22. Vivian
twenty-two
Vivian
I almost kissed Finn.
The thought keeps repeating itself as I stumble through a conversation with two best friends who end up buying three dresses.
I almost kissed Finn. When a group of intensely aggressive seagulls attack an abandoned funnel cake at the front of my tent.
I almost kissed Finn. After I lose one of my favorite designs to a sticky lollipop situation. I almost kissed Finn.
I almost kissed Finn. I almost kissed Finn. I almost kissed Finn.
The sentence iterates so many times that it reaches semantic satiation and no longer makes sense. I might as well be thinking, Dog wearing a peanut butter hat .
Except, there’s the very real problem of what to do now. I was the one who firmly set the friend boundary between us, but earlier, I was ready to sail over it like an Olympic high-jumper securing gold.
A groan escapes me as I press the heel of my palm between my eyes.
Finn texted shortly after he left, saying that if he takes his medicine, he’ll probably end up sleeping since it makes him drowsy.
Since his Aston Martin is in an interior spot in the parking garage, I didn’t worry about him overheating, but I texted him, telling him to crack his windows just in case.
That was four hours ago.
In that time, I’ve done an excellent job of spiraling.
I should join an acrobatic group—I’m that good.
What I’m not doing a great job of is selling dresses.
I say hi to people as they enter and try to give them the privacy to peruse, but almost everyone leaves empty handed.
I’m certain it’s because of my awkwardness.
Or it might be because I end up staring off into space, remembering the way Finn’s breath see-sawed irregularly when my lips were inches from his, and have to snap myself out of it with a physical shake.
Earlier, I startled a five-year-old shopping with her mom, thus resulting in the lollipop situation.
One thing is for sure, the low interest in my dresses is definitely not due to foot traffic.
There’s a standing-room-only throng of people parading past my tent.
They look more like cattle than shoppers.
Heading to the back corner of the tent, I pull my spiral notebook from my brand-new tote bag.
Even before I open it, I know I’m not close to hitting my goal.
Yesterday, I’d written down success milestones with a rainbow of multicolor pens that I could check off during the day.
Deducting the cost of dress production, my vendor tent fees, rental costs for the clothing racks, and the gas money I still need to pay Finn, I’m now the proud owner of enough profit to buy Brynn a tuna sandwich.
My nose stings, and I tell myself that the liquid brimming my eyelids is from the ocean breeze picking up.
Wind always makes my eyes water. Besides, I never expected this experience to rocket me to some new layer of success.
I probably couldn’t handle that anyway. It’d be too emotionally stressful, and I’m used to…
being small, living small. My shoulders hunch forward as I close my eyes.
I shouldn’t even be here.
“I brought sustenance,” Finn’s voice surprises me.
I slam the notebook closed, tucking it away. A deep inhale fills my lungs before I turn around, grateful for Finn’s distraction. The last thing I need is to ugly cry with thousands of onlookers witnessing my abject failure.
Finn looks better. His hat and sunglasses still cover his face, but the ever-present grimace is gone. Then my gaze tracks down his firm chest—purely in a medical assessment kind of way—before I notice the pink lemonade and curly fries in his hands.
A bloom of affection radiates between my ribs. I’d been muttering to myself as we passed the food trucks earlier about having that exact combination for lunch. The Skittles are long gone, but I was too nervous to “close my tent” and potentially lose sales in order to get myself lunch.
“Are those for me?”
Finn’s easy smile falls when my voice cracks.
“What’s wrong?” He strides forward, setting my food on the stool.
His hands come up as if to brace my arms, but then he slides them into his pockets. It’s completely unreasonable for me to be disappointed at the potential loss of contact when Finn is respecting my boundaries.
I blame my hollowing stomach on my low sales numbers, telling him, “Things aren’t going as well as I hoped.”
Finn looks around the tent, probably noting that it’s nearly identical to how he left it. Then, a lopsided grin traces his lips. It’s different from his spine-tingly flirtatious one, almost teetering on goofy.
“Permission to turn on the charm to sell dresses?”
I roll my eyes with a huff, but his jokey request eases the tension between my collarbones.
I’d actually thought about asking Finn to turn up the charisma when he returned.
I mean, I have a gorgeous man at my disposal; why not utilize him to maximize profits?
But the idea feels seedy, underhanded, and in direct opposition to what I’d told him before the fair even opened.
I sigh. “I’m supposed to do this on my own, remember?”
Finn nods, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask to change the subject.
My stomach twists. I should have asked that the minute I saw Finn instead of selfishly dwelling on my lack of sales.
“Yeah.” He rolls his neck. “It wasn’t a full-blown one, thankfully. That would’ve put me out for the rest of the day.”
“That’s good.” Awkwardness expands in my throat. It’d been so easy to banter with him earlier, but I’m almost afraid of doing that again. Whenever that happens, we always end up too close.
“And thank you for lunch. You didn’t have to do that.”
Finn rubs his jaw as he glances at the ground, his ball cap momentarily hiding his face. “It was no trouble.”
I open my mouth to ask if he got himself something to eat first, but my ringing phone interrupts. “I should get that.”
I’d concocted a simple cover story of spending the day at Wendy’s house, but if Brynn figured out I was lying, it’d be better to own up to it sooner rather than later.
The idea of my twin sister rallying the town, using the mass texting service that islanders only utilize for emergencies to organize carpools to the mainland to support me, makes my jittery muscles soften.
A small smile tilts at the corner of my mouth as I fish my phone out of my tote bag.
Except, it’s not my sister calling.
Finn steps behind me when I continue to stare at the ringing device, unmoving.
“Answer it.” His voice is low over my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. He’s so close I can feel the heat of him through the back of my dress. “I’ll help you if you need it.”
Right. Because at the end of the day, Finn is still my dating coach, so of course he’d help me answer this call from Atticus. A sour taste stings my tongue as I answer, pressing the phone to my left ear.
“Hello?”
“Vivian?”
“Um…” I falter for a second.
When Finn whispers, “You’ve got this, gorgeous,” my lashes flutter closed. I sway backward unconsciously, putting me dangerously close to Finn’s chest.
My eyes pop open a second before I answer Atticus. “This is she.”
“Oh, good. Just wanted to make sure because otherwise…well, that doesn’t matter now.” Atticus sends a noisy snort over the line, and I grimace reflexively. “I was wondering if you wanted to go over your books tomorrow. I have some time in the late afternoon.”
“Tomorrow afternoon?”
I push a few wayward strands of hair away from my face, only to have the sea air slap them right back into my eyes. An irritated sound leaves my lips as I tug a particularly unruly lock out of my mouth.
“What’s that?” Atticus asks.
“Nothing,” I spurt.
“Give me your hair tie,” Finn murmurs.
I’m confused until Finn tugs on the hairband around my left wrist. I switch the phone to my right ear so he can slip it over my fingers.
Then my knees almost buckle when Finn collects all my hair and gently secures it in the elastic.
He does so expertly, like he’s pulled up a woman’s hair into a ponytail before.
I don’t have time to fully flesh out why he would have this particular skill, because Atticus is giving me details about our business meeting, rambling about the most recent update to my bookkeeping software and inquiring whether I’ve downloaded it.
“I…uh…” Fainting is a very real possibility when Finn scoops a flyaway from my nape and tucks it into the hair tie. His fingers grazing the back of my neck pull an involuntary hum from me, which Atticus takes as confirmation that I have, in fact, updated my software.
“Excellent,” Atticus chirps. Has his voice always been so high-pitched? “So I’ll see you tomorrow at 4:30. Bring your laptop.” He disconnects the call before I can say goodbye, but I use the abrupt end as an opportunity.
If Finn really didn’t want me to lean in and eliminate the space between our mouths earlier, if he doesn’t feel this insane electrical spike when we’re inches from each other, he won’t mind my news.
I spin, my heart leaping when I catch his hooded gaze trained on my neck. Finn’s eyes have that dark quality again, his pupils demolishing the tranquil amber of his irises. My breath hitches as his focus stalls on my lips before raising to my eyes.
“I’m meeting Atticus tomorrow.”
I’d planned on saying “I have a date with Atticus tomorrow” but chickened out when Finn bit the corner of his lip the second our gazes collided.
A heavy pause settles between us, and I feel weightless, like I imagine someone bold enough to skydive feels for that split second before gravity takes over. Every cell in my body begs for him to kiss me. But then, there’s a quick shuttering in Finn’s expression, and my stomach sinks to my toes.
“Good,” he says, stepping back and swallowing hard. “That’s good.”
It’s petty and childish and several other adjectives ending in ish , but I advance into his space. “Is it?”
We hover in suspended animation for only a breath before Finn’s decisive nod shatters my foolish dreams.
“Yes. Of course it is. This is what you’ve been working toward from the start.”
My stubborn mouth opens to object, to tell him that plans can change.
Whatever my imagination had concocted with Atticus pales in comparison to the many real interactions with Finn.
I haven’t exactly hammered out the details, but suddenly, all of this feels wrong, like sewing a tailored pant cross-grain.
But Finn’s phone rings in his pocket, and he excuses himself to answer it. As Finn strides beyond the flaps of my tent, I hear him say, “Perfect timing,” before the busy crowd swallows him whole.