CHAPTER ELEVEN FINLEY
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FINLEY
It’s been five days since the event. Five days since I’ve seen or heard from Alex Rhodes. Five days of trying not to think about her—and failing.
Winter is closing in fast. Each morning the air cuts a little sharper, the sky darker. Snow’s already showing—tiny flakes swirling in the wind, sticking to my beard. I keep moving, trying to outrun the cold and my thoughts.
There’s still a lot to do before the real snow hits. I haul the last of the crates into the barn, cover the plants with tarps, check the heaters on the water troughs.
No matter how long the task list is, no matter how hard I try to busy my mind, it keeps drifting back to her. And that smile that disappeared.
It’s not because I care.
I don’t.
I just…want to know what that man said to her.
That’s all.
Call it curiosity—hell, call it being nosey.
Anything but me giving a damn about her. I just don’t like not knowing things. Especially things that happen on my farm. That’s it.
The image hits me again—the man’s hand clamped around her elbow, the way her face went pale, startled.
Before I even realize it, I’m gripping the hose so tight the water sputters to a stop.
I look down at my hand, knuckles white, the hose bent in half between my fingers.
I exhale through my nose and force my hand to loosen. Damn it.
By the time I finish salting the pathways, the driveway and the steps, the sky’s turned that dull gray that promises harsh weather.
I stomp the snow off my boots before I get inside and flip on the TV. The weather channel starts flashing bright red warnings—blizzard moving in overnight.
“Damn it,” I mutter through my teeth.
I head into the kitchen, scanning the shelves and the fridge. Half a loaf of bread. A few pieces of lunch meat. Not much else. If I’ll be stuck here, I’ll need water, a few things to eat, maybe some extra batteries in case the power goes out.
Looks like I’ll be taking a trip to the market.
By the time I get to Oak dark circles shadow the skin beneath her eyes. She’s dressed casual—sweatshirt, jeans—nothing like the polished version of herself I’m used to seeing.
She looks exhausted. Worn down. Hollow in a way that makes my chest squeeze.
Something is definitely wrong.
“Finley,” she breathes.
Just my name, soft and breathy, it hits me deeper than expected. She’s watching me with tired eyes.
“What can I do for you? Do you need something?” She asks, her voice gentle.
Even like this, clearly in distress, she’s kind to me. Still trying to accommodate me. And that does something I don’t like. My chest aches.
I shift on my feet rubbing the back of my neck. I don’t want to ask if she’s okay, don’t want to make it worse or pry where I’m not wanted. I don’t even know what the right thing to say is.
“I just came to grab a few things before the storm hits,” I mumble. “But it’s okay. I can figure something else out.”
She shakes her head, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “It’s fine, Finley. Go ahead and grab whatever you need.”
I nod, throat tight, and reach for a cart.
I head straight for the bakery. The shelves are already half-empty—just a few loaves of bread left, a couple boxes of donuts. I take both.
On my way to the snack aisle, I glance over my shoulder. Alex is still behind the counter, scribbling on a clipboard. Her shoulders slump like there’s an invisible weight sitting on them. Every time I look at her, my chest tightens a little more.
I keep moving. Chips. Pretzels—the honey mustard kind. A case of water. A few twelve-packs of soda. Soup cans, milk, and some lunch meat. And batteries.
By the time I pull up to the counter, Alex looks like she’s finished up and ready to go.
I set the groceries down on the counter and there’s a pause before she starts scanning the items. The beeps from the scanner are the only sound between us. And damn if it doesn’t make me wish I knew how to ask what’s wrong without making her uncomfortable.
I wouldn’t want anyone prying in my business.
I’m just sliding my card when the TV in the corner of the café blares an alarm. A curfew has been issued. The Governor has issued a state of emergency.
What the hell has happened in the last thirty minutes I’ve been in here? “What the hell is going on out there?” I mutter under my breath.
Alex’s eyes meet mine, wide, a flicker of panic crossing her face.
Then the power starts to flicker.
“Oh no,” she whispers.
And just like that, the lights die. The store plunges into darkness, only the emergency exit signs glowing faintly red. I hear her whimper quietly.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I glance at her. “Do you have a generator?” It’s a grocery store; there has to be a generator.
She hesitates, sheepishly. “Yes… but I don’t know how to use it.”
I frown, running a hand down my face. “It should have an automatic transfer switch. Should kick on. Probably just powers the fridges and coolers, though. Do you know where it is?”
She winces and shakes her head.
I grit my teeth. “Alright. I’ll check out back.”
She hesitates for a second then digs under the counter and hands me a flashlight. “Here.”
I take it and start toward the back door. My mind’s already racing—what’s happening out there, how long this is gonna last, and keeping track of Alex, standing there in the dark.
As I walk through the store, I catch the flicker of lights in the coolers as they hum to life.
Perfect. The generator kicked on. Looks like I don’t need to trudge out back in this mess.
I make my way to the front doors and peer through the glass. The world outside is a blur. Tree limbs whip past in a wall of snowflakes, slamming against the windows with every gust of wind.
The storm’s coming in harder than I expected. Fast.
I glance back at Alex. She’s still behind the counter, lighting a candle.
“Looks like we’re probably stuck here for a while,” I say.
She looks up at me, eyes wide, “really?”
I nod heading over to the café area. I pull out a chair and sit, stretching my legs. My fingers fumble for my phone, and I check the weather.
“Maybe a few hours,” I say, glancing up at her. “Your car probably won’t make it out in this. Once the storm calms, I can drive you home.”
She looks at me for a moment, almost in shock, like she can’t believe I’d actually offer to help her.
And damn, does that make me feel like a complete asshole. Man… am I really such an ass to this girl that she doesn’t even think I’d help her?
And for what? All because of some things she did in high school? I rub the back of my neck and shake my head suddenly feeling shame. Embarrassment too, even. For what I’ve said, the way I’ve acted toward her.
She walks over to the table I’m sitting at and grabs the flashlight. Without a word, she starts toward the aisles, basket in hand.
Should I follow her?
No. Of course not. This is her store. She doesn’t need me trailing behind her.
I lean back in the chair, running a hand through my beard and watch her move through the dimly lit aisles. Every step she takes… damn it, I can’t help but notice the elegant way her hips sway.