Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Raya
By the afternoon, I should be exhausted, but I feel oddly energized.
After skating, we walked around the booths, ate too much food, did a little shopping, and I actually let myself loosen up.
It was nice.
I think I’m going to like having a life.
As the group disbands, I say goodbye to my sisters, then walk over to say goodbye to Finn. “Thanks again—for helping me skate.”
“It was fun.” He smiles, then looks past me, back to the shrinking group.
“It was.” I stand there for a few seconds, then smile back at him. “Well, I’ll—”
“Are you tired?” he asks.
I pull my gloves out of my pockets and tug them on. “Shockingly, no. I think I’m going to be up late tonight. Adrenaline rush or something.”
I should say goodbye and walk away—any progress I’ve made convincing my heart to listen to my head will be undone if I don’t. And yet, I hear myself say, “I recorded The Polar Express last night.”
He gasps. “For real?”
“You’ve probably already watched it—”
“No, I haven’t,” he says. “I mean, not this year. Have you?”
I shake my head. “Still haven’t seen it.”
He claps his hands together. “Let’s watch it!” Then, as if he’s trying to restrain himself, he says, “I mean, if you want to.”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“Yeah?”
“Why not? I didn’t want to ride the train back anyway.”
“Let’s go!” We walk toward the parking lot, comfortable chatter between us, which carries through the car ride back to my house.
He feels like what he is—a friend. And it’s nice. No need for that to change, right?
When we reach Loveland, he navigates to my house without the help of GPS, which says something, but I’m not sure what. He parks in my driveway, turns off the engine and looks at me. “You have hot chocolate, right? Because we can’t watch this movie without it.”
I shake my head. “Yes, you weirdo. Your obsession with this movie is a little concerning.”
“You’ll see. And you’ll kick yourself you waited so long to watch it.” He gets out of the car and marches toward the front door. “Hurry up, Hart!”
I laugh as I join him on the porch. I unlock the door, and we step inside, taking off our boots and our coats, and then I turn to face him.
“Fine, but if we’re watching a movie, I’m going to need to change my clothes. Jeans are not comfortable enough for a movie night.”
“Fine. Go.” He waves me off and moves toward the kitchen. “I’ll make popcorn.”
“There is no way you’re still hungry.” I think he sampled something from every food vendor at that market.
“The heck you say.”
I shake my head and rush off, and once I’m safe behind my bedroom door, I lean against it and try to slow my breathing.
My stomach is doing backflips, my head is spinning, and I am literally the epitome of everything I said I would never be—the giddy schoolgirl with a big, fat crush, and it’s starting to get away from me.
“I’m putting butter on this!” Finn calls from the other room, snapping me back to reality.
He’s my friend. He’s just a friend. I will not lose my head over a guy.
“It’s already buttered!” I call back, rushing around to find clothes that are comfier than jeans.
“It needs the real stuff!”
Once I’m in sweatpants, I come back into the kitchen to find Finn ruining a bowl of perfectly good popcorn with what has to be a whole stick of butter. He’s also making two mugs of hot chocolate, which he douses with whipped cream because “whipped cream makes everything better.”
I queue the movie, we plop down onto the couch, and I quickly learn that Finn is a movie-talker.
He narrates his favorite scenes, and frankly, I’m surprised he doesn’t get up and dance the entire “Hot Chocolate” number.
He’s engrossed in the entire thing. Watching him watch the movie is more entertaining than the movie itself.
As it ends, he clicks the pause button on the credits and turns to face me. “Honest reaction?”
“I really liked it,” I say, surprised to realize I’m telling the truth. “Except for the creepy elves.”
“They are so weird looking. Plus the hobo on the train, what the heck is that doing in a kid’s movie?” Finn laughs.
I scrunch my face. “Super weird.” The room is lit only by the white lights of the Christmas tree and the dim glow of the TV, and there’s something soft and magical and calm about it.
I go still, but notice how content I feel right now. “I really have to thank you,” I say, thinking over the whole day.
“For what?”
I shrug. “For hanging out with me again. It was . . . fun.”
“Wait. Did you use the F-word again?” He angles toward me, one arm draped along the back of the couch.
“I’ll try not to make it a habit.”
“You might want to.” He goes still. “You know I’d hang out with you anytime, Hart. That’s what friends do.”
Yes. Friends. Just friends. He finally seems to have accepted that, and now I’m the one who’s struggling? I have got to get a hold of myself.
I nod. And because I desperately need some distance, I stand and pick up the empty popcorn bowl. I walk into the kitchen, but he grabs the mugs and follows me.
“You know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about,” he says.
I glance back. “Oh?” I set the bowl in the sink.
“Justin . . .”
“I wondered if you’d ask about that.” I wince. “I can’t believe I told you—my sisters don’t even know.”
“You had to tell someone,” he says, like it’s no big deal.
“Like I needed to give you more reasons to think I’m a total disaster.” I try to match his nonchalance, but I think I fail.
“You’re not a total disaster,” he jokes. “Just a tiny one.”
I shoot him a look as I turn on the faucet and rinse the bowl.
“I’m glad you told me. It’s nice to see there’s a side of you that doesn’t have everything all figured out,” he says.
I flick the water off, and he motions for me to hand him the bowl.
He picks up a towel, dries it, then hands it back, and I put it away.
“I definitely don’t have everything figured out,” I say, realizing it’s true. I close the cupboard and face him.
He moves an inch closer. “Nobody does.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.” I lean back against the counter. I should make an excuse to go back into the living room, but I don’t. Instead, I stay still.
“So, what did you want to ask me?” I chew the inside of my lip, suddenly nervous.
“Not a question, really,” he says, shaking his head. “More of a clarification.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not that you don’t want to be with someone,” he says, like he’s thought about this. “You just don’t want to be in love with the person you’re with.”
I avoid his eyes. “Pretty much.”
“That’s weird,” he states.
“It wasn’t when I thought of it,” I say. “Part of me likes the idea of having someone . . .” I press my lips together, suddenly warm.
“And the other part?”
“Hates the idea of giving someone else the power to hurt me.”
“Ah”—he lifts his chin—“so it’s a control issue.”
“No, it’s—” But I go quiet. Because maybe it was? Maybe it still is. When our eyes meet, and I find his filled with concern and understanding, and I see a future where I don’t have control.
And that’s terrifying.
He moves closer, looking at me so intently it makes my toes curl. He reaches up and brushes my hair away from my face, fingers skimming softly against my cheek as he does.
“I would never do that,” he says.
I drag my gaze to his. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” The words are firm, but his touch is soft. He brings his free hand to my waist, eyes fixed on me as his thumb sweeps across my bottom lip.
I look into his eyes and silently count to three. “What are we doing?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he says, with a smile. “What are you doing?”
Trying not to think about how much I liked having your arms around me on that ice rink. Trying not to let myself get swept away in a moment that I know will end badly. Trying to remember all the reasons that you and I don’t make sense. Trying to stay in control.
But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I say, “I’m not sure.”
Warmth from his hand on my skin radiates through my entire body. The heat of his grasp on my hip makes my pulse quicken. Without letting go, he moves in closer, his feet bracketing mine, and I inhale his familiar, masculine scent.
“This is crazy,” I say, desperate to access the part of my brain where the common sense lives.
“Because you don’t want to feel anything,” he says, still watching me. “Right?”
“Right.” My voice is so weak even I don’t believe me.
“So you don’t want me to do this—” He leans in and presses a kiss to the soft spot under my ear. Then he hesitates, like he’s giving me an out.
I don’t take it.
“Or this—” He drags his mouth down my neck, pausing at the dip in my collarbone, then looks at me again.
Again, I remain still. “And you really don’t want me to—” His hand tightens around my waist as he reaches up and moves my sweater aside to reveal my bare skin, kissing all the way to my shoulder in long, drawn out movements. He stops and looks at me. “Right?”
I shudder a breath. My face is hot, my palms are sweating, and the only thing I can think is, do that again.
Instead, I whisper a quiet, thin, “Right.”
One more soft kiss, then Finn carefully shifts my sweater back over my shoulder. “Okay, fair enough.” He takes a step back. “You’re in control here.”
Disappointment floods my entire body, and my muscles tense at the realization that I did not want him to stop. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted his body even closer.
I want Finn.
Oh my gosh. I want Finn.
He drops his hand from my waist, but before he moves away, I grab his arm. “Wait.”
He turns back, and for once, I don’t want to listen to the voices telling me all the reasons this is a terrible idea. I just want Finn.
I grab onto his sweatshirt and pull him flush against me. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, looking at me like if he blinks, this will all go away.
But it won’t go away. I’ve tried to make it go away.
“I really want to kiss you,” he says, breath ragged, like it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to.
I don’t want to think right now. I don’t want reason and logic to be a part of the conversation in my mind.
My breath hitches, and I hold his gaze as his eyes search mine, seeing me in a way no one ever has. I reach up and press my hand against the side of his face, then pull him lower until finally our lips meet.
He takes my face in his hands, kissing me so fully, so intently, that I lose my breath.
My head spins. His lips search mine, firm but soft, and I force myself not to think, not to worry what this means, not to let reason get in the way right now.
In this moment, there’s only Finn and me, and I like it that way.
Our bodies are close as he deepens the kiss, my heart racing with desire for this man I shouldn’t want but really, really do.
He pulls back and breathes my name on a shaky exhale, still holding my face, eyes searching feverishly for a place to land.
My lips tingle, and reality sets in. “Oh my gosh.” I cover my mouth with my hand, eyes wide, searching. “Oh my gosh.” My other hand rests on his chest, the remnant of that kiss still hanging in the space between us.
“Don’t freak out,” he says calmly.
I shake my head and clear my throat.
He steps back from me, and his hands move to my arms. “You’re freaking out.”
“I think—” I look away.
“Hart,” he says. “Talk to me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I shake my head. “That was a mistake.”