Chapter 41 #2
“Does Finn know you’re coming?” Her brow knits, almost like she thinks he’s done something wrong. “I feel like he would’ve said something, but who knows with him.” Her smile is kind.
“He actually doesn’t know,” I say. “It’s a—” the words grand gesture race through my mind—“surprise?”
A new smile crawls across her lips. “Well, we should get you in—”
The door opens and Finn rushes out. His coat is half on, and judging by the way he’s clomping toward me, his boots are too big for his feet. It’s comical but endearing, and my heart swells at the sight of him.
The second I meet his eyes, I know I’m doing the right thing.
“Finn!” She lifts a hand and waves at him. “Raya’s here!”
I don’t take my eyes off him as he rambles up to us, practically skidding to a stop in front of me.
“I was about to warn her what she’s in for when she comes inside,” his mom says. She looks at me. “Only two of his siblings are missing at the moment, so it’s a full house.”
“I can’t wait to meet them,” I say, realizing I mean it. I want to know all of Finn’s people.
“I’ll give you two a minute out here first.” She pats him on the shoulder and adds, “I haven’t seen you move that fast on or off the ice in a while, Skip.” She grins and walks back toward the house.
We stare at each other for a brief moment, and then start talking at the same time.
“What are you—”
“I should’ve told you—”
We both stop. I’m nervous, and I hold up a hand to say, you first.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “You look—”
I push a hand through my hair and wince. “I know. I took a late flight, but we were delayed, and I slept on the plane, but not very well, and . . . it’s been a long night.”
“I was going to say you look beautiful.” His eyes gleam, taking me in.
“Oh.” I look away, feeling suddenly—shy? “Thanks.”
He scrubs a hand over his chin, then says, through his fingers, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I know,” I fake curtsy. “In the flesh.” I instantly regret the move and look around for something—anything—to say. “So this is where you grew up.” Still haven’t found the courage to give my prepared speech.
“Yeah, this is it,” he says. “Do you . . . want me to show you around?”
“Yes,” I nod. “I want to see all of it, but—maybe in a little bit . . .” Oh gosh, here it is. The moment of truth. I hate feeling so uncertain. So vulnerable.
If I do what I came here to do, I’m giving him the power to hurt me.
All it takes is one more look at him for my nerves to settle, his words rushing back. “I’ll never do that.” The promise doesn’t feel empty.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and watches me for a long moment, a lazy smile on his face, almost like he knows I’m working up the courage to say something big.
I avoid his eyes and chew the bottom of my lip. “I had a whole speech prepared, but now that I’m here, the only part I remember is”—I look at him, square in the eyes—“I love you.”
The words tumble out like bowling pins accidentally knocked over, and I can’t get them back. Oddly, I don’t want to.
He freezes, and for a second, I’m not sure he heard me. He cocks his head and studies me. “Did you just say . . .” A smile breaks loose on his lips, and the hope I’ve been holding starts to take root.
“You were right,” I say. “We’re awesome together.”
He looks at me like he’s trying to rearrange my facial features because they don’t quite make sense. “You actually meant to say that you love me . . .”
I wave him off with a quiet smirk. “Let me talk.”
He holds up a hand. “Yeah, no, keep going, please.”
I close my eyes and breathe deep. “When you kissed me, I got—”
“Freaked out,” he interrupts. “Because you’re scared of getting hurt.”
“Finn.” My tone is a mix between amused and exasperated.
“Oh. Sorry. Go ahead.” He mimes zipping his mouth shut.
I nod. “Yes. I did freak out a little. But I realized I’m not so much scared of getting hurt as I am scared of letting myself .
. . I don’t know . . . need someone else.
I’ve spent so much of my life moving from crisis to crisis or working to proactively avoid one.
Always preparing for the worst . . . and never allowing for the best. The other shoe and all that stuff .
. .” My voice trails off, and I wonder if I’m making any sense.
He nods slowly, watching me sort this all out because I still haven’t gotten it all straight in my mind.
“I don’t have all the answers,” I say.
His eyes go comically wide, and I can practically hear the quippy gears churning up his response in his head.
“Shocking, right?” I grin. “I’m learning that it’s okay not to have everything figured out.”
He appears to be holding in a smile. He’s failing.
“But I do know that you’re kind.” I sign the word as I say it.
“And you’re good. You saved the tutoring club because some kid you didn’t know wrote a letter.
And now you hang out with that kid and take him to see Santa.
You show up for the people you care about—” I look at him. “And you showed up for me too.”
“Twice.” He grins.
“Twice,” I agree. “Both times I was at my absolute lowest.” My gaze drops to my shoes, and I kick at a piece of loose gravel. “So. That’s it. I’m done being proud and stubborn, and I’m done not admitting when things are good. And fun.”
His expression is disbelief, and I get it—part of me can’t believe any of this either.
He steps closer, lifts his hand, and his thumb brushes across my cheek. His eyes catch the late morning light, sparkling with the promise of whatever comes next, and he looks at me so fully I wonder if anyone has ever seen me this clearly before.
“You said the ball was in my court,” I say. “So, I guess this is me, shooting my shot.”
He holds my gaze for three seconds that feel like three years, then says, “Slam dunk.” He pulls me into his chest, arms tight around my back.
His mouth crashes onto mine, and every ounce of nervous energy inside me melts away.
All the true feelings I’ve held back rise to the surface as one hand rests at the back of my neck, holding my face so gently you’d think it was porcelain.
His kisses aren’t tentative or polite—this is a man who knows what he wants. And I’m thrilled when I wrap my head around the idea that what he wants is me.
He pulls back, eyes searching, hands holding my face, thumb brushing softly across my cheeks in one smooth, gentle motion.
“I can’t give you absolutes that this is going to go exactly as you planned.”
I smile. “I know.”
“And last I checked, I can’t predict the future.”
“I know that too.”
“But,” he touches his forehead to mine. “No matter what, the one thing I can promise is that whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.” He leans in and kisses me again, eyes open, like he’s afraid if he closes them this will all wash away.
“I believe you,” I whisper.
He smiles against my mouth, and I smile right back. Then the front door of the beautiful, sprawling house swings open, and a loud commotion spills out, like a clown car filled with linebackers, onto the quiet lawn.
“Oh no,” Finn says with a light laugh. “Are you even ready for this?”
I grin. “I’m so ready.”
“You’re about to get dropped in the deep end with the nosiest, loudest, most obnoxious—”
“Uncle Finn, what were you doing to her? Why were you sucking her face off?” An adorable little girl runs a circle around us, another little girl trailing close behind.
He pulls back, and we both laugh as the questions continue.
“Finn, bring that girl inside,” his mom hollers from the porch. “You’re both going to freeze out there.”
“I dunno, she’s keeping me warm because she’s so hot,” he calls back, followed by a chorus of “Ohhhhh!!” from his brothers.
“So, this is what I’m getting myself into with you, huh?” We start walking toward the house.
He shrugs, faux innocence on his face.
His hand slides down my arm and wraps around mine. He tugs me to a stop. “Oh, hey, before I forget . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.”