Chapter 27 #2
“The resume on your tablet,” he says, piecing things together. “Don’t tell me he brought a resume to a date.”
“No, I mean—” I sigh. “Just stop.”
He inhales a sharp breath, then stands, listening. But I am not telling Finn the truth about this. It’s personal. And it makes me sound pathetic.
“Look. It doesn’t matter how we met, we just did. We’ve been out a few times, and he’s nice. I invited him to Thanksgiving, end of story.”
His eyes narrow. “What tasks did you hire him to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what was the job you were hiring for?”
My mind goes blank. I don’t have an answer that sounds plausible other than the truth.
And I can’t tell him the truth—because now, thinking about it in this panicked moment, it feels utterly ridiculous.
I let out a groan of frustration. “Will you just get out of my business?” I push past him into the hallway and rush back to the front door, but Justin’s not there. I walk into the kitchen and look around, but he’s not there either.
Poppy is at the stove and Eloise is arranging pickles on a platter.
“Did you guys see Justin?”
“Justin’s here?” Eloise stands. “Where?”
I walk back toward the front door, look outside, and there he is, on the porch, on his phone. “Never mind. I found him.”
I open the door and he turns to look at me, holding up a finger to signal one second. “Yes, you’re right about that,” he says into the phone. “No problem. Yep. Yep. We’ll talk soon.” He hangs up. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Work doesn’t respect holidays.”
“A truth universally acknowledged,” he says, and I admire the Pride and Prejudice reference.
“Sorry I disappeared for a second,” I say, feeling off. Guilty. Conflicted. Do I need to tell Justin that I almost let Finn kiss me?
“No problem.” He smiles. It’s a kind smile. A safe smile. Not the kind of smile that releases a flock of geese in my rib cage.
Maybe I just need to recommit to the plan. A plan that seemed so good, so right at the beginning. It made total sense on paper. The perfect solution to my loneliness. No emotion, just business.
But even as the thought enters my mind, I imagine that a life with Justin wouldn’t look a whole lot different from my life these past several years.
Maybe you can’t cure loneliness without actual connection.
That thought stops me in my tracks. Because if it’s true, then all of this has been for nothing. Because I’m not willing to risk an actual connection.
I can’t.
“Are you ready to go back inside?” he asks.
“Yes, of course.” I lead him back into the house, straight to the kitchen, thankful Finn has apparently parked himself elsewhere.
“Uh, guys, this is Justin.” I look at him. “Justin, these are my sisters, Poppy and Eloise, and our mom, Tammy.”
They all smile and exchange pleasantries.
“Do you like football, Justin?” my mom asks.
“Not Chicago football,” he says. “I’m a Patriots fan, I’m afraid.”
“Well, we won’t hold it against you.” Mom smiles. “Is your family nearby?”
“Yes, they live in Barrington,” he says.
Mom looks at me, then back to Justin. “Will you both be seeing them later?”
“I will be,” Justin says. “We do a quiet, formal meal for Thanksgiving, just my parents and me.”
“Oh,” Mom says with a quick glance at me. “That’ll be nice.”
If she’s worried I’m offended not to be included, she doesn’t have to be. After my episode, he let me off the hook, said he didn’t want to add any unnecessary stress. It was thoughtful.
There’s a shout from the other room, and Justin has a visible reaction. He quickly recovers, laughing at himself. “Sorry, I’m not used to big families.”
“Do you have siblings?” Poppy asks.
He shakes his head. “I don’t.”
“Aw, how sad,” Eloise says, a little pout on her lips.
“I think it suited me, being an only child,” he says. “I like the quiet. I think better when I’m by myself.”
Another raucous cheer from the next room. If Justin weren’t here, I don’t think any of us would’ve noticed it, we’re all so used to the noise when everyone’s together. It’s its own kind of comfort, a reminder that I’m not alone.
Justin’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket. He looks at it, then at me. “Do you mind if I . . .?”
“Of course,” I say.
“Is there somewhere quiet I can go?” he asks, wincing.
I look at Poppy, who grabs a towel and wipes her hands. “Follow me.”
She leads him down the hall, and I pick up a carrot—not because I want it but because I need something to do with my hands.
“He seems nice,” Mom finally says.
“He is,” I say.
Eloise shoves a cucumber sandwich into her mouth.
“Where’d you meet?” Mom asks.
I don’t get a chance to answer, though, because Finn comes into the room, holding his phone up, clearly on a FaceTime call. “Oh, I have to show you what I made.” He walks over to the counter and picks up a wonky-looking cake. “It’s pumpkin with cream cheese frosting.”
“You made that?” I hear a voice say, along with several other voices overlapping in the background.
“That looks terrible!” the voice on the phone says.
“I know!” Finn grins. “But I tested it, and it still tastes amazing.”
It strikes me in that moment that Finn meant it when he said he doesn’t care about being the best—that perfect is the enemy of great. If I’d made that ridiculous-looking cake, I would’ve thrown it in the garbage. He put it on a plate and brought it to Thanksgiving.
And he’s proud of it. Joyful, even.
I can’t remember the last time I felt that kind of happiness. Even when I accomplish something important or finish a big project I’ve been working on, there’s no pausing to celebrate. No moment of reflection. Done? Great. On to the next.
I’ll start to work on things even before a project is finished.
Finn doesn’t suffer from that particular malady. He takes it all in stride, celebrating every success, being in the moment, not worrying about what’s coming next.
Even if it’s a cake that isn’t baked all the way through.
“Uncle Finn, I saw you hit your head!” a tiny voice says.
Eloise makes an awww face.
Finn sets the cake down and shifts his grip on the phone. “You saw that?”
“Uh-huh,” the voice says. “Are you okay?”
“That must’ve been scary for you to watch,” he says.
“But yes, I’m okay. I promise. Oh wait .
. . there’s . . . something . . . happening .
. .” He crosses his eyes, then uncrosses one of them, making it look like he has a lazy eye.
“Wait. Is something wrong with my eyes? How do I look?” He tilts his head back and forth, turns the phone sideways, and makes a weird face.
The voice on the other end bursts into laughter.
The oven timer goes off, and Finn looks up, like he’s just realized for the first time there are other people in the room. He fixes his face and the phone and looks back at the screen. “Oh, hey, Momma—”
Eloise grins when he says this, probably because she thinks it’s adorable.
I force myself not to agree.
“I want to introduce you to the beautiful Hart women.” He turns the phone around. A woman on the screen smiles and waves.
Finn walks over to my mom, holding the phone up so they’re both in the frame. “This is Mrs. Hart—”
Mom puts a hand on his arm. “Tammy.”
“Nope. It’s Mrs. Hart. Momma won’t like me calling you by your first name,” he says.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Mom says into the phone.
Why are my palms sweating?
“Thank you for taking in our boy,” Finn’s mom says. “He’s a lot,” she adds, laughing.
“Oh, we know,” my mom says, “but we love it. We’ll take good care of him here!”
“Thank the Lord. I was worried he was going to end up with KFC on the couch again.”
“That was college, Momma,” Finn says with a good-natured eyeroll.
“We’re happy to have him,” Mom says with a smile. “And we can’t wait to try the cake.”
“Have the Pepto-Bismol handy,” his mom says with a laugh, a not-so-subtle dig at Finn’s attempt at baking.
“Hey! I can hear you,” Finn says in mock-offense.
He moves to Eloise as Poppy reenters the room, then introduces them one at a time, explaining who they are, who they’re dating, and why they’re “so cool.”
When he looks at me, his expression changes. “And this is Raya.”
Finn doesn’t say my name very often. Usually, he just calls me “Hart,” like I’m one of the guys. It shouldn’t have any effect on me, but it does.
I smile into the phone camera as Finn moves into the space next to me, his nearness a reminder of the moment I’m desperately trying to forget. The moment we almost kissed. Pretending it didn’t happen isn’t going to make it go away.
“Oh,” his mom says. “This is Raya—”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Holbrook,” I say.
“You too,” she says. “My son was not kidding about how beautiful you are.”
“Momma!” Finn laughs, but he whips the phone away.
“Oh, was that a secret?” she asks loudly.
“I gotta go, Momma.” Finn’s cheeks are red, and I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him embarrassed. “Tell Pops I’ll call him after dinner.”
“Okay, Skip,” she says. “Live like—”
“It matters,” he says, finishing her sentence. And then together, they say, “because it does.” He nods at her, like they’ve just made a silent pact. “I will.”
He clicks the phone off, and we all stare at him.
Mom smiles. “You’re close with your family.”
“I am,” he says. “They’re a lot, but they’re the best.”
“You must miss them.” Mom pulls a pan from the oven and sets it on a trivet on the counter.
“I do, especially on holidays.” He nods. “But I’m really thankful to be with you all.”
“Why’d she call you ‘Skip’?” Eloise asks.
“Eh. It’s a stupid nickname,” he says. “I don’t even know where it came from. You’d think they’d want to use all of our real names since there are so many of us.”
“So it’s a big family,” Mom says.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got four brothers and two sisters.”
“Those poor sisters!” Eloise laughs. “Five brothers!”
Finn’s eyes flick to mine, and I hold his gaze, wondering if he’s thinking about Hunter, and realizing there’s pain behind that smile that he never shows. I never would’ve guessed Finn Holbrook had ever experienced grief.
He either hides it well or he’s made his peace with it. All at once, my own problems seem silly by comparison.
There’s a cheer from the other room, and Finn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sorry, ladies, the less attractive side of the house is calling . . .” One more quick look at me, then he walks out.
Before anyone can comment on that, Justin walks back into the kitchen. “Sorry about that. Work has been crazy lately.”
The mood shifts from talk of misshapen cake to something that feels like a library or a museum.
“Justin, Raya tells us you’re in real estate?” Mom asks.
He nods. “I am. I also have a few investment properties, and I’m looking to buy a few more.”
“Wow,” Mom says. “Impressive.”
I smile at him, and she offers to take him into the other room and introduce him to the guys. But as she leads him out of the kitchen, I have the horrible realization that Justin doesn’t fit in with my people.
It’s like the chess club meeting the football team.
And I’m not sure there’s a way to change that.