Chapter Nine
MARA
Jace Bennett keeps a secret for eleven minutes.
This may be a personal record.
By the time Finn and I leave Harbor Ice, Theo has texted Finn a single thumbs-up, Lena has sent me six exclamation marks from a conference in Denver, and Owen has apparently called from a team bus to say, “Do not make it weird.”
Finn reads that message twice.
“He made it weird,” he says.
“You kissed me in a public athletic facility.”
“The rink was locked.”
“Jace considers locks a creative challenge.”
We stand beneath the awning outside the arena while snow drifts through the parking-lot lights. Finn’s truck is three rows away. My car is at Sophie’s because the alternator has developed a spiritual objection to winter.
“I can drive you,” he says.
“Is that a goalie offer or a donor offer?”
His face closes slightly.
I regret the joke.
“Finn.” I touch his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”
“You are allowed to mention it.”
“Not every kind act needs to become an ethics hearing.”
He looks down at my hand.
I start to remove it. He catches my fingers.
The movement is careful, but not hesitant.
“What happens now?” he asks.
It is possibly the most terrifying question a person can ask after a first kiss.
“Coffee?”
“Now?”
“Eventually. As a category.”
His thumb moves over my knuckles. “I mean us.”
“I know. I am avoiding emotional specificity.”
“You criticize me for that.”
“Hypocrisy is one of my more accessible flaws.”
He waits.
The parking lot is empty enough that the quiet feels private.
“I want to see you,” I say. “On purpose. Outside the rink. When no one is panicking, donating, or teaching me how not to become a projectile.”
“Date.”
“Yes.”
His grip tightens slightly.
“Tonight,” he says.
“I have a shift.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Family dinner.”
“Monday.”
“I have a show until midnight.”
“After.”
I smile. “You plan like a siege.”
“Monday. Twelve fifteen. Dockside Diner.”
“Are you asking?”
His eyes narrow.
I wait.
“Mara Bell, will you have food with me after your show on Monday?”
“Yes, Finn Callahan. I will consume diner fries in your presence.”
He lifts my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist.
The gesture is so unexpectedly tender that my pulse trips.
Then he drives me to Sophie’s.
Lucy opens the front door before we reach the porch.
She is wearing dinosaur pajamas and carrying Mr. Waddles.
“Giant sad hockey man!” she shouts.
Finn stops.
I consider moving to another country.
Sophie appears behind Lucy, takes one look at our joined hands, and smiles with all the restraint of a person who has never possessed restraint.
“Finn,” I say, because death is not arriving quickly enough, “this is my sister, Sophie. And my niece, Lucy.”
Lucy holds up the penguin. “He is divorced.”
Finn nods solemnly. “I heard.”
Mr. Waddles appears to approve.
Sophie invites him inside for coffee. Finn looks at me.
Choice.
“Only if you want,” I say.
He enters.
For twenty minutes, the most private person I know sits at my sister’s kitchen table while Lucy explains the legal terms of a stuffed-animal separation. Finn asks questions. Serious ones. Who has visitation? Was there a prenuptial agreement? Is the bear paying child support?
Lucy falls in love with him immediately.
Sophie watches me over her mug.
I know what she sees.
Not that Finn needs me.
That I want him.
Those are not the same thing.
When he leaves, I walk him to the porch.
“Your family is loud,” he says.
“That is the polite word.”
“I like them.”
“They like you.”
“Lucy called me sad.”
“She has advanced emotional perception.”
Snow catches in his hair.
“I am not sad all the time,” he says.
“I know.”
“People think quiet means unhappy.”
“People think loud means happy.”
His gaze holds mine.
There we are.
Two wrong translations standing beneath one porch light.
He reaches for me, then stops. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
The second kiss is different.
No equipment. No adrenaline. No rink beneath us.
His hands frame my face, and I rise onto my toes. He kisses me slowly, like he is learning what I mean rather than proving what he wants.
When he pulls back, the front curtain moves.
Lucy’s face is pressed against the glass beside Mr. Waddles.
Finn looks over my shoulder.
The corner of his mouth lifts.
“Monday,” he says.
“Twelve fifteen.”
He waits until I am inside before walking to his truck.
Sophie turns from the window.
“Well?”
I remove my coat with great dignity.
“He has excellent spatial awareness.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one you are getting.”
Lucy says, “He kissed Aunt Mara.”
“Witness tampering,” I tell her.
Mr. Waddles remains silent under legal advice.