Chapter 4 #2
Finn watches me for a long moment, long enough that I lift my chin self-consciously, but then he drags a napkin over his mouth, leans back in his chair, and folds his large arms across his broad chest.
“Yeah. This place belonged to them,” he says.
“Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard, but also this bungalow. They ran the entire operation here while raising five kids, so Dad built the cabin as a hideaway for him and my mom. Somewhere to go where he could fish and she could read. It was supposed to be a guest rental, but they never actually rented it out.” He scans the cabin with thoughtful lines around his eyes.
“I think it was too special to them to share with anyone else.”
“That’s beautiful,” I reply softly. It’s sad Finn lost his parents, but he’s so lucky to have had them at all, and I get the sense he knows it.
And for as long as they were alive, Finn was surrounded by love.
I can’t count the nights I prayed for that as a little girl.
“And five kids? That’s a big family. Are you still close? ”
Finn snorts quietly, but the tug of affection on his lips makes me want to smile too.
“Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” he says.
“My eldest brother is Chord Davenport—the pro-hockey player?” He waits for me to acknowledge the name, and I do because I’ve met him twice when he’s stopped by Violet’s studio.
“He and Violet are based in San Francisco now, but he has a house on the property. My older sister, Charles, and younger siblings, Dylan and Daisy, all live up at the main house. Dylan’s daughter is there, too, and his new wife, Poppy.
It’s a little crowded, but everyone’s happy. ”
“So, you’re the middle child,” I tease. “That explains a lot.”
Finn responds with mock offense, eyebrows high and amusement tugging at the side of his mouth. “And what does that mean?”
“The brooding, independent man of mystery living on his own in a bungalow in the woods?” Finn gives me that look of eternal forbearance, and I laugh lightly. “I have no idea if those are the hallmarks of a middle child, but you handed me that one on a platter.”
Finn shakes his head and stands, a hand coasting through blond hair neatly trimmed on the side and long enough on top for a single lock to fall forward and catch on his lashes.
“You must be tired,” he says as he clears the table. “Why don’t you get ready for bed? There’s soap and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom if you want to freshen up, and while you’re in there, I’ll change the sheets. Then tomorrow…”
I sigh as the temporary high of a cheeseburger and conversation is crushed under the weight of what lies ahead. “Tomorrow, I take back my life.”
“Yep. Get some sleep and we’ll start making plans in the morning.”
“Okay. And Finn?” He turns away from the sink to look at me, a plate still in either hand. “Thank you.”
His measured blinks could mean anything, but all he says is “You’re welcome.”
After I’ve brushed my teeth and washed my face with a bar of plain white soap that leaves my skin dry and makes me wonder how men as a species have made it this far, I find the cabin dark but for the light of Finn’s phone.
The man himself is stretched out on the sofa.
His feet and ankles dangle off the end and he’s going to wake up with a crick in his neck if he tries sleeping with his pillow wedged at that angle, but I’m too grateful to point it out.
I pause on my way to the loft ladder, eyeing Dakota, who’s curled up in her bed at the foot. “Good night,” I whisper.
Finn shifts his phone, but the glow from the screen still lights up his face. “Good night, Rosalie.”
In Finn’s bedroom, I slip between the sheets and take a moment to inhale the scent of soap and safety and something else that’s all Finn.
I’m tired, so I hope sleep comes quickly, but that’s never been my luck.
With the sound of the shower running downstairs, I stare up at the timber-beamed ceiling, exhausted but unable to rest. I still haven’t turned on my phone, and I toy with it on the blanket beside me.
As soon as I press that button, everything changes, and I want to stay in this ignorant bubble a while longer.
It’s nice here. I like it. I feel stronger than I usually do, like I really might be the kind of woman to do what she says she’s going to do and create a life that doesn’t include Chip.
The water downstairs cuts off with the thud of old pipes, and as I listen as Finn exits the bathroom and settles himself on that too-small couch, I burrow deeper into the blankets.
Finn’s willingness to let me stay might be the only thing keeping me on track right now, and here in the quiet and the dark, the fear I didn’t let myself feel earlier creeps in.
This isn’t a childish adventure. This is my life and my livelihood, and I’ve never done anything so selfish or so rash as what I did today.
The adrenaline is pumping. I’m nervous. I’m scared.
Underneath all that, I’m also giddy with hope and possibility.
But if it wasn’t for stumbling across that photo of Finn earlier today, I might not have ever been given the catalyst to run.
And if he’d been harsh enough to send me away when I begged for help, I might have lost the courage to keep running.
And those are truths I have to think about.
Especially now. I can’t rely on a man to help me rebuild what I’ve lost, even if that man is as decent as Finn.
I need to do this by myself and be smarter and more focused than ever.
My head is what’s going to guide me to a confident and independent life, not my soft, unreliable heart.