16. BAILEY #3
The way he says it makes me look at him.
His expression is steady. No judgment. No praise that turns it into one more thing I’m supposed to be proud of.
Just understanding.
“You do that a lot?” he asks.
“What?”
“Show up because you said you would, even when you’re running on fumes.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
“Yes,” I say finally. “I do that a lot.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what happens when people don’t,” I say.
Finn’s gaze stays on me.
“I think I became the reliable one early. Not because anyone forced me. More because I was good at it, and people like when you’re good at the thing they need.” I swallow. “Then one day it’s just who you are.”
The words feel too honest once they’re out, and I brace for him to smooth them over.
He doesn’t.
He just sits with them for a moment. Then he says, “You ever get tired of it?”
The question is so quiet I almost don’t answer.
“Yes.” It comes out before I can make it prettier.
He nods once, like I’ve given him something important and he knows better than to mishandle it.
I don’t know what to do with this version of him.
The one who plans soup and ocean air instead of reservations. The one who asks questions and doesn’t rush the answers. The one who makes silence feel like a place to rest, not something I have to fill.
Finally, I turn my head. “You’re not what I expected today.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Good or bad?”
“Unclear.”
“I’ll take unclear.”
“That seems optimistic.”
“I’m a hopeful guy.”
“No, you’re not.”
His smile fades a little, but not in a hurt way. More like I’ve stepped closer to something without meaning to.
“No?”
“You’re funny,” I say. “You’re charming. You’re upbeat. But hopeful is different.”
He looks out at the water, and for a few seconds, I think I’ve gone too far.
Then he says, “When I was a kid, hope usually came right before disappointment.”
The words are low, almost lost under the wind.
I want to push for more, but I don’t.
He didn’t push me when I told him the truth about being tired of being reliable all the time. So I wait.
Finn keeps his eyes on the water. “You hope a placement sticks. You hope somebody means it when they say you’re safe. You hope the next house won’t be worse than the last one.”
His mouth pulls tight, but it’s not a smile. “Eventually, you learn to wait for proof.”
I go still.
“Finn,” I say softly.
He looks at me then, and the smile he gives me is small. A little rough around the edges. “That got dark for grilled cheese.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It didn’t.”
“Little bit.”
“It got honest.”
His eyes hold mine.
Something shifts between us, quiet and real.
I suddenly understand why he jokes before people can get too close. Not because nothing matters to him. Because too much does. Because he learned early that wanting something openly gave the world a target.
And yet he asked me for three dates.
Not easy dates.
Real ones.
The knowledge sits inside me, heavier than attraction and harder to ignore.
Finn reaches for the small box tied with a string, breaking the moment before it turns too fragile. “Dessert?”
I let him because it feels like he needs the shift.
“What is it?”
“Brownies.”
“From Nora’s?”
“Yes.”
“Wise choice.”
He opens the box, and the brownies are thick, dark, and dusted with powdered sugar.
I take one. “You know, so far, this is a strong first date.”
“Good.”
“I’m not saying that officially.”
“Understood. Off the record.”
“Very off the record.”
He looks at me, and the warmth in his eyes settles low in my stomach. “I can work with that.”
We sit there until the sun slips lower behind the clouds and the cold starts to bite through my coat.
The conversation moves again, lighter this time.
Favorite bad movies. Worst road-trip snacks.
Whether Roman is secretly the funniest Raven because he only says eight words a week, and five of them are timed with surgical precision.
By the time Finn packs up the food, my shoulders have relaxed, and my lungs are full of fresh air.
On the drive back, the truck is warm and quiet. Music plays low. I watch the darkening road, the trees closing in again as we leave the coast behind.
Date one was supposed to help me decide.
It does.
Just not in the direction I expected.
When Finn pulls up in front of my house, he cuts the engine and walks me to the porch. He doesn’t reach for me right away, which makes me want him to.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For soup and emotional interrogation?”
“For not making it feel like an interrogation.”
His eyes soften. “Anytime.”
There it is again.
That word.
Open enough to be dangerous.
I unlock my door, then turn back to him. “Date one is officially complete.”
“How’d I do?”
I pretend to consider. “I was pretty impressed.”
His smile spreads slowly. “High praise.”
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then he steps closer, slow enough that I can stop him.
I don’t.
His hand comes to my waist, warm through my jacket, and he bends his head. The kiss is soft at first. A question, maybe. Something less urgent than the hotel room and somehow not less dangerous.
I kiss him back because it feels right.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests near mine for half a second.
“Good night, Bailey.”
“Good night, Finn.”
I go inside before I ask him to stay.
The door closes between us, and I lean against it, fingers touching my mouth.
Date one.
One down.
Two to go.