Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
T he hoot of an owl woke Rose in the dark before dawn. She lay nestled in Finn’s arms, his body curved around her backside. Each exhale of his breath caressed the nape of her neck, doing a little something to her insides.
As children and teens, they’d held hands, wrestled, and huddled as friends.
None of those moments felt close to what they shared last night. Too bad he was asleep. She’d like a turn driving him crazy.
As if he heard her thoughts, light kisses rained along her bare shoulder. His arm tightened. His words came out raspy, heavy with the lingering fog of sleep. “What time is it?”
“Close to dawn.”
He grumbled. “Go back to sleep.”
“No.” She pushed him onto his back.
He threw a hand over his face. “We are not going for a hike this early.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have a different adventure in mind.
” She smiled to herself as she rose to straddle him.
After last night, she’d be willing to stay in bed most of today.
She moved his hand away from his face, right before she kissed him.
He roused enough to kiss her back, his hands squeezed her backside before she moved down his body.
Her hands and mouth reveled as they brushed over his flesh, exploring the shape of him.
He flinched when she traced her fingers up his sides.
He was still ticklish. Knowledge she’d save for another time.
A small groan escaped him when she slid slowly down over him until they were once more together, him inside her.
She couldn’t hide anything from him. He still knew her too well.
Even in the dark. Her every breath, every reaction, was his to hear and feel as she moved over him.
His hands gripped her hips, pulled her down to him again and again, until they both climaxed together.
Her body relaxed against his as their breathing slowed, her cheek resting against the beat of his heart.
She eased off him, stretching out beside him and marveling over the past hours.
His chest rose and fell in slumber while she remained awake, her internal clock saying it was time to rise.
A glance toward her bedroom window told her the sun hadn’t quite crested the trees.
She slipped away from his side, threw on a nightshirt, and walked into the kitchen to make coffee.
She glanced over her latest manuscript while it brewed, then returned to her room carrying two mugs.
Finn was still asleep, on his stomach now, his face turned towards her, his eyes closed.
She set one mug down on her nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress, studying him while she sipped from the other.
Asleep, he looked more like the boy she’d grown up with. The lines she’d noticed around his eyes were absent; his eyelashes lay against his cheeks. She’d always been jealous of his lashes, longer than most, with a hint of red in them.
The blanket had slipped down, exposing his arms and his back.
Everything in sight was defined more than she remembered.
She’d watched him sometimes in the back of Riley’s garage, lifting weights.
He’d had muscular legs from soccer back then, but his upper body wasn’t developed like now.
She longed to glide her hands over the muscles in his arms, his back, press her lips to the warmth of his skin.
Her experience with morning afters was limited. She’d lost her virginity to a trusted friend a few months after she’d broken up with Caleb. There was no cuddling. The rest of her experiences followed a similar line. She hadn’t felt emotionally involved, not like now.
Last night, Finn made love to her as if he’d waited years to do so.
In the early morning hours, she’d made love to him. Every bit was better than she’d imagined.
She looked back at his face. He was awake and watching her. Her insides fluttered. Was she supposed to say something brilliant or casual? Her cheeks warmed, a hesitation behind her lips.
One word escaped. “Hi.”
He didn’t speak. Instead, he turned to his side, rising enough to get closer to her until their faces were inches apart. The comforter came with him.
His fingers threaded into her hair as he touched his lips to hers. One kiss, then another before he eased back.
“Last night—” he said.
She stiffened. What if he said it was a mistake? They hadn’t talked afterwards.
Maybe he sensed her unease.
He kissed her once more, then said, “Last night was everything I fantasized, but more.”
His expression was earnest, his eyes serious. He’d fantasized about her? Her insides melted. She couldn’t help the smile forming and set her half-empty mug down on the nightstand.
Finn had once known her better than anyone.
It was uncanny to think that, after all this time, he still might be the one to know her best. She had other friends.
But they never ran through the woods with her, climbed trees, and captured frogs along the creek.
Neither had she been intimate with any of them.
She burrowed into him, pressed her lips against his neck.
His hand slid farther into her hair. “Evie?”
The way he said it. As if the two syllables took effort.
Rose eased back so she could see his face. “We used to tell each other everything. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?”
Finn traced circles on her skin. “I knew you didn’t see me that way.”
She hadn’t, not then. Rose thought of all the girls he’d dated. Perfect hair, make-up, clothes that never snagged on branches or brambles on walks in the woods. Even if she’d felt something like this for him back then, she wouldn’t have believed he’d want to date her.
She said, “You never looked at me the way you looked at other girls.”
“Of course not.”
She stiffened, felt his hand caress her neck.
“None of them were you.”
It was a sweet answer. She hoped it wasn’t a line.
“Were you really jealous of Caleb?”
“I told you I was.”
“I wish we’d talked after that night.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew. They hadn’t had a chance. She’d been too hurt. He’d been too angry at her then fiancé. She knew that now. “Why didn’t you come see me the day after?”
“I tried,” he said. “I was told you wanted nothing to do with me. When I tried again, I was told the same.”
“Who told you that? I was upstairs all day, hoping you’d come by.”
He sighed. “Does it matter?”
“Which means it was Aspen,” she said. “If it had been Thorne, he would have told me.” She pressed her lips to his jaw. It wasn’t Aspen’s place to interfere, but it wasn’t the first time she’d done so.
His fingers shifted to trail up and down her spine. “I don’t want you at odds with your family over the past. Your oldest sister doesn’t look happy.”
Oldest sister. In their recent conversation, Aspen had said Finn wasn’t good enough for her.
They’d talk. Whatever Aspen said to Finn years ago couldn’t be undone. But Rose needed to know why.
As for Finn, Rose decided to tell him her secret. They’d wasted enough time apart. She’d trusted him once. It was time to risk doing it again.
She leaned toward the nightstand, picked up the second mug of coffee, and held it out to him. “I made you coffee. I’m going to take a shower and brush my teeth.”
He joined her in the shower. It was better than playing in the creek as children. Parts of her still hummed when she sat down at the table, the large veggie laden omelette she’d made halved down the middle between them.
He’d put his jeans back on. She wore an oversized flannel shirt and a simple gathered skirt. When the omelette was gone, she rose and retrieved the envelope of documents from her room. She took a breath and sat back down.
Trust.
“I need to tell you something.”
N ot sure what to expect, Finn leaned back in his chair, one hand around a mug of coffee. The envelope she’d brought lay on the table between them.
Rose’s fingers picked at loose threads on the skirt she wore before she raised her eyes to his. “I’m not Magnolia’s granddaughter. I’m her daughter.”
I’m her daughter.
It took a moment to make the connection, to understand what she meant.
This was—not what he expected.
She continued, her speech faster than normal, as if she needed the complete story out.
Rose was Magnolia Everson-Brooks’ daughter? Her parents were her adoptive parents. The woman she called mom was her older sister.
Silence filled the space between them as he took in her last words. Because hell.
Why hadn’t her birth mother told her? In his mind, that was a shit move. What was he supposed to say?
He couldn’t keep the grit from his voice. He touched his fingertips to hers where they curled into the black skirt she wore. “How long have you known?”
“I found out after the ceiling fell. She left me a letter and my real birth certificate.” She tapped the large envelope she’d placed on the table.
A letter, a real birth certificate. He didn’t need the proof. He believed her. She’d resembled Ms. Magnolia more than the rest of the Finch children. He’d figured it was family genetics, would never have guessed it was directly from mother to daughter.
He couldn’t help himself. He pulled her against him, felt her face press into his neck. Her arms tightened. They were at an odd angle.
He stood with one arm still around her. His other pushed the table away. It swayed but didn’t tip. He wanted her fully in his arms, all of him against all of her.
“Finn, what are you?—”
“Making us more comfortable.”
She turned her head. “What about?—”
“Later.”
He wanted her somewhere he could hold her. He moved to the couch in her family area. Sat in the middle and stretched out with her alongside him, their faces inches apart.
It wasn’t the time to think about how she felt against him, better than any other woman he’d dated. He ran his hand down her side.
Finn asked, “Want to tell me the rest?”
Rose nodded. “I don’t know all of it. I’m trying to piece it together.
She went to the Cotswolds in England. Our family has a cottage there, near her sister Cherry.
But she delivered me in Winston-Salem. She eventually returned home.
Magnolia must have arranged the adoption with Mom and Dad.
They raised me with the others, as their own until the car accident. No one knew except Broome—he knew.”
“Rose.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “How do you feel?”
She gave him a half smile even as her eyes glistened. “I feel…” She hesitated. “I feel lost without her, angry sometimes that she didn’t tell me. That I’ll never ask her the questions I have. I would have told her it was okay, that she had reasons for her choice. That I loved her.”
“She knew you loved her.”
He pressed his lips to hers briefly, then looked at her.
“Thank you for trusting me.” He’d feared they’d have nothing resembling this closeness again.
When they got up off the couch, she showed him what the envelope contained. He picked it up, looked over the details, glanced up at her, then focused on a single line. “I thought your birthday was in February.”
“They changed it. It was too close to Thorne’s to be believable.”
The new date. “Your real birthday—it’s the same as mine.”
She leaned over to look and shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed that.”
He pondered the piece of paper. The details were as clear as his own. There was something else. The typecast, the paper, all aged by time. He put the paper down.
She must have sensed his unease. “What is it?”
He brushed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing.”
Later, after he returned to his house, he pulled out his laptop and opened his documents folder. He’d scanned all important paperwork into his files years ago. When he clicked on the line labeled birth certificate , he saw what bothered him about Rose’s.
It wasn’t nothing.
Not only did they share the same birthday, but they’d also been born in the same county, inside the same hospital. While he hadn’t memorized every detail on Rose’s birth certificate, he had a feeling that a Dr. Schroeder had delivered her too.