40. Finn #2
"Nope. Already decided. It's happening. You can argue, but I'm faster than you and I'll just run to the register."
She sighs under her breath. But she doesn't argue. Progress.
By the time we leave the store, she's holding a bag with the sweater, a pair of jeans she tried on and actually liked—dark wash, perfect fit—and a soft gray t-shirt that she touched three times before finally admitting she wanted it.
Seventy-three dollars total.
She looks at the receipt like it's a death sentence, like I've just committed a crime.
"That's so much money."
"It's not."
"It is. That's like...a week of groceries."
"Kaia."
She looks up at me, clutching the bag.
"You deserve nice things," I say softly, seriously, needing her to hear this. To believe it. "Okay? You deserve to have things that make you happy. That make you feel good. You're not a burden. You're not asking for too much. You deserve this."
Her eyes soften. Get a little shiny. Just slightly. "Okay," she whispers.
I grin. "Good. Now come on—we're not done yet."
"What?" She blinks. "Finn, we've already spent—"
"Nope. One more stop. Non-negotiable."
I drag her to the beauty section of a nearby drugstore, scanning the nail polish display until I find exactly what I'm looking for. Bright blue. Glittery. The kind of thing that serves absolutely no practical purpose and is completely, utterly frivolous.
"This one," I say, holding it up. "For you."
She stares at it like I've offered her the moon. "Blue glitter nail polish?"
"Blue glitter nail polish," I confirm. "It matches your eyes. And more importantly, it's ridiculous and impractical and absolutely perfect."
"Finn, I can't—"
"You can. You're going to. Because you deserve to paint your toenails something beautiful just because it makes you happy. Not because it's useful. Not because it serves a purpose. Just because you want to."
She reaches out slowly, takes the bottle from my hand. Turns it over in her fingers, watching the glitter catch the light.
"I've never..." she starts, then stops. Swallows hard. "I've never had anything just for...for joy."
"Well, now you do," I say quietly. "And you're going to let yourself enjoy it."
She looks at me, then back at the polish.
And something shifts in her expression—something that looks like permission, like she's finally allowing herself to believe that frivolous things are okay.
That beauty for beauty's sake has value.
That she deserves paint on her toenails and nothing more practical than that.
"Okay," she whispers. "Okay, I'll get it."
I grin. "Good. Now let's get food. Because I'm starving and if I don't eat soon, I'm going to get cranky."
Adrian joins us at the hibachi restaurant attached to the mall. He doesn't ask. Doesn't text. Just appears as we're being seated, sliding into the seat across from us like he's been invited.
Kaia blinks. "Adrian?"
"Finn invited me," Adrian says smoothly, picking up the menu.
I did not, but I'm not arguing. Because I realize that having Adrian here actually makes this feel more...real. More like family.
"Oh," Kaia says, smiling. "That's...nice. I'm glad you're here."
Adrian's mouth twitches. Almost a smile. The closest thing to genuine warmth I've seen from him in days.
The chef arrives with a wheeled cart of ingredients and cooking tools, and the show begins. Fire shooting up toward the ceiling. Flipping spatulas. Catching eggs in his hat. The classic onion volcano that makes Kaia gasp and clap.
She laughs. Genuine. Bright. Unreserved.
The kind of laugh that makes everyone around us smile.
I watch her instead of the chef. Because honestly? She's way more entertaining.
The way her eyes light up. How she leans forward, completely absorbed. Her hand flying to her mouth when she laughs, like she's not quite used to being this happy.
Adrian watches her too. Subtle. Controlled. But I see it.
The way his expression softens when she laughs. How his shoulders finally relax. The genuine smile that appears on his face when she tries to catch a piece of shrimp the chef tosses at her and completely misses.
He's falling. Hard.
Good.
She deserves to be loved by all of us.
We eat. We talk. We laugh. Adrian tells a story about a disastrous business meeting—something about his entire presentation crashing mid-slide while a client was mid-sentence—that's actually kind of hilarious.
Kaia talks about a customer at the café who ordered a "medium small large" coffee.
I do a dramatic reenactment of the time I accidentally set Jonas's curtains on fire.
And for the first time since she arrived, Kaia looks completely at ease. No tension in her shoulders. No fear in her eyes. No checking the exits. Just, happy. Present. Here.
She's so beautiful when she's happy.
By the time we get home, it's late—past ten.
The house is quiet when we walk in. Lachlan and Jonas are already upstairs; I can hear the faint sound of the TV from Lachlan's room, some narrator's voice droning on about ancient civilizations.
Jonas's choice, definitely. I catch the sound of Lachlan's low chuckle—patient, indulgent—followed by Jonas murmuring something I can't quite make out.
Adrian heads to his office without a word. Doesn't say anything. Just nods once.
Permission. Approval. Trust.
I take Kaia's hand, intertwining our fingers. "Come with me?"
She looks at me. Curious. Trusting. Still holding her shopping bag. "Where?"
"My nest."
She draws in a quiet breath. Her breathing stutters. Just slightly. She inhales sharply. Her pupils dilate. "Okay."
My nest is exactly what you'd expect.
Chaotic. Colorful. Comfortable. Blankets everywhere, different textures, different colors, all soft. Pillows piled high in every corner. String lights casting everything in warm gold, making the whole space feel like we're inside a sunset. Books stacked in precarious towers.
My nest. My space.
And I want her in it.
Kaia steps inside slowly. Looking around. Taking it all in. "It's...cozy."
I grin, closing the door behind us. "That's the idea. Nests are supposed to be comfortable. Safe. Somewhere you can just...be."
She turns to look at me. And there's something in her eyes. Something warm. Something certain. Something that makes my heart rate pick up.
"Finn?"
"Yeah?"
"I want to stay. Here. Tonight. With you."
Something inside me melts. In the best way. The kind that makes it hard to breathe, but only because everything suddenly feels too full. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I step closer. Slowly. Giving her space to change her mind. To second-guess.
She doesn't.
Instead, she reaches for me. Fingers curling into my shirt. Pulling me closer. Pulling me toward her. "I want this," she whispers, looking up at me.
"You sure? Because we don't have to…"
"I'm sure. I want this. I want you."
I cup her face gently. Both hands. Thumb brushing across her cheek. "Tell me if you want to stop. At any point. For any reason. Even if it's just because you're tired or you changed your mind or…"
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I lean in. Slow. Careful.
And kiss her.
Soft at first. Testing. Learning. She melts into me. Hands sliding up my chest. Over my shoulders. Fingers tangling in my hair. I deepen the kiss. Just slightly. Letting her set the pace. Letting her lead. She responds immediately. Pressing closer. Opening for me. Tongue touching mine.
A soft sound in the back of her throat almost makes me melt into the floor.
I walk her backward. Slowly. Carefully. Until her legs hit the edge of the bed. She sits. Looks up at me. Eyes dark. Wanting. Pupils blown wide.
"Lie back," I say softly.
She does. Scoots backward. Settles into the pillows.
I follow her down. Nestle in beside her. Not on top. Not crowding. Not pinning. Just, there. Beside her. My hand slides up and down along her side. Slow. Gentle. Feeling the curve of her waist.
"This okay?"
"Yes."
I lean in. Kiss her again. Deeper this time. Hungrier. My hand moves higher. Brushes the underside of her breast through her shirt.
She gasps softly against my mouth.
I pull back, searching her face. "Still okay?"
"Yes," she breathes. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."