an oversized stuffed animal.
He put his mug down and stood. He grabbed hold of the coffee table and dragged it so he could sit closer to her.
Wariness filled her eyes as he sat on its edge, close enough for his knees to touch hers.
His mom used to say that an apology was never too late as long as it’s meant.
Finn took a long breath, then said, “I said things to you I shouldn’t have that night. When I found out you were engaged, I reacted badly.”
A sound of protest came out of her. “That’s a century’s worth of understatement.”
He nodded. “I know. The things I said. I didn’t want you hurt, especially by Brentwood.”
Caleb fucking Brentwood was a piece of shit.
She nodded. “I got that. Your opinion of him was crystal clear.”
Rose lowered her legs, sat up, and narrowed her eyes. “The irony, Finn, is that you were the one to hurt me that night.”
He knew that too. The moment he was encouraged to leave the party by security, he knew he’d screwed up.
Finn said, “I know. I’m sorry. If I could take the words back, I’d do it. I never wanted to make you cry.”
Her eyes glistened. “You didn’t trust me to make my own decisions, to make my own mistakes, and to learn from them.”
“You’re right. I didn’t think of things that way that night. Brentwood’s not a good person. He used girls like toilet paper.”
“Did you ever hear me criticize your girlfriends back then?” Rose asked. “Even the ones that were ridiculous.”
“I know. That was different. I was worried about your future. Your happiness.”
She shook her head. “It’s not different. Some of those girls you dated were poisonous snakes. What you said that night wasn’t right.”
“Agreed. I regret all of it. I?—”
“Lost your mind?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I did. I care about you, Rose.” Too much.
She reached out with her fingers. He grasped them lightly.
“I care about you too, Finn. Friends since we were six. I thought nothing could tear us apart.”
“Brentwood went to high school here, not even a year. He got a friend of mine pregnant, left her in a shit situation. Rumor was, she wasn’t the only one.”
She didn’t look surprised. “Thorne said something similar when he found out about the engagement, mentioned he broke Caleb’s nose in the locker room back then because of something he said about me. Thorne tried to defend your behavior that night. I’m sorry about your friend.”
Too bad Thorne’s tactics hadn’t worked permanently. How could they have known the asshole would end up at the same college as Rose?
“Caleb played a part with me,” she said. “He was good at it. I don’t know why. Maybe he wanted my family name; maybe I was a challenge to him. He probably did the same to your friend, but I figured it out in time. I know the person he is now, and he’s not a good one.”
He traced her fingers with his own before he met her eyes again. “I should have believed in you, trusted you to figure it out. I’m sorry it took me six years, but I mean every word. Can you forgive me?”
She squeezed his hand. “I’ve tried to do that. But I needed you to say these things to me, in person. I figured it would never happen. Thanks for saying them now.”