Chapter 29 Finn
Finn
AMERICAN PIE BY DON MCLEAN
Two Months Later
The sky over Wisteria Cove is turning pink when I pull up to our house.
It still feels strange calling it our house, like it’s finally ours because I've poured my entire heart and soul into this for almost a year. Every late night, every splinter, every dollar scraped together. All of it for her and our family. I built this when Rowan was just a dream. A dream I wasn’t sure I was ever going to have come true. And here we are…
Rowan’s in the passenger seat, in one of my flannels, hair pulled up on top of her head, a steaming to-go mug of tea in her hands. She has no idea what she’s about to walk into.
When I kill the engine, she looks around. “Why are we stopping here? I thought we had to be at your mom's for dinner.”
I grin like an idiot, nerves buzzing in my chest. “You’ll see.”
She gives me a cautious smile, the one she uses when she’s trying to decide if she should trust me or brace herself. “You’re not making me help you pick out more things, are you?”
“Nope.”
There's officially nothing left to pick out. It's all done. And this week, her sisters, Mom, Tate, Remy, and I have all gotten it cleaned up and ready for her to finally see. I've even snuck a few of her things over here, hoping that she wouldn't notice. It’s finally ready for her.
I get out and come around to open her door, and take her by the hand. It’s warm from holding her mug.
Inside, the air smells faintly of orange furniture polish, wood, paint, and new beginnings. It doesn't feel like our home yet, but I know it will once Rowan gets to put her thumbprint on it.
Rowan stops just inside the doorway.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Finn…”
Golden hour light floods through the windows and spills across the honeyed oak floorboards that are finally finished.
The walls are painted the creamy white color she picked out, called Betsy's Linen, her favorite. The kitchen gleams, copper fixtures catching the light. Her favorite chipped mug, the one she swore she’d lost is sitting on the counter beside the stove with a brand-new copper kettle.
Glass jars line the open shelving, ready for her to fill with all her favorite herbs and tea blends.
A fresh loaf of bread is in the wooden bread box, and a candle sits on the counter, its scent of eucalyptus and lavender, her favorite.
I wanted it to smell like her shop and remind her of being home.
Everyone has worked hard to put the final small touches in place that will make her feel at home.
She takes a few steps in, like she’s afraid the floor might disappear if she moves too fast.
“Finn,” she whispers, voice trembling. “You finished it?”
“Mostly,” I say, trying to sound casual even though I'm nervous. “There’s still trim work left at the top of the stairs, and the back deck needs another coat, but it’s livable.”
She turns in a slow circle, tears shining in her eyes. “It’s more than livable. It's absolutely perfect.”
My heart squeezes and I shove my hands in my pockets, watching her move through the space like she's seeing it for the first time.
All of the sudden I see her face recognize all of the fixtures and details that she would tell me looked good.
I always went with whatever she chose because I knew this would be hers.
In the kitchen, she runs her fingers along the backsplash. “This tile…” She glances at me. “You remembered.”
“You said it reminded you of sea glass,” I say quietly.
She laughs, soft and watery. “You even got the copper hardware that I mentioned I loved.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I was listening.”
Her eyes shine brighter now as she runs her fingers over the big farmhouse sink she told me she dreamed about. “You were listening to everything.”
I follow her through the house as she discovers it piece by piece with the built-ins in the living room filled with her books, the window seat I added under the front window because she once said she wanted a spot to read on rainy days.
Every corner has her fingerprints, even though she never touched a single thing here. She's right. I was listening.
When we reach the hallway, she pauses. “What’s this room?”
“Open it.”
She pushes the door open slowly.
The nursery isn’t finished. Just pale green walls she pinned to her Pinterest board with her sisters, a walnut crib, a matching rocking chair, and sunlight filtering through cream gingham curtains her mom made.
On the little dresser, I set one of her plant cuttings in a mason jar, roots curling in the water.
Her hand trembles as she covers her mouth. “Oh, Finn…”
I step behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. My chin rests against her shoulder. “It’ll be ready before he gets here,” I whisper. “I promise.”
Her breath catches. “You already think it’s a boy?”
I grin, trying to mask the nerves twisting in my stomach. “Call it a gut feeling, but I think it’s a boy.”
Rowan raises an eyebrow, smirking.
“But… whatever happens,” I add, my voice quieter now, “I just… I want to be there for them. I can’t promise anything, and I don’t know what’s coming, but I’ll do everything I can, and I’ll love you both enough for two lifetimes. That’s what matters.”
She squeezes my hand, eyes soft, and I feel a mix of fear and hope twisting together. The rest, the guesses, the excitement can wait. For now, it’s about being ready for whatever comes.
She turns, looking up at me. There’s so much emotion in her eyes I can barely stand it. “You built this for us.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Her tears finally spill. “You remembered everything I ever said I liked. The tiles, the wood color, the window seat. Even the light fixtures. Every little detail.”
“Of course I did. I listen to everything you tell me. It's all important to me. You're the most important person to me, baby."
She shakes her head, crying and laughing all at once. “Finn, this is incredible. You poured your heart into this.”
“I did,” I say, voice breaking. “Every board, every nail, every time I wanted to quit, I thought about you walking through this house one day. And how you'd fill it with plants, memories, and laughter.”
Her lip trembles. “You’re going to make me cry harder.”
“Don't cry, baby,” I whisper.
She cups my face in her hands. “You built us a home.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I did.”
She kisses me slowly, deeply, and full of everything we’ve fought through to get here.
When she finally pulls back, she presses her forehead to mine. “I can’t wait to start our life here. You, me, the baby… this house. It feels like the beginning of everything.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her close, the scent of new wood and her shampoo filling the space. Outside, the last bit of daylight fades. The house feels warm and inviting, like it’s been waiting for her.
We finally make it over to my mom’s later that evening, still buzzing from the day and pretending not to be. Rowan’s hand is in mine, warm and certain, and there’s this extra spark in her—like she’s been waiting for the right moment to say something.
Mom opens the door, pulls us into hugs, starts ushering us toward the kitchen… and that’s when Rowan tugs lightly on my hand.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “Can I… ask you something?”
My heart kicks. “Anything.”
She bites her lip—nervous, excited, glowing in this way I’ve never seen before. “When can we move in?”
I swear the world tilts a little. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Baby, I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
Her eyes go soft, bright in the kitchen light.
I take her hands in mine. “We don’t have to wait. After dinner, we can swing by the apartment, grab your things, and make it official tonight. If you want.”
Rowan’s breath catches, a small, sharp inhale that feels like hope catching fire. “Tonight?”
“Tonight,” I say, grinning like a fool. “Or right now. We can get out of here and I’ll carry you over the damn threshold if you ask me.”
She laughs, unguarded and happy. “Tonight,” she says, squeezing my hands. “Let’s do it tonight.”
I lean in and kiss her, soft and sure, the promise of everything new and everything ours lingering between us.
And for the first time in my life, when we leave here, it’ll feel like we’re going home.
Music plays low from the old record player in the corner. Pete’s on the couch under a blanket even though it’s warm inside, his color pale but his smile bright.
Donna’s bustling between the stove and the table, scolding Remy for sneaking bites of the soup. Ivy and Junie are getting bowls down. Lilith and Willa are laughing in the kitchen as they pile bread into a big bowl.
It feels good. Familiar. Safe.
When Rowan walks in, Pete’s face lights up like someone turned the sun back on. “There she is,” he says, reaching for her hand. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
She laughs, blushing. “Thank you, Pete.”
He pats her hand, then looks at me. “You taking care of her, Son?”
“Trying my best.”
Lilith leans over her shoulder. “He’s doing fine. She’s glowing.”
Rowan snorts. “That’s sweat. He showed me the new house.”
“You finally showed her?” Donna asks, eyes wide. "We've been waiting all week for you to have the grand reveal."
“We're moving in tonight,” I say.
Pete grins. “I knew you would. I can't wait to come see it.”
After dinner, everyone lingers at the table, full and happy. The chatter softens. Ivy starts humming as she clears plates. Rowan rests her hand over mine under the table, squeezing once. I can feel her heart racing.
“You want to tell them?” I ask quietly.
She nods, smiling nervously.
I clear my throat. “We have something we wanted to share.”
Everyone looks up.
“It’s about the baby,” Rowan says.
Donna gasps. “You already know what it is?”
I chuckle. “Not yet. But we know what we want to name him if it’s a boy.”
Pete’s smile widens. “Oh yeah?”
Rowan glances at me, and I nod. “We’d like to name him Pete,” she says softly. “After you.”
For a second, no one breathes.
Then Pete’s eyes fill with tears. He presses a hand to his chest, voice rough. “You… you’d really do that?”
Rowan nods. “You’ve been such a light in this family. You’ve loved all of us so hard. We want our baby to have a piece of you, too.”
Donna’s crying before he even responds. Ivy hands her a tissue.
Pete clears his throat, trying to joke through it. “You’re all gonna make an old man bawl his eyes out at the dinner table.”
“Too late,” Donna says, sniffling.
He laughs quietly, then looks at both of us. “That means more than I can say. But… there’s something I should tell you.”
His gaze softens, distant. “When I was a kid, I had a little brother. His name was Chip, and we lost him when we were young, but he was… he was pure joy. I miss him every day.”
Rowan’s eyes shine again. “Chip,” she repeats softly, her hand squeezing mine while she searches my face to see what I think.
Pete nods, smiling faintly. “You don’t have to, but… if you ever wanted a nickname, maybe think about that.”
I swallow hard, my chest tight. “Chip,” I say, testing it. “Chip Bennett. That sounds like someone who climbs trees and builds forts.”
Pete chuckles. “Exactly.”
Rowan reaches across the table and takes his hand. “I love it. Chip it is.”
Pete’s eyes glisten. “Then I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Donna sets a bowl of rolls down and sniffles. “You’ve always been that, honey.”
Everyone laughs softly, the moment settling in the room, and blanketing us all in peace.
We eat dessert together, sharing stories about Pete’s younger days with his first Christmas tree sale, his stubborn streak, the time he and his brother Chip built a chicken coop and accidentally trapped themselves inside.
The house fills with laughter and love, and for a little while, the world feels perfect again.
Everyone needed this dinner tonight. It feels right.
Later, when Rowan and I step outside, the air is cool and full of honeysuckle.
She takes my hand as we walk toward the truck.
The porch light glows behind her. She rests her hand on her belly, smiling faintly. “Chip Bennett,” she says, testing the name.
I slide an arm around her. “Our Chip.”
She leans her head against my chest, breathing me in. “He’s already so loved.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “He always will be.”
The wind shifts, carrying the faint scent of dinner leftover in Mom's kitchen. Somewhere inside, I can still hear Pete’s laughter.
And as I hold her there under the porch light, with the sound of crickets and the weight of everything we’ve built between us, I know one thing for sure.
We're a family.