Chapter 15
Theo
There’s a man in my kitchen wearing a tux who’s arranging biscuits into a castle.
This is not a metaphor.
The same man who drove me home from Stirling Castle. The same man who stripped off my heels, unzipped my dress, and helped me into my oversized hoodie without his hands straying once.
I’m watching Leith’s streetlights flicker through the bay window, swaddled in the chunky knit blanket Gran made me when I was a girl, shortly before she passed away. My face is tight from dried tears, but the panic has receded, leaving behind only exhaustion and a hum of comfort in my chest.
Finn just witnessed me detonate. A full, snot-and-tears implosion. And he didn’t back away, didn’t call me dramatic, or try to patch me up with empty phrases. He listened, got me the hell home, and put the damn kettle on.
He moves around my tiny kitchen space with efficiency. His bow tie hangs loose around his neck, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. The tux trousers hug his thighs as he stretches to reach the biscuit tin I keep on the top shelf. Thighs built for scrums and sin.
‘Want shortbread with your chocolate digestives?’ he asks without turning.
‘Of course.’ My voice wavers a bit. ‘I’m emotionally compromised, so calories don’t count.’
The soft sound of his low laugh fills the quiet flat. Elvis weaves between his ankles, purring like a motorboat.
Wee weirdo.
We didn’t speak on the way back. I stared out the window while Finn drove, his hand occasionally squeezing mine at red lights. No questions or platitudes. Just his presence.
He brings over a mug of hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows and a plate stacked with biscuits.
‘There. Dig in.’ He plants the plate on the coffee table. ‘Biscuits are a key part of any post-meltdown debrief.’
The care in this simple act cuts right through my defences. He puts it in front of me like it’s no big deal. But it hits somewhere deep, where no one ever bothered to look.
‘Thank you. For getting me home.’
His little finger grazes mine as he passes me my favourite glittery mug. The contact sets off a chain reaction. Something sparks under my skin, like someone lit a match inside my bloodstream.
He sits down beside me. ‘I’d have carried you out over my shoulder if needed.’
‘That would’ve been a dramatic exit.’
‘Aye.’ He dunks a shortbread finger into his hot chocolate. ‘MacGill can rot in hell, by the way.’
I take a sip. ‘You didn’t have to defend me.’
‘More defending basic human decency.’ He scratches the back of his neck.
I’ve forgotten what it feels like to let another person take some of the weight. I’m not even sure I’ve ever known this feeling until this very minute.
‘You know what’s mad?’ I watch the marshmallows melt. ‘I’ve never told anyone that story before. Not any of my friends, not Charlie, nobody.’
‘Why me, then?’
This matters. Why him? Why the rugby player who drives me mental and makes me laugh and kisses me like the world’s ending and he wants to take me with him?
‘You showed me yours first,’ I say simply. ‘Your scars. That night with the power cut.’
He nods and reaches for my hand, strong fingers lacing through mine on instinct. ‘We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?’
‘Disaster recognises disaster, Lennox.’
‘Speak for yourself, MacMickin. I’m a goddamn delight.’
I laugh, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased with himself for teasing it out of me. I watch him with a sideways glance. Pink hair growing out at the roots, the newest scar is still red across his brow, stubble darkening his jaw. He’s undeniably hot. But he’s a lot more than that.
Finn didn’t run when I unravelled. He saw the ugliest, messiest version of me and his first instinct was to make sure I was safe. And my brain, the overthinking, list-making, control-freak part of me, goes completely still. A thought lands with the clarity of a church bell on a Sunday morning.
Finn is lovely.
In fact, he might be the loveliest man I’ve ever met.
I’ve been keeping him at arm’s length because vulnerability has always been linked with pain. But with him, it isn’t.
He reaches across me for another biscuit. His skin smells of the cherry soap I keep by the sink and something muskier. Heat hits the backs of my knees and climbs fast.
Control has been my currency since I was thirteen.
I’ve been holding back out of habit, out of fear, out of a fierce need to stay upright in a world that keeps shaking under my feet without warning.
But this man walks straight through every firewall I’ve ever built.
And I don’t know if that scares the shit out of me or sets me free.
Maybe control isn’t what I need right now.
Maybe it’s Finn.
Yeah, it’s definitely Finn.
I set down my mug and bring our intertwined hands to my mouth, pressing my lips against his knuckles.
‘Thank you,’ I say, barely louder than the soft whir of the fridge.
His eyes darken as I kiss his hand again. Slowly, I drag the tip of my tongue across the galloping pulse in his wrist.
‘Fuck’s sake, Theo…’
His eyes flare as I let go of his hand to peel myself from the blanket. His gaze sweeps over me, taking in my hoodie and bare thighs. I see the battle in his eyes, the war between desire and restraint.
‘Theo, you’ve had a hell of a night. I’m not going to take advantage of your vulnerable state by—’
I cut him off with a smile, and lean in until our noses almost touch. ‘Stop being so noble, Lennox. If anyone is taking advantage of my vulnerable state right now, it’s me.’
His brows shoot up, surprise and fire in his expression. ‘So I take it there were more pros than cons on your list?’
‘Oh, I didn’t even make one.’
This is revolutionary. I’ve made lists for everything from which university to attend to what brand of toilet paper to buy. But not for this. Not for him.
I place my hands on his shoulders, and his muscles are tense beneath my palms.
‘Last warning.’ His hands hover at my hips. ‘When we’re doing this, we’re fucking doing this. And not just once.’
I move, swinging one leg over his thighs, then the other, until I’m straddling him. ‘I sure hope so.’
‘Fuck.’ The word drops between us. ‘Are you really sure?’
I kiss the place where his collarbone meets his neck. ‘I don’t do uncertainty, Finn. You know that.’ The hard heat of him sears through the thin, damp lace between my thighs. I yank his bowtie away and nip his jaw. ‘You still game?’
His pupils swallow the last slivers of blue. ‘For you? Hell yeah.’