6. Finn
six
Finn
A fter casually walking Dave—as he insisted I call him—to his car in the parking lot behind the library, I glance at my watch, knowing I’m too late.
It was six o’clock when I subtly edged us toward the exit.
I force my feet to continue on a mildly paced trajectory, though I want to sprint like a crocodile is behind me.
I need this unusual agreement with Vivian to work.
Dave wasn’t only accommodating; he was downright friendly—all because Vivian had had a simple conversation with him.
I hadn’t realized how starved I was for a polite interaction after almost four weeks of curt brush-offs.
And Dave’s donation idea—for me to organize and host a fundraising event at the library, after which he’ll match the total amount raised—seems easy enough.
I’d been attending galas before I had chest hair, so I’m sure I can come up with something that’ll meet town approval.
As expected, Vivian’s Alterations is closed when I arrive.
A defeated sigh leaves my lungs as I clutch the sun-warmed metal handle and give it a shake.
I’ll have to stop by during lunch tomorrow.
My fingers release the handle a second before the heavy green curtain is yanked aside, and my gaze crashes with Vivian’s.
A sharp, tingling sensation cascades down my arms as we stare at each other.
Then the memory of the last time we were separated by a pane of glass sails to the front of my mind.
Vivian’s eyes glaze slightly, almost as if she’s recalling that moment as well.
A smirk lifts my lips as my gaze sweeps her frame.
Today’s sleeveless dress is deep lavender. I’m inexplicably drawn to the subtle way the loose fabric cascades down her body and simultaneously grateful this dress isn’t like the form-fitting green one.
Another memory rushes forward, of us between the library stacks as Vivian’s thumb brushed my chest, and how that single touch felt…transformative.
Mentally, I give myself a swift kick in the pants—much like I’ve been doing for the last two days when this particular thought demands my attention.
No matter what I think I felt, my relationship with Vivian needs to remain platonic.
The chances of finding another Wilks Beach resident to help me with my plans are slim, especially now that I’m in a time crunch.
Still, I can’t help quirking an eyebrow and seeing if she’ll verbally spar with me again.
“How’s that belt memory treating you?” I pause, deepening my flirty smile. “Do you revisit it often?”
The flush overtaking Vivian’s face is the most delightful shade.
If I was particular to pink, I’d use that color in the guest room of my rental house.
My personal books have been in storage for years, but there’s something about the layout of the upstairs room overlooking the bay that would make an idyllic home library.
The soft-pink color would complement the way the sunset light bends through the windows in the evening.
Then Vivian’s eyes narrow, and a bubble of victory slips over my skin. Nothing is as fun as teasing this woman. Her lips dive into a defiant frown before she flicks the curtain closed.
“I can stand out here all day,” I say, louder than necessary. “I wonder who would notice the evil librarian waiting for—”
The fabric is cast aside as Vivian quickly unlocks and pushes the door open. “Come in. Come in. Just be quiet.”
“Thanks, gorgeous.” I wink as I stroll past her, smiling at the slight growl I receive in return.
The shop is chaotic, garments and fabric strewn this way and that.
There are two smaller tables containing various types of sewing machines and another long wooden table littered with zippers, boxes of buttons, and fabric scraps.
Dozens of colorful bobbins hang from a pegboard on the wall shared with the coffee shop, while rolls of fabric fill the bookcases running along the other wall.
A half-clothed dress form, a rolling clothing rack, and three standing lamps fill out the tiny space.
When I turn, Vivian is still beside the door.
The very front of the store is so orderly in comparison that my brows quirk.
An octagonal step riser rests beside an antique settee.
Beyond those, a tri-fold dressing screen provides privacy.
Another standing lamp lights the corner, casting a warm glow on the closed drapes.
They’re elaborate, the drapes. Victorian?
A second layer of tan brocade fabric swoops over the curtain rod with beaded accents hanging down like fringe.
There’s no natural light now that the drapes are closed.
Annoyance runs down my forearms. Vivian shouldn’t be sealed away in this darkened space.
She should be radiant in the golden sunlight.
I have the strangest impulse to take a sledgehammer to the wall facing Dotty’s Market and replace it with picture windows.
My hand flexes before I notice how Vivian is standing, shoulders hunched while twisting a silver ring on her pinky finger. I love teasing her, but only because she fires back. I never want Vivian to feel belittled or insecure, especially not in her space.
Changing tactics, I grip my chin and tilt it upward. “As you can see, my nose isn’t broken. Thanks for asking.”
When she huffs and blows past me, the twisting in my stomach lessens.
“What do you want?” Vivian sits at one of the machines, feeding fabric through the needle at a racing speed.
“I thought you might need this back.” I pull her folded hoodie and tote from my leather messenger bag, setting them on the largest table—a tiny pile of order amid her disorganized havoc of boxes of beads and silvery ribbons.
“Also, we need to decide when we’re going”—at the last minute, I use her lingo in an attempt to speak on common ground—“to the mainland for our speech experiment. I was thinking tomorrow night.”
The sewing machine stops for a second before continuing, its noisy whirr dominating the small space. Somewhere in the background, an old seventies song whispers about heartache.
“About that . . .” She rolls her lips inward, focusing on her work and ignoring that I’ve moved directly in front of her machine. “I’ve reconsidered. I’ve decided I don’t need to change.”
“Frankly, I agree with you.” Her startled eyes only bounce to mine for the briefest second.
Anyone who takes the time to get past that initial quiet exterior would see the enticing spitfire beneath. If I wasn’t already under extreme pressure to ensure my sister’s future, I’d pour my energy into getting to know Vivian better.
“Regardless of my unwanted opinion”—when I receive a derisive snort, I know I’m on the correct path—“you were right when you said that I need you more than you need me.”
I stretch my arms wide.
“Haven’t my actions proved that? Here I am, hunting you down at your place of business, throwing myself at your compassion. I am a desperate, desperate man.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. I’m so close to winning the adrenaline rush of victory singes my nerve endings.
“Please, Vivian.” I rest my hand over my heart. “Take pity.”
A sigh accompanies her full smile, and I swear it’s the triumph that has me breathless, not the sweet curve of her lips.
“If I agree to help you, can you promise not to be so”—she rolls her hand in my direction—“over the top?”
“Absolutely not.” My hand curls into a resolute fist at my sternum. “Dramatics are part of the deal.”
When a peal of surprised laughter escapes her lips, my chest threatens to expand past the capacity of my ribs. I rub my knuckles against my breastbone before tucking my hands into my pockets.
She looks to the ceiling as if asking for guidance from above before settling her gaze on me. “Can’t I just help you without talking to all the men?”
I chuckle, murmuring all the men , before forcefully straightening my lips. “No, gorgeous. Let’s make this an arrangement that benefits us both.”
Normally, I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but the idea of taking advantage of Vivian is as appealing as cutting out my own tongue.
She deflates, hunching over her sewing machine. “I’m going to fail.”
A laugh punches from me. “Of course you will.”
Before Vivian can snap her gaze back to her hands, I catch her chin with my thumb and forefinger, gently keeping her eyes on mine.
“You’re supposed to fail. Over and over and over again.
You’re supposed to fail and feel like crap and then try again.
That’s how we get better. That’s how we learn.
” I gesture to the fabric in her hands, letting my fingers reluctantly fall from her soft skin.
“Did you succeed at this the first time you tried?”
She wrinkles her nose, and though I knew she’d be displeased at my words, I didn’t expect this small movement to be so endearing. I have to force myself to focus on the rainbow of bobbins to gain control over my breathing.
“No, but I don’t remember struggling as much with it. It sort of . . . flowed like water.”
“Okay,” I say, reaching up to push a precarious spool back on its peg.
“You were a natural. So am I at most things. The rest you’ll have to work for.
” I almost tense, realizing I’m going to repeat my father’s words, but they’re as true today as they were the first fifteen hundred times he told them to me. “Nothing worth having comes easily.”
I leisurely peruse her fabrics before returning my attention back to Vivian. The analytical way she’s looking at me makes me rub the back of my neck.
“What?”
“No one has ever ‘tough-loved’ me before.” She tilts her head to the side, a cascade of ringlets sliding over her bare shoulder. “Everyone just lets me off the hook. Doesn’t expect much from me.” A muscle in her jaw ticks.
The need to ease the tension in her cheek is visceral. “Trust me, dating coaches are just as tough as any other coach.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She shrugs. “I’ve never had a coach before.”
Seventy-six questions about her upbringing clamor for attention, but I focus on logistics. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”
That darned nose wrinkle again. “Let’s meet at the water tower at nine.”
“You’re kidding.”
A curly strand falls over her eyes when she shakes her head, her fingers tucking it away before I can. “It’s the best way to ensure that no one sees us together.”
I make a show of rolling my eyes and huffing, hopefully drawing attention away from how my hand automatically fisted at her words.
“Until our next clandestine meeting.” My heavy wink evokes another annoyed glare.
“Goodbye, Finn,” Vivian deadpans.
Though my stroll to the exit is unhurried, my heart is hammering like I’ve just finished a record-breaking one hundred meters. I hold the door open just long enough to pull Vivian’s attention.
“Oh, and, gorgeous? Wear something nice.” I allow the heavy door to swing shut, silencing her rebuttal.