Chapter 12 Finn
CHAPTER TWELVE
Finn
I tell myself I’m just leaning against the kitchen counter because it’s there.
That I’m not watching.
That this is normal… people hug all the time. Especially after a scare. Especially when one of them is Zane, all quiet gravity and calm hands, and the other is Aurora, all cracked open relief and trembling breath.
Totally normal.
Still…
A sharpness hooks under my ribs when she steps into him.
It’s not jealousy. Not exactly. And it’s definitely not just lust, because this doesn’t feel hot, it feels cold. Sudden. Missing a step you didn’t know was there.
Zane freezes when she hugs him. Full statue mode, as if someone unplugged him mid-sentence.
I almost smile at that part.
Then his arms come up.
He pulls her in, just a little, and she melts into him because that’s where she was always headed.
And there it is.
That thing.
The thing that makes my chest go tight.
I swallow and look away, because staring is crossing a line, but the room’s too quiet, and my brain fills the silence with bad ideas.
She’s crying.
I tap my fingers against the bar. Once. Twice. Stop myself on the third.
I don’t do long-term.
That’s not a tragic confession. That’s a policy decision. I prefer my exits clean and my expectations low. I’m good at showing up in the moment and disappearing before the moment asks for more.
Aurora’s a tourist. Passing through. Temporary by design.
I know this.
I remind myself of it.
And still, watching her cry into Zane’s chest feels as painful as watching someone quietly close a door I didn’t realize I was standing behind.
“Hey,” I say, because I hate silence and because my mouth always moves before my heart catches up. “Look at that. Locket recovered. Crisis downgraded from existential dread to emotional hangover.”
No one laughs.
Zane doesn’t even look at me.
Aurora doesn’t pull away, but she turns her head just enough to glance at me, eyes red, lashes clumped, face blotchy and completely unguarded.
And instead of deflecting it with a joke, she says, softly, “Thank you for not making fun of me.”
That’s worse.
“Who says I’m not making fun of you?” I say, too fast. “I’m just doing it respectfully. Growth.”
She huffs out a weak sound that might be a laugh. Zane’s hand tightens between her shoulder blades, protective and instinctive.
I look at the floor.
The truth is, I’m scared of how much it hurts not to be the one holding her.
And that’s new.
I clear my throat. “So. Uh. Good news is that if this was a dramatic intimidation tactic, it failed spectacularly. Nothing says ‘menacing villain’ like accidentally kicking a locket under a bed.”
Zane finally looks at me. His expression is measured.
“Aurora probably knocked it while packing in a hurry yesterday,” he says.
“Probably.” I nod. Too much. “Definitely.”
Silence creeps back in anyway.
I hate it.
Silence gives my thoughts room to stretch, and my thoughts are being unhelpful right now.
How she fits against Zane. How easy it looks. How safe she feels with him.
How I don’t know what I’d do if she ever looked at me that way.
I push off the counter.
“Okay,” I say briskly. “Everyone breathe. We’re fine. The town’s not secretly evil. Your heirloom’s safe. I vote we all pretend this was just an emotionally charged scavenger hunt and move on.”
Aurora finally steps back from Zane. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, embarrassed but steadier.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to—”
Zane shakes his head. “Don’t.”
Same word. Same tone.
She smiles at him.
That sharp thing twists again.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, to cut the moment before it lodges under my skin and stays there.
“So,” I say, clapping my hands once, a little too loud. “Who wants air? Because if I stay in this room any longer, I’m going to start narrating my feelings, and nobody wants that.”
Aurora glances at me, then at Zane. There’s a quiet exchange there I pretend not to see.
“I could use some air,” she says.
There it is. My opening.
“Perfect,” I say, already moving. “Roof’s got the best view. Also, the worst railings. Very on brand.”
Zane hesitates. I can feel it. Protective instinct humming as a live wire.
“I’ll bring her back,” I say lightly. “Scout’s honor.”
Zane studies me for a beat, then nods. Trust, but verify.
Aurora follows me up the narrow stairs, the sound of the bar fading behind us. The door creaks when I push it open, and cold night rushes in as if it’s been waiting.
The roof is quiet. Open. The town spread out below us in soft yellow dots and dark stretches of trees. The mountains loom as if they’re minding their business, but absolutely are not.
Aurora steps up to the edge, resting her hands on the railing. The wind tugs at her hair.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “Evie would’ve loved this.”
There it is. Her grandmother again. Always there, as gravity.
“Yeah?” I say. “She sounds like she had good taste.”
“She did,” Aurora says. “In places. In people.” She smiles faintly. “In telling me when I was being an idiot.”
I grin. “A legend.”
I lean beside her, careful to keep it casual. Light. Reclaim the vibe, Reilly. That’s the plan.
“So,” I say. “Feeling better? Or are we still in the emotional hangover phase?”
She snorts. “Still tender. But… lighter. I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding onto that locket until I thought it was gone.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Funny how objects do that. Carry way more than their weight limit.”
She glances at me. “Is that a rare Finn Reilly Insight?”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I say. “I have a reputation.”
She laughs, and the sound loosens my chest. There it is. The easy part. The part I’m good at.
“What about your family?” she asks.
Ah. We’ve swerved.
“Wow,” I say. “No warm-up? Just straight to emotional excavation?”
She tilts her head. “You can deflect if you want.”
I consider it. Reflex says yes. Mouth opens.
Then something else wins.
“They are…” I say instead, “well, complicated’s generous. My mom, Maeve, she’s great in public,” I continue. “Big heart. Big laugh. The kind of woman who remembers everyone’s birthday and forgets how she hurt you last week.”
Aurora nods slowly, like she knows this type.
“She loves loudly,” I say. “Just… inconsistently.”
“And your dad?” she asks gently.
I snort. “Declan Reilly. Big personality. Bigger disappointments. He taught me how to tell a good story and how to expect people to leave before they say goodbye.”
“That’s… a lot,” she says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Got an older brother who chases the next high like it owes him money. Callum. And a younger sister, Siobhan. Sharp tongue. Tired eyes. I keep my distance so she doesn’t have to carry me too.”
Aurora’s quiet.
“My mom’s Lynn,” she says. “Very practical. Very ‘we move on now.’ She loves me. I know that. She just doesn’t know how to sit in grief. It makes her itchy.”
I smile faintly. “Grief is inconvenient.”
“Exactly.” She exhales. “My dad, Graham, he’s charming. In bursts. Sends birthday texts. Avoids hard conversations like they’re contagious.”
“Ah,” I say. “The drive-by parent.”
She laughs softly. “And then there was Evie. My grandmother. She was… home. Warm hands. Sharp mind. She taught me kindness with teeth.”
I love that phrase. I file it away.
“She sounds incredible,” I say.
“She was,” Aurora says. “And she had a secret history here. In Coyote Glen. I’m still figuring out what that means.”
The wind picks up, cold and honest.
“I didn’t expect you to stay in my head,” I say suddenly, letting far too much truth out.
She turns to me. “What?”
“After that first night,” I clarify, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “I figured you’d be a good memory. A great one. But temporary.” I shrug.
“And now?”
“Now,” I say, “I catch myself looking for you in rooms. Wondering what you’d say about things. That’s not my usual pattern.”
She studies me, eyes thoughtful. “Does that scare you?”
I laugh under my breath. “Terrifies me.”
She smiles, gentle and knowing. “You don’t like silence, do you?”
I grimace. “Silence asks questions I don’t have jokes for.”
She nudges my arm, just barely. “You’re allowed to not know.”
I look out over the town, the quiet lights, the dark stretches between them.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
The wind shifts, tugging her hair across her cheek. She tucks it back without thinking, and I’m distracted by how natural it looks. How unguarded she is right now, standing here with me under an open sky.
I clear my throat. “So. Before this gets any deeper and I start doing something wildly out of character—”
She turns fully toward me.
Close enough that I can see the faint red around her eyes. Close enough that the joke I was about to make dies quietly in my mouth.
“Finn,” she says softly.
That’s what does it.
I lift my hand slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
My fingers brush her jaw, barely there, checking if this is real. Her breath catches.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur.
She shakes her head.
So I kiss her.
This kiss isn’t about heat or momentum or seeing what happens if I push. It’s soft and intense, and wonderfully sensual.
Her hand comes up, resting lightly against my chest.
I feel it everywhere.
When we part, she rests her forehead against mine, eyes closed.
“That was different,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It was.”
I don’t get a chance to say anything else.
The door behind us creaks open.
I don’t even turn at first. I feel it. The shift in the air, the sudden weight, a storm cloud deciding to stop being polite.
Then I look.
Ryder stands a few steps back, arms crossed, posture relaxed in that dangerous way that means he’s anything but.
His gaze flicks from me to Aurora.
Then back to me.
No words. No raised voice.
Just a stare that says this is your one warning shot.
Aurora straightens slightly beside me, instinctively putting space between us without fully stepping away.
Ryder’s jaw tightens. He nods once, sharp.
And then he turns and disappears back inside.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Wow,” I mutter. “Nothing like being threatened with bodily harm via eye contact.”
Aurora lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. “He’s… intense.”
“You have no idea,” I say.
We stand there a moment longer, the kiss still tingling, the warning still echoing.
I glance at her. “For what it’s worth—”
She looks at me.
“I didn’t plan this,” I say. “But I don’t regret it.”
She smiles.
“Me neither.”
And somehow, that is the most dangerous thing that’s happened all night.