Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FINN
I got used to the smell of sawdust and fresh paint, especially since Trent cleared me to show up at Emily’s future chocolate shop with only minor weight restrictions.
Sometimes, the day ended in drywall dust and sweat. Sometimes it ended with my face between her legs.
For a little over a week, we’d stalled the second hypothesis in our lab experiment. But that was okay, because she seemed really good with the situation.
I was also really good with this arrangement—and getting more comfortable with my body again.
Everyone was winning.
But today was a solid workday and I’d called in every favor I was owed so the cavalry showed up in force.
One of the offensive linemen held a drywall sheet on his shoulder with a smug expression like gravity was for the normals. A couple of others had claimed first-round demolition and were sweeping up after the last wall came down.
Keller arrived next, which I heard before I saw since he didn’t enter rooms so much as narrate his way into them.
“I brought my own sledgehammer,” he announced, holding up a tool that was comically undersized for his frame. “The guy at Home Depot said it was for tile work. I said it was for whatever I wanted it for.”
He looked around, waiting for someone to be impressed.
Nobody was impressed.
“Where do I smash?” He tapped it against his boot.
“Grab a broom first,” I said. “We’re cleaning up the last wall before we take down the next one.”
He took the broom but held it like he’d never seen one before. Behind him, Briggs walked in without a word, set a case of water by the door, and started sweeping the far corner before anyone asked.
“This feels like a bait and switch,” Keller grumbled.
The door swung open again and a gust of midmorning air blew in Sloan and the actual Maya Mitchell—international pop star, wife to Sloan, friend to Emily, and at least for today, a painter in overalls and a ball cap.
“We brought coffee,” Sloan announced, holding up a cardboard Starbucks traveler like the Lombardi Trophy. “And I want the record to show that I was promised wall smashing.”
“You get to fight Keller to take down that wall,” I said, gesturing to the next project. “After we get all that dust swept and moved from the previous smashing of this wall.” I waved to the current mess.
Sloan glared. “You tricked me into chores.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Keller gave him a high five.
Maya slipped past them and beelined for Emily, who stood in the center of the room, hair in a messy bun, The Sweet Brief logo embroidered over her pocket, and paint across one cheekbone.
God, she’s gorgeous.
Emily made a squeak I hadn’t heard outside my bedroom.
“You’re back,” Emily said to Maya, hugging her tight.
“I would not miss helping my bestie open a chocolate shop,” Maya said, pulling back to boop Emily’s nose with her fingertip. “I have priorities.”
Yeah, we had the whole crew today.
Even Elliott showed up to help, and he wasn’t even pissy about it.
Angela and Elliott taped off the new trim. Dallas rolled dark blue paint onto the long wall. Sharon handled edges. And Pam could, as far as I could tell, solve any problem with snacks. Which meant she was the perfect person to wrangle the Stallions.
Since the project had officially escalated into an event, Denver Business sent a reporter and a photographer.
They showed around noon.
Emily met them at the door with a smile that could sell a jury on mercy. “Hi. I’m Emily. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Jill,” the reporter said, shaking her hand. “This is Dale.” She indicated the photographer, who was already circling, clicking fast, capturing Keller and his broom.
Emily gave the quick tour while describing tempering curves and enrobing lines.
“Teamwork,” Emily said, simple and true. “My favorite part of sports. And life.” She glanced over her shoulder at me.
I wasn’t going to think about how that little tip of her attention warmed me all over.
“You’ve got the Stallions’ football team and Maya Mitchell. This is quite the team.”
“Maya’s not doing interviews today,” Emily said, quickly. “But she’ll talk to you off the record if you want to say hello.”
Jill followed her gaze to me. “You’re Finn Taylor.”
“Volunteer. Foreman. Occasional small box mover,” I said, suddenly aware I had paint on my forearm and, oddly, my ear.
“Emily said the guys are all here because of you.” Jill smiled. “How’d you rope half a professional football team into manual labor?”
“Pizza and promises,” I said.
Jill stayed close to Emily as she explained the plan, but Dale drifted toward the paint crew, pulled toward Dallas mid-monologue, the way anyone with ears eventually was.
“…and then the application asks, ‘What fruit are you’ and I said pineapple because I’m spiky and full of secrets,” she said.
Dale clicked at that, then lowered his camera slightly.
“How do you go from law to chocolate?” Jill asked Emily, and her voice had shifted just enough for the hairs along my neck to stand up a little.
“Because prosecuting corporate fraud pays the bills, but chocolate actually makes people happy. I decided to switch games.”
“Being a lawyer can be draining, I’ve heard,” Jill mused.
“Cross examination can be fun, for sure. But no one ever cries eating a spicy margarita truffle.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Jill’s pen hovered a second, then moved along. Then paused to underline the last sentence twice.
Dallas gestured to the room. “Emily and some of us used to work together, you know. Before all this.”
“Oh?” Jill’s pen paused. She waited. Reporters were good at waiting.
“Emily made it seem possible that we could have more,” Dallas said. “She showed us we could jump and the ground would show up.”
“That’s a quote,” Jill said, not hiding her delight.
“Right?” Dallas agreed.
Jill waited again. Dallas didn’t bite. So Jill went fishing.
“Rydell, Marks & Stone?” Jill asked. Then followed with, “I did my research.”
Dallas nodded.
“That’s the firm representing AVX Core and their pacemakers?” Jill continued.
“We don’t really keep up with the news,” Pam said from behind them, smooth and fast, like she’d been waiting for exactly this moment.
“I mostly watch cooking shows,” Sharon added.
“And I’m too busy arguing with my boyfriend to keep up with anything,” Dallas added with a shrug.
I stepped in before Jill could circle back to Emily, because that is what foremen and friends with benefits did.
“We’re looking at the future here, not the past,” I said, easy smile, stepping between her and the question. “Dale should get a shot of the south wall when we take it out. You might even get Maya to talk on the record, if we ask nicely and keep it about chocolate.”
Jill paused, scribbled a quick note, then nodded. “Of course.”
After the wall came down, Dale positioned Emily right out front to grab some individual shots with the shop and the sign.
“Okay,” Dale said, clapping as he climbed a small step stool. “Now a big group shot. Emily up front, muscle behind.”
Dale got a few more pictures before we went back inside and the room returned to loud. Tape peeled. Drywall went up.
Emily walked them out and asked, perfectly casual, “When do you think it’ll run?”
“Soon,” Jill said. “We’re fast when we’re excited.”
Emily’s cheeks went pink. “We’re excited, too.”
“Congratulations,” Jill said, and somehow it sounded like a headline.
The door thunked shut. Emily put both palms on her cheeks and did a silent, contained scream that made Maya and Angela fake-scream back like silent smoke alarms.
“Feature,” Angela said. “She said feature. That’s journalist for we’re getting good press.”
When I found Emily across the room and that pride on her face was so clear? I locked that smile away for the days PT made me want to put my fist through a wall.
The work went quicker with so many helpers. And after we broke for pizza, everyone started to scatter.
Emily and I cleaned up contractor-clean, which is to say the dust was attacked but not defeated. And when it was down to just the two of us, we did a perimeter walk with our brooms. She pressed her palm to the front glass, staring out at the street like she was letting Denver in on a secret.
“Thank you,” she said without looking at me.
“You’re welcome,” I said. Then, because honesty had become a reflex around her, “I like who I am here.”
She glanced up. That look. Every time, it sucker punched me right in the chest.
And. I. Liked. It.
“I do too,” she said, quiet.
I caught the paint streak on her cheek with my thumb and tried to swipe it away, but it wasn’t budging.
“You’ve got a little—”
“I know,” she said. “I’m keeping it.”
I dropped my hand. She smiled.
And me? I locked that away, too.