Chapter 24 Finn
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Finn
I don’t do routines.
I’m more of a “show up unexpectedly, cause a little madness, and leave before anyone expects consistency” kind of guy.
And yet, every morning around nine, give or take five minutes depending on how late we closed the bar the night before, I find myself pushing open the door to Coyote Cup eagerly.
Because of Aurora, and the coffee she just has to have every morning.
The chat with Lani too, and anyone else who’s in for their shot of morning caffeine.
Aurora’s at the big front window table while she sips her drink.
Sunlight pours through the glass and turns her hair into something unfair, as if she’s got a lighting team following her around.
Her laptop is open, her brow furrowed in concentration, and that bandaged finger of hers is still taped up even though she insists it’s “barely a scratch.”
She’s talking with Lani and Delaney. And Delaney’s men.
Boone Taylor is seated with ease, leaning back against his seat.
Broad shoulders, cool eyes, quiet dominance that doesn’t need volume.
Caleb sits beside him, arms crossed, expression permanently unimpressed.
To him, smiling is a subscription service he refuses to sign up for.
And Silas is leaned back in his chair, boots scuffed, grin lazy and unapologetic, clearly enjoying the morning noise.
They orbit Delaney as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I’ve lived enough places to know that’s not the norm.
Coyote Glen, though? Polyamory isn’t scandalous here. It’s practically a town initiative. Goat yoga, shared last names, plural pronouns. You either adapt, or it seems you wandered in from a 1950s time capsule.
Aurora laughs at something Lani says, head tipping back slightly, and my chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine.
I grab my coffee and hover for half a second before Boone looks up and catches me.
He nods once.
I nod back.
Ranch diplomacy complete.
Silas spots me next and grins as if he’s been waiting for entertainment. “Hey, bartender. You here to supervise our pastry intake? Come and sit with us already.”
Yeah, I guess I do seem to be supervising. Which, really, I am.
“Okay, okay, I’ll sit,” I reply, sliding into the empty chair next to Aurora. “But yes. You look like someone who would emotionally manipulate a scone.”
Caleb mutters, “He absolutely would.”
Aurora's smile shifts when she sees I’ve taken the seat beside her. It softens, just slightly, but she’s not even aware she’s doing it.
Delaney watches us as if she’s midway through a very satisfying book. “So, this is cute…”
“It’s not cute,” I protest.
“It’s deeply cute,” Silas corrects. “You’ve got concerned golden retriever energy.”
I stare at him. “You own three belt buckles with your initials engraved on them.”
“They’re tasteful,” he says without shame.
Caleb doesn’t even look up from his coffee. “They’re not.”
Aurora chokes on her coffee. Lani laughs out loud.
Silas leans forward, delighted. “We’ve been taking bets.”
Aurora’s eyes light up. “On what?”
“On how long before Finn admits he’s smitten?”
I nearly inhale my coffee. “I am not smitten.”
Boone raises a brow. “You clearly adore Aurora.”
Caleb adds, “You scan the room like she’s a VIP.”
Lani chimes in, “You switched to oat milk because she said dairy makes her tired.”
I glare at the entire town. “That was a health-based decision.”
Aurora’s cheeks pink slightly, but she’s smiling. “You changed your coffee order?”
“It was experimental,” I say quickly. “I contain multitudes.”
Silas rests his chin on his hand. “You contain feelings.”
“Stop talking.”
Delaney just smiles softly at Aurora. “He’s harmless.”
“Debatable,” Caleb mutters.
Boone’s gaze remains on Aurora. “You’re good for this place.”
Aurora pauses mid typing. “For the event?”
“For the town.”
She swallows, looks down at her laptop as if she suddenly needs to check something very important.
Lani claps her hands lightly. “Speaking of being good for this town, who’s volunteering for the kids’ craft tent?”
Silas raises his hand. “I am wildly unqualified for glue.”
“Correct,” Caleb says.
Boone nods. “I’ll bring extra hay bales for seating.”
“I’ll manage crowd morale,” Silas adds.
“With flirting?” Aurora says.
“With strategic community engagement,” Silas corrects.
I lean toward Aurora. “He’ll be unbearable.”
“I’m right here,” Silas says cheerfully.
“That’s the problem.”
She laughs again, bright and unfiltered, and I catch myself staring longer than I should.
Caleb gestures toward her bandaged finger. “How’s the cut?”
“Heroic,” she says solemnly.
“Dramatic,” I correct.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re banned from injury jokes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Boone leans back slightly, gaze thoughtful. “Town looks out for its own.”
Silas nods. “Yeah. Nobody blinks here. We just… adjust.”
Aurora’s eyes flick briefly to the window, checking the world beyond the glass, and I clock it automatically. I always clock it.
She straightens and taps her keyboard. “Okay. I need someone to help with vendor check-in at eight a.m.”
Silas groans. “That’s early.”
“Life is early,” Caleb replies. “And come on, we’re always early on the ranch.”
I raise my hand. “Security.”
She glances at me. “For vendor check-in?”
“For everything,” I say, and I mean it more than I let on.
Silas whistles softly. “Golden retriever.”
I flip him off.
He beams.
And it’s just sunlight, caffeine, hay bale logistics, and a town that somehow makes complicated things feel normal.
Then across the street, a man in a baseball cap lifts his phone toward the window.
And everything inside me sharpens.
I watch the guy a second longer. He’s pretending to look at something on his phone, but I know the angle. He’s aiming at the window, at Aurora.
That’s when I decide I’m done with this. This might be exactly what I’ve been dreading, but also waiting for.
I stand up without a word, setting my coffee down with a little more force than necessary. Aurora glances up at the movement, but I don’t look at her. I’m already moving, walking to the door, and the guy doesn’t even see me coming. He’s too focused on the camera lens.
His phone’s half raised when I step into his personal space.
“Hey,” I snap.
He freezes, startled, eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“Hey,” I repeat, but this time it’s not a greeting.
He’s trying to play it cool, but his fingers tighten around the phone, and I can see the hesitation in his eyes. Good. He knows he fucked up.
I lean in just enough to make it clear that if he even thinks about running, I’ll be faster. “You’ve been taking pictures.”
“Just…” He stammers. “Just getting a shot of the town. The, uh, café.”
“The café,” I repeat. “And you thought no one would notice?”
He shifts uncomfortably, but I don’t let him off the hook. Reaching for the phone, I yank it out of his hand without waiting for permission.
“Hey, man, it’s no big deal—”
“It is a big deal,” I cut him off, already swiping through the phone, finding exactly what I knew I would.
A handful of pictures of Aurora.
I thumb through them quickly, one after the other. Pictures taken from outside the window, clear as day.
I delete them all.
“Listen, I didn’t mean any harm,” he mutters, reaching for the phone, but I move it out of his reach.
“Yeah, well,” I say with a cold smile, “you should have thought of that before you started snapping.” I press the phone back into his chest. “Who sent you?”
His lips thin.
That’s the tell.
If this was just some bored tourist with a photography hobby and too much time, he’d be babbling apologies by now. Instead, he’s calculating.
“Nobody sent me,” he says too carefully.
I tilt my head. “Wrong answer.”
He bristles. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
I step closer, close enough that he has to lean back or bump into the florist’s window behind him.
“You’re right,” I say lightly. “You don’t. But here’s the thing.”
I tap the phone against his chest once.
“You aimed that at someone inside that café. Someone who didn’t ask for it. That makes it my business.”
He swallows. “She’s not—”
“Careful.”
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.
He glances past me toward the café window, maybe hoping someone’s watching. They are. Boone’s broad silhouette is visible through the glass. Caleb’s glare is practically structural. Silas looks entertained but very alert.
Small town.
We travel in packs.
I unlock his phone again before he can stop me.
“Hey…”
I ignore him and open his messages.
He tries to grab it back.
Bad choice.
I catch his wrist and twist just enough that his knees dip.
“Relax,” I murmur. “You’re making this weird.”
I scroll.
There.
A text thread.
Unknown number.
Got eyes on her?
Need confirmation.
My jaw tightens.
I take a quick screenshot and send it to myself before he can process what I’m doing.
“Confirmation,” I read out loud softly. “That’s interesting.”
He goes pale.
“It’s not like that—”
“Then tell me what it’s like.”
He doesn’t.
He can’t.
I look up at him and drop the grin entirely.
“You don’t take pictures of her,” I say evenly. “You don’t report on her. You don’t confirm anything about her.”
He shakes his head quickly. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“That’s the problem,” I say. “You already did.”
I delete the thread.
Block the number.
Then I open his cloud storage and wipe the backup folder just to be thorough.
I get to have that information, not him.
When I finally hand the phone back, I don’t shove it.
“You’re going to walk away,” I tell him. “You’re going to forget you ever stood on this sidewalk. And if I see you within a block of her again…”
I let the sentence trail off.
He understands.
His voice comes out small. “You don’t own her.”
I step in one last inch.
“No,” I say quietly. “But you don’t get to treat her like she’s public property either.”
A beat.
“Get out of here. And don’t ever point that at her again.”