Chapter 12
The drive to the restaurant is so short that I barely have time to process everything that just happened before Finn is already pulling into a parking spot.
One second, I’m still replaying Aiden standing in my doorway, keys in hand, Skye and Neptune trotting off together like this is already normal, and the next, I’m climbing out of Finn’s truck.
It’s jacked up, lifted high off the ground, shiny black and massive, built to make a statement. The inside is pristine, with not a speck of dust anywhere, which somehow feels very on-brand for him. So does the way he looks tonight.
He’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that clings to his broad chest and stretches slightly over his biceps, tucked neatly into a belt that matches his black boots.
Tattoos cover his forearms, dark ink I hadn’t noticed before, and now can’t stop looking at.
His hair and beard are trimmed to perfection, his green eyes bright and unapologetic.
He’s gorgeous.
The truck settles into park, and he’s out of his seat immediately, already rounding the front of the vehicle, eyes locked on me the entire time. There’s a hint of a cocky smile on his mouth, subtle but unmistakable.
He opens my door before I’ve even unbuckled my seatbelt, offering me his hand. I turn toward him, place my palm in his, and step onto the lift. Before I can register what’s happening, he places my hand on his shoulder and slides his to my hips, lifting me easily and setting me down on the pavement.
“Whoa,” I say, surprised. “I could’ve jumped.”
“Aye, lass,” he replies, amusement dancing in his eyes. “But that wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”
He winks, shuts the door, and offers me his hand again.
“Too soon for hand-holding,” I tell him, adjusting my jacket.
“Right.” He nods easily. “Fair enough.” A small smile tugs at his mouth as he gestures toward the entrance. “Let’s go have dinner.”
The restaurant is packed when we walk in, buzzing with conversation and clinking glasses. A beautiful blonde hostess greets us, looking Finn up and down once… and then again.
“Officer O’Donoghue, welcome. How may I help you?” Her voice dips just a little too deliberately.
“I’ve got a reservation for two.” Finn slides his arm lightly around my back.
I could move. Probably should. But it’s clear he’s making a point, and honestly, I’m not in the mood for being the bigger person tonight.
Her attention shifts to me then, eyes flicking over me in a way that’s anything but friendly before she pastes on a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I don’t bother returning it.
She glances down at her tablet. “Follow me.”
We weave through the crowded restaurant, and for a Wednesday night, it’s surprisingly full. But when we reach our table, I understand why.
Most of the dining room faces the ocean, perched right at the edge of the cliff, the sun beginning its slow descent. The sky is streaked with pinks and oranges that reflect off the water below, the entire view looking like something pulled straight from a postcard.
Finn pulls my chair out for me, then helps me slip off my jacket once I’m seated, every movement easy and practiced, like this is simply how he operates.
Okay. Points for effort.
He takes the seat across from me, settles in, and looks at me with a smile that feels genuine and unhurried.
“Thank you for coming out to dinner with me, lass.”
Finn glances at the menu one last time before setting it aside, his attention settling fully on me.
I smooth my napkin in my lap, aware of how quiet it suddenly feels between us.
I have to admit, I was dreading coming out with Finn tonight.
I don’t do dinners. I don’t do dates. In my entire life, I’ve had two boyfriends, and with both of them, there were always friends involved. Dinner was a group thing. Dates were double dates, or birthdays, or excuses to be around other people, so the pressure never landed squarely on me.
I’m more of an introvert than most people realize.
Being the middle child meant I rarely had to sit across from someone and just…
be. April and June have always filled every room they walk into, their personalities big enough to carry the conversation for all three of us.
I’ve spent most of my life tucked comfortably between them, letting their noise become the background of mine.
It never felt like hiding. It just felt easy.
I’ve learned to speak up when I need to—at work, in meetings, in the moments that require it. But when there’s a choice, the quieter part of me usually wins. The part that’s perfectly content to listen, to observe, to let the louder people take the lead.
Somehow, Finn has made this easy.
He’s cocky as hell, and the man clearly knows exactly how handsome he is, but he’s also surprisingly easy to talk to.
He talks openly about his life, about home in Ireland, about growing up near the water, about every place the Coast Guard has taken him—California, Texas, now the Pacific Northwest—and he does it without hesitation, without trying to impress me.
I don’t have to fill the silence. I don’t have to perform. I mostly just listen, learn, and laugh.
And I’ve laughed a lot.
The waiter approaches our table as the sky outside deepens into something soft and golden, the ocean catching the last of the light.
“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” the waiter asks.
I give him a small smile. “I’m okay.”
“Actually, mate,” Finn cuts in, “we’ll have the kelp-infused ice cream. Two spoons, please.”
“Yes, sir.” Says the waiter, already turning away.
I blink at Finn. “I’m sorry. Did you say kelp-infused?”
I don’t even need to say anything else—my face is doing all the work. His grin spreads, wide and unapologetic.
“My nan taught me to always order the odd dessert.”
That makes me smile.
“Kelp, though?” I ask.
He laughs, and I can’t help but laugh with him.
Dessert comes and goes, and somehow the kelp-infused ice cream is far better than it has any right to be. Salty, sweet, and creamy, something I’d never order on my own and will absolutely be thinking about later.
Finn insists on paying the bill, waving off my attempt to at least split it, and before I can argue any further, he’s already standing, helping me into my jacket.
We’re almost at the door when a voice cuts through the room from the far corner of the restaurant.
“Hello, Depoe Bay!” an older gentleman calls out into the microphone, dressed in black from head to toe, complete with a leather jacket and sunglasses that feel straight out of another decade. The room erupts in cheers.
I slow my pace, my attention snagging on the makeshift dance floor on the opposite side of the restaurant. The tables there are filled with couples who look like they’ve been dancing together for years.
The familiar beat starts, and the singer draws out the first word.
“Roooooxaaaanne…”
I let out a laugh, and Finn notices immediately.
He turns toward me, grinning, and holds his hand out. “Ah, go on.”
“No.” I look up at him. “We were leaving, remember?”
“What’s one song?” His hand stays outstretched. “Come on, lass.”
I glance back at the dance floor, at the couples joining each other there, then look back at him.
The man standing here with his hand out, waiting.
I sigh, even as a smile tugs at my mouth.
“Fine. One song.”
His grin widens, victorious but gentle, and he laces his fingers through mine, leading me toward the dance floor as if this was always part of the plan.
Turns out Roxanne is not a song you slow dance to.
My mom loved to dance, and that’s something we always shared.
She taught me early, turned the living room into a dance floor more times than I can count.
I know how to salsa, how to follow a rhythm without thinking too hard.
I’ve stumbled my way through bachata, survived a few attempts at swing, and I even know a bit of foxtrot.
But Roxanne?
Roxanne is a song you jam to, and Finn does exactly that.
He moves without thinking about it, loose and unbothered, fully committed to the moment. At the chorus, he pretends to strum a guitar, grinning big when I catch him doing it. I burst out laughing.
People around us start joining in, clapping, swaying, singing along with zero shame, and suddenly we’re surrounded by dozens of middle-aged couples.
So, for the first time in my lifetime, I let go of trying to look controlled or graceful and just move.
I sing along when I know the words, laugh when I don’t, spin when someone pulls me in, and clap when the room does.
Finn’s laughter is infectious, bright, and unfiltered, and every time our eyes meet, it feels like we’re in on the same ridiculous joke.
The last time I danced was with a soccer player, and he was perfectly nice. Polite. Careful.
I hated every second of it.
This is different.
This time, I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. I’m moving without thinking about how I look. I’m surrounded by strangers and music and Finn’s unrestrained joy, and something inside me loosens, like I’ve been holding my breath all along.
As the song builds and the room sings Roxanne at the top of their lungs, I throw my head back and laugh, because for once, I feel free.
I climb into Finn’s truck as he closes the door for me. I buckle my seatbelt while he circles to the driver’s side.
A few messages from my sisters, and one from Aiden.
I open his first. It was sent twenty minutes ago.
Aiden:
Turning in for the night. Early shift tomorrow.
Neptune already had dinner, and he’s home now.
I still have your key. I will give it to you tomorrow.
Have a safe night.
I lock my phone without answering yet.
“All okay?” Finn asks as he clicks his seatbelt into place.
“All okay.”
The drive back is short, barely long enough to let everything settle. Within five minutes, he’s pulling into my driveway and shifting the truck into park.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I had a really great night.”
“Aye,” he replies, smiling. “Me too.”
I reach for the door, but he’s already stopping me.
“Allow me.”
He’s out of the truck in seconds, moving around to my side, offering his hand. I take it, and just like before, he places it on his shoulder, hands firm at my hips as he lifts me down effortlessly.
“Thanks.”
We stand there for a moment, close enough that I can feel the decision forming before he ever makes a move. I see it in his eyes — the pause, the calculation, the lean toward something more.
He dips in… and I turn my head, letting his lips land against my cheek instead.
He doesn’t pull away right away. Instead, his index finger lifts my chin gently, guiding my gaze back to his.
“We’ll do this again soon, aye?” he asks, looking straight into my eyes.
“Yes,” I smile.
He lets me go.
“See you soon,” I add, stepping back toward my door.
He waits, leaning against his truck, hair slightly disheveled, impossibly handsome in the porch light. The engine doesn’t start until I’ve already locked the door behind me.
Inside, the house is quiet.
I expect Neptune to greet me, but instead I find him sprawled on his bed by the window, tail thumping lazily when he sees me. His head rests on a large pink plush toy that definitely wasn’t there when I left.
“Hey, Neps,” I murmur, kneeling beside him.
He lifts his head just enough to sniff around my hair, investigating, then settles again.
“Did Skye let you borrow a stuffy?” I ask, smiling when his tail thumps in response.
I rub his back gently, and he melts further into the bed.
“Looks like you had a long walk,” I tell him. “You look exhausted.”
Straightening, I head toward the kitchen.
“I’m tired too,” I say aloud, mostly to myself. “I’m going to shower and then—”
I stop.
There’s a handwritten note stuck to the fridge.
Didn’t know what you liked for breakfast, so I brought you a few options.
Aiden
Oh, fuck.