Chapter 13 #2
“Tell us,” Mhairi says, leaning on the table. “Do people come in and take the mickey out of Finneas’s ugly mug on all the
mugs?”
“No, but I do,” I reply, which garners a laugh.
“Do you do fake accents just to keep yourself entertained?” Callum asks.
“I don’t. In fact, my boss has informed me to never do a Scottish accent again,” I say, sparing my first glance at Finn. His
eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me look away. “But I think I just need some practice.”
“I’m not technically your boss,” Finn says low enough so that the others can’t hear. I ignore him.
“Oi,” Mhairi says to Caro and Duffie, breaking them apart. “Pass us the binder? I’m feeling a song come on.”
Finn excuses himself to go to the bar. With his back to me, I’m free to watch him, to admire how he moves easily through the crowd, the kindness and attention he gives everyone he passes.
He exudes warmth in a way that wraps me up and makes me break.
I look down at the table, wishing I had another drink or something to do with my hands.
Sitting here, being so close to him, is making me antsy in a way I can’t take.
When Finn reaches the bar, he leans over to talk to the bartender, who then gestures at the emcee.
The emcee turns on his microphone and announces, “His highness has just covered everyone’s tab for tonight and would like
to buy the next round as well.”
Everyone cheers, but no one seems surprised. This is just who Finn is. A guy with a great big heart. A guy whose darkest time
was showcased to the world to pick apart like magpies on roadkill and yet not only did he get through it, but he didn’t let
it change his best instincts.
I like him so much I think I’m going to cry.
“I’m going to get some air,” I say to his friends, who are still poring over the karaoke song binder.
I weave my way through the bar to an outdoor porch where people go to smoke and vape.
Thankfully there’s no one out there. It’s just me and the alley cats.
I lean my elbows on the railing and look up at the night sky.
Wispy clouds pass by the moon, shifting the light and shadows.
The door opens and shuts behind me, but I don’t look to see who’s here. I don’t feel like talking to anyone.
“Have you considered dual careers in writing and performing?” Finn says.
I still don’t turn around. I can’t. I’m certain every feeling I have for him is written on my face and I won’t let him see
it. Getting rejected a third time is a shame I really can’t bear right now.
“Hey,” he says softer, gentler. His hand rests on my arm. I have to resist leaning into the warmth of him.
“You’re not going to sing? You know the people would love it,” I say. My voice sounds strange, even to my own ears. I watch
a cat across the alleyway rub itself against a building and seemingly pounce on nothing. I can relate, buddy. I’ve been pouncing on nothing since I got to Scotland.
“No one wants to hear me sing,” Finn says. “Despite years of vocal lessons when I was young, I’m unable to carry even the
lightest of tunes. My elder sister, Amelia, is quite the soprano. She barred me from singing years ago.”
Amelia’s photo came up during my Google searches of Finn. She’s the very essence of an English-rose beauty. I try to think
of a retort, and nothing comes to mind. I try to think of anything, but my thoughts and feelings are so big and jumbled. . . .
“American Hannah?” he says. “Why won’t you look at me?”
“I’ll look at you,” I say, and absolutely do not look at him.
He sighs and leans against the railing next to me. “This is the most guarded you’ve ever been with me. Even that first night at the pub was better than this.”
What do you expect? I want to say. I’m humiliated. Instead, I say, “Shouldn’t you get back inside? Your friends are probably wondering where you are.”
He’s quiet. The pull I feel to him is unbearable—made worse knowing it’s unrequited. That somehow, I’ve conjured this chemistry
on my own and it’s completely one-sided.
“I’m such an idiot,” I accidentally say out loud. I don’t even care anymore. I swore to myself I wouldn’t fall for him, believing
I was too smart.
“You’re not,” he says. “But I am a total and complete fuckup.”
That gets my attention. Finally, I look at him. “What do you mean?”
Now that I can see his deep hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the way the moonlight hits his copper hair, my knees go weak.
I turn my attention back to the cat.
“In the woods.” His voice is low.
“I—” I’m about to make an excuse, claim I was just joking there in the water, playing him, but he cuts me off.
“No, it’s my turn to speak.” His sigh is layered. Regretful. “I wanted so badly to kiss you, Hannah.”
“Then why didn’t you?” My heart rises into my throat.
“Because I was scared, because I swore to myself that I wouldn’t get tangled up in anything real, not after what happened with Beatrice. Because you are so precious and funny and clever. Because the way I feel about you makes me nervous.”
My breathing becomes shallow. “I make you nervous?”
He chuckles lightly. “Do you know what my friends said tonight?”
“What?” I stop watching the alley cat. I steel myself to look at him without melting. It’s not possible. Not when I know who
he is on the inside in addition to who he is on the outside.
“They told me I’m an utter knob if I don’t push my fears aside and take the leap.” He pauses. “Hannah?”
“Finn?” I reply, unable to wrap my head around what he’s just said. He wanted to pursue me. He wants to take the leap with
me. My arms are ready to reach out and grab him. At the same time, my heart and my pride warn me to be careful.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
I nod. It’s all I can do not to throw myself at him. Instead, I gingerly take a step toward him. He takes a step toward me.
I trace down his arms with my fingers, which causes his breathing to hitch. Slowly, so slowly, he brings one hand onto the
small of my back and cups my jaw with the other. I lean into his touch and bring my hands up his firm stomach, his chest.
My fingers graze the collar of his shirt as they wrap around his neck. He shivers in response.
The air between us is so charged and heady and we haven’t even kissed yet. There’s a tremor in my hand, so I steady myself against him. We lean into each other farther, holding each other, holding each other up. I’m certain my heart will burst out of my chest at any moment.
And then his head dips. I lift onto my tiptoes in response. Finn’s mouth, soft and sweet, finds mine and it’s as though I’ve
been starved until this moment. The pressure of this kiss alternates between tentative and deep, full of longing. His arms
pull me into him until we’re pressed close. Closer. I can no longer tell where he begins and I end. When his tongue sweeps
into my mouth, I open wider for him. All I know, all I want to know, is this.
Minutes pass or hours or lifetimes of us kissing and holding and expressing everything we’ve tried to push away since the
night we met. It’s perfect, it’s everything.
And it’s interrupted when his phone chimes.
We both freeze. I feel his mouth smile against mine. I laugh into it. It’s such an intimate thing. Our foreheads are touching,
he’s still holding me close, but he reaches one hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone, apologizing as he does.
“I would normally ignore such a rude interruption of such a wonderful thing, but there’s a specific chime I’m not supposed
to—”
“It’s okay,” I say, and lower onto my feet. Letting go of him is agony. I do it anyway so he can read his message. My hands are shaking even more now. I wrap my arms around myself.
When he sees the text, his face goes ashen. He swallows. “Hannah, I am so, so sorry, but I . . .” His gaze bounces from the
phone to me to the back door and back again. “I have to go.”
“It’s fine, I get it,” I reassure him, still trying to recover from our kiss. Worry creeps up on me. “Is everything okay with you though?”
He doesn’t answer; he simply disappears back into the bar.