Chapter 10 #2
“For the record,” I said, keeping my eyes on the wall and my voice low enough that it was only for her, “you don’t taste like tuna.”
She didn’t say anything. But the tips of her ears went pink.
Yeah. That’s what I thought.
“Anyway. Truffle names,” she said out of nowhere, her voice playful and loud enough for the entire room.
“Oh yeah?” I kept my eyes on the wall.
The chemical smell of fresh paint mixed with something floral—her shampoo, maybe—and I had to force myself to focus on the brush strokes. “Let me guess. The Plaintiff’s Truffle? Objectionable Chocolate?”
She nudged my arm with her elbow.
The contact was brief, innocent. I still fumbled the roller, leaving a thick drip on the wall.
Get it together, Taylor.
“I was thinking more along the lines of The Sweet Surrender or The Closing Argument Cashew Cluster.” The grin in her voice was obvious.
I dug it.
“I’m partial to the Misdemeanor Mint,” Dallas added to the list.
“Or maybe the Felony Fudge for a really decadent one,” Sharon suggested.
“The Hung Jury Honeycomb,” Pam countered with a chuckle.
“Reasonable Doubt Raspberry,” Emily said with a grin.
Just like that, we were back to being in the friend zone.
I hated it.
I hated that we were just friends, but I still caught the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she concentrated. Caught the paint smudge on her cheek that I wanted to wipe away but didn’t.
My hand tightened around the roller handle. Paint dripped onto the drop cloth.
Friends. Just friends.
I repeated it like a mantra, but the words felt less convincing every time.
Later, after her crew had packed up and left for the day, leaving us in a space that was slightly less dusty and slightly more painted, the energy quieted. We sat on the floor again, leaning against one of the brick walls, sharing a pizza from the box balanced between us.
What could I say? Building-related emotional milestones called for pizza.
“I’ve never felt so… me,” she said.
“It’s a good look on you,” I agreed.
“My mom left a message while we were working.” She picked up another slice.
“She’s still thrilled about the pivot?”
“She asked if this was ‘just a phase’ and when I thought it might be done.” Emily picked a piece of sausage off her slice.
“She’ll never see this as success. Not like making partner.
Angela and Maya get it, though. Angela’s already preparing to stage the décor once she’s back, and Maya keeps texting, offering to do anything.
Which is sweet but not exactly helpful when she’s playing to a sold-out stadium in L.A. ”
The mention of careers hit a little too close to home. I stared at my own pizza slice, the cheesy goodness suddenly not so good.
“Finn?” she asked.
“It’s nothing.” I faked it like I was trying to make it.
“You’re lying. You shouldn’t lie to your emergency contact.”
“I don’t know if I’m getting back on the field.” I took a breath, the confession like the fading sunlight. “Doc says recovery is going well, but they don’t know...” My career, my identity, everything I’d worked for since I was a kid, could be over because of one freak accident.
Saying it out loud to her didn’t lighten that load.
She didn’t reply. She just put her pizza down, shifted closer, and rested her hand on my arm. Her touch was light, but it still anchored me.
I turned my head to her, and my breath caught. She was already staring up at me, her brown eyes soft with an understanding that went beyond words. Her face was smudged with a bit of white paint, her hair was a mess… and I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.
But the space between us was more than just inches.
It was years of friendship, a thousand inside jokes, and one very protective older brother. But right then, none of that mattered.
Still, she tipped in and I met her halfway as her eyes fluttered closed. Our lips brushed and she opened for me.
“This keeps happening,” she said against my mouth.
“Yep.”
She pulled back a couple millimeters. “Twice. In one day, Finn.”
“I can count.”
“We should probably talk about that.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moved.
“Is this a stress thing?” she asked, her fingers still curled around my forearm.
“You tell me. You’re the one who said I taste like tuna.” I shrugged.
Her lips twitched. “The worst tuna.”
“And yet here you are. Coming back for seconds.”
She opened her mouth. Probably to argue since that was her default setting.
But I kissed her again before she could get the words out. And this time, she didn’t pretend she didn’t like it. She kissed me back with her whole body, her hand sliding to the back of my neck, pulling me in.
Everything in me went warm and stupid as I shifted deeper into the kiss and—
She let out a nervous laugh, even as her hands were still in my hair and her mouth was still right there. That laugh totally wrecked the spell.
I pulled away, shook my head and ran a hand over the back of my neck, a sheepish grin spreading across my face. “Stress is a hell of a thing, huh?”
“Must be the paint fumes,” she agreed, not even remotely shook at what had just happened. Again.
“I guess that means it’s time to clean up,” she said.
The moment was gone, tucked away and labeled as a product of stress and exhaustion.
But as she gathered up the pizza box she paused—
“Finn,” she said. Just my name, the way she said it when she didn’t have the rest of the sentence yet.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Because I’d stopped breathing for a second there, and I wasn’t in a hurry to start again.