Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Raya
I’ve gotten more comfortable sleeping in.
So much so that it’s probably going to be hard to return to my normal schedule. But I think the extra hours of sleep are helping me feel stronger. I’m a little less rundown than I was even two days ago.
Despite what everyone thinks, I have gotten on board with slowing down.
Sort of.
Fine. It’s a process. But I’m trying.
It’s been days since I told Finn the truth about Justin. The whole truth—from the second I got the idea to the second he walked out the door.
And Finn didn’t laugh. At first, he didn’t respond. Just sort of looked at me, almost like he was calculating something—which was weird. I couldn’t read him, but I wondered if I’d shared more than I should’ve.
I changed the subject, desperate to focus on anything other than my utter humiliation, and Finn went right along with it.
If he thought I was a complete moron for concocting this plan in the first place, he didn’t let on.
He was back to his easygoing self, and while I haven’t seen him since, he’s been actively texting me nonsense while he’s on the road, which has been kind of nice.
Last night, I went over to my parents’ house and watched the game with my family. Hockey Finn is different from the real-life teddy bear I’ve gotten to know. He’s focused and fierce and . . . hot.
He’s hot.
It’s very distracting.
Now, it’s Friday, a day with no plans, so I treat myself to a slow morning. I stay in my pajamas. I drink my coffee slowly. I read a chapter of a crime novel I started two years ago and never found time to finish. And I purpose to savor every second of it.
A little before noon, there’s a knock on my door, and I open it to find Finn, arms loaded with shopping bags. He takes one look at me and says, “You look cute.”
I absently touch the messy bun on top of my head, wondering why I don’t feel more put off by his impromptu visit. Normally, I don’t answer the door unless I’m presentable, which I am definitely not. For some reason, I don’t really care if Finn sees that I’m a mess.
More than anyone, he already knows.
I frown, but I’m smiling on the inside, still not quite able to wear all my emotions on my face. “What are you doing here?”
“You have a naked tree.” He holds his arms up. “I’m here to fix that.” Then, after a beat he says, “Do you care if I come in?”
The butterflies in my stomach are doing gymnastics, but I move aside and let him in, closing the door behind him. “You’re wearing a coat.”
He groans. “I didn’t want you to yell at me again.”
I giggle to myself because, for no reason at all, I find this amusing.
“Okay, anything you hate, I’ll take back,” he says, excited. “But I brought options.”
He starts pulling all kinds of things from the bags—tinsel and ornaments and bows and an angel for the top of the tree. “Oh, and this one is special because it reminded me of you—” He hands me a small box.
I turn it over and find a Scrooge McDuck ornament. I laugh. “I’m highly offended.”
“Nailed it, right? Took me all week to find that.” He grins at me, then takes the box. He rips it open and pulls out the ornament. “Here, hang him up. The first ornament of the season.”
So I do.
We spend the next hour adding all kinds of decorations to the tree, and by the time we’re done, it looks like a group of preschoolers went to town on it.
There’s no clear color scheme, the ornaments pull some of the lower branches almost to the floor, but Finn is clearly proud of the mess he’s made, so I decide—for once—to go with it.
To his credit, he added so many white lights I’m pretty sure it’ll look beautiful at night.
We finish with the tree, and Finn picks up the only bag we haven’t opened.
“Okay, I know you don’t like surprises, but .
. . I have one.” The look on his face is slightly adorable, even I can admit, because it’s obvious this man loves surprises.
And he’s right. Normally, I hate them. Right at this moment, though, I feel a little giddy wondering what’s in that bag.
“I promise it’s good.” He hands the bag over.
Inside, I find one of the ugliest Christmas sweaters I’ve ever seen.
It’s a putrid lime green and has a giant Grinch on it, plastered in front of rows of Christmas trees.
Before I can even register a reaction, I turn to find Finn holding up what looks like a video game Christmas sweater in front of his torso, goofy grin on his face.
It has the words “IT’S ON LIKE” above a big chunky gorilla standing on a bunch of orange platforms. And is that a barrel? The colors are hideous.
I don’t ask the question, but he must see it on my face because his smile widens. “I booked an ugly sweater food tour.” Before I can respond, he pulls on the sweater over his shirt. “It starts in half an hour though, so we have to hurry.”
“You’re serious.”
He holds up one hand and puts the other one over his heart. “I never joke about food.”
I frown. “I’m not even close to being ready to go anywhere.”
“Who cares?” he says. “You don’t have to look perfect.” A shrug. “You look cute anyway.”
“I’m not trying to look cute,” I argue. “Just like a person with a pulse.”
“Come on, you need to eat, I need to eat—” he shoos me away from the tree. “Go do whatever you need to do, and let’s go.”
I sigh. I know all about this ugly sweater food tour. Poppy participates sometimes, and it really does seem like fun, but he’s springing this on me, and I wasn’t ready. He knows I don’t like to be caught off guard.
And yet, maybe that’s the point.
“Don’t do that Raya thing and overthink it. Let’s just go have fun.” He looks at me. “It’s an adventure.” He says “adventure” on a whisper, as if he’s going for “mysterious.”
I press my lips together, trying to figure out why everything inside me is protesting this idea, and then I remember I have no job, no plans, and no reason not to go.
And I realize I really do want to. “Fine, but give me a second.” I start to rush off to change when Finn makes an eh-eh-eh sound. I turn and find him holding up the sweater.
“You forgot something.”
I hesitate for a three-count, and he shakes it at me, pumping his eyebrows at the same time.
I snag the sweater and rush off to my room.
I pull my hair from the messy bun and shake it out while simultaneously searching for a pair of jeans.
I pull them on, then hold the sweater up in front of me, studying myself in the mirror with a groan.
“Ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath, but I tug it over my head anyway.
I leave my face mostly bare, opting for a little blush and lip gloss, then I join Finn in the living room. He takes one look at me and his whole face brightens. “Dang, you even make that ugly sweater look good.”
He doesn’t give me time to respond, choosing instead to hold up my bag and coat, open the door, and rush me straight outside.
“Tell me you haven’t done this before,” he says as we drive toward downtown Loveland.
“Do you really need to ask that question?” I try to glower, but I feel . . . excited?
“But you’ve probably eaten at most of these places,” he says.
“Not really,” I say. “I usually eat at Poppy’s or somewhere in the city. This will be new for me too.”
He looks pleased. “I was hoping for that. I just want you to have fun.”
“This isn’t like, a pity outing, is it?” I ask. “Because of my humiliating confession? About Justin?”
He looks at me, face serious, and says, “Of course it is.”
I hold eye contact for a couple of seconds, then his face brightens with a wide smile, and I burst out laughing. I shove him in the shoulder, and he grins at me. “You’re obviously a hopeless case, so someone had to take pity on you.”
I roll my eyes, and he parks in front of a Loveland pub a few blocks away from Poppy’s Kitchen.
We meet up with about ten other people in ugly sweaters, and the tour organizer hands out lanyards that show we’re all together.
We spend the afternoon sampling food from bakeries, and restaurants, and coffee shops in and around downtown Loveland.
It’s more food than I’ve ever eaten in the span of two and a half hours, but it’s all so good.
Finn makes fast friends with the other people in our group, including three college guys who are—no surprise—huge Comets fans.
He’s gracious and funny and kind, and never once does he leave my side.
Instead, he looks for ways to draw me into the conversation, sometimes in very clunky, but endearing ways.
He takes tons of pictures and sends them to his family. His mom sends back photos of his two nieces, Libby and Jordy, both wearing tiny Christmas aprons and making cookies in her kitchen. The little one holds up both of her flour-covered hands while the older one licks a wooden spoon.
Finn wraps an arm around me and snaps a selfie—which I make him retake because “I was not ready!”—then sends it back.
His mom responds, but he doesn’t show me what she says.
As the tour comes to an end, we leave our final stop, stuffed to the gills, but somehow—I don’t feel tired.
I haven’t felt this not tired in months.
It’s nearly dark out, and as I look around, I see several luminaries are already glowing for The Luminaria, a night when the entire town is shines with candlelight in celebration of the season.
“Okay, this next part is up to you. No more surprises. Do you want to get home or . . .?”
I zip my coat and shove my hands in my pockets. “We could walk for a little bit? I’ve come to The Luminaria before. I think you’ll like it.”
“Yes! I was hoping you’d say that.”
We start to walk, and I tell him what I know about Loveland’s Christmas traditions. “The Christmas Carnival kicks it all off, but Loveland really knows how to do holidays. Tonight, as part of The Luminaria, they’ve brought back the”—I stop in front of a storefront—“living windows.”
We watch as three girls dressed as ballerinas spin in unison. “Tourism has really been up over the last few years, so they go all out.”
We move on, weaving through the slow-moving crowd, pausing to look at the windows, smile at neighbors, and marvel at how beautiful this town is, glowing from the candles inside the luminaries.
In the middle of the block, in the town square, live musicians play in front of a huge Christmas tree—which is impressive to me because they must be freezing.
The foot traffic picks up, and at one point, I end up boxed in on one side of the sidewalk. Finn moves to the other side and waits until I can make my way over to him.
When we reenter the fray, he takes my hand, then looks at me. “Just so we can stay together.”
I don’t say anything, even as the alarm bells go off in my mind.
I should pull away. I should reinstate the “strictly platonic” boundary.
But I don’t. Instead, I let him lead me around my little hometown, soaking in the quiet glow of Christmas, letting myself experience everything without overthinking it for once.
At the end of the night, he drives me back to my house. We pull into the driveway, and I smile at the sight of the tree glowing in my window.
“Looks cool, right?” Finn puts the SUV in park.
“Festive,” I say.
“Did you have a good time?”
I nod. “I did. Christmas is growing on me.”
He smiles. “Then my work here is done.”
There’s a lull, the kind I’ve never known how to fill, so I open the door. “Thank you for hanging out with me today.” I turn back and find him watching me.
“Thank you for showing me around.”
I smile and step onto the pavement, lingering, I realize, because—I don’t want to say goodnight.
“We’re going on the road again,” he says. “But I’ll check in. Someone has to make sure you’re taking it easy.”
“You’ve taught me well,” I say. “I think I’m actually getting the hang of it.”
“Sleep well, Hart,” he says, eyes locked onto mine.
I nod. “You too.”
Once I’m inside, Finn drives off, leaving me standing in my dimly lit house, watching my resolve crumble to pieces around me.