Chapter 23
FINN
Itook the call from Merritt Land Partners an hour ago, and it's still sitting in my chest when I knock on Darcy's door.
The parcels are assembled. The capital's lined up.
The resort I've been sketching on napkins for two years is sitting on a drafting table in Denver now, whole, waiting to be real.
There's just one condition. Their investors aren't backing a brand, they're backing me. On the ground. Running the build.
Years, not quarters, the lead partner said. Twice, so I'd hear it.
And now there's a window I need to act within, because another buyer is circling the Breckenridge land. For a year I've been telling everyone the land isn't going anywhere. Turns out the land has other ideas.
I said I'd get back to them. Then I ironed a shirt with my own two hands for the first time since my father’s funeral, and now I'm standing on Darcy's apartment welcome mat with my heart going like a speeding train.
She opens the door, and Colorado falls away.
She's in a dress I haven't seen before, simple and elegant, but I register it the way I'd regard the frame on a painting, because her face is the real star of the show. She's lit up. Eyes sparkling, mouth curved in a smile that makes me want to hug her and pounce on her at the same time.
There's no wall between us right now, nothing held back or measured out. Just Darcy, happy to see me, like that's the most normal thing in the world.
"Hi," she says.
"You're stunning." It's the only coherent thought I can push off my tongue. "Wow."
God, I'm smooth around her. But she just laughs, and reaches up to fix my shirt collar, then adjusts the lapel of my jacket. I stand there and let her fuss over me because her fingers brushing warm and soft against my neck are the best thing that has happened to me all day.
"You look very handsome tonight," she says.
"I'm trying to impress my date." I catch her hand off my collar and kiss her knuckles, watching the pink come up in her cheeks. I want her so badly it's a low hum under everything, steady as a generator. "You ready?"
She nods, then I take her hand in mine and lead her carefully down the stairs to my car waiting at the curb. I chose one of the family vehicles, a gleaming black Maybach that's more understated than my sports car and not as rustic as the vineyard's old pickup truck.
"Nice ride," she says as I assist her into the passenger seat. "If this is part of the 'impress your date' effort, you're getting all A's so far."
I grin, my hands resting on the sleek door. "We're just getting started."
I close her in, then round the hood to climb in behind the wheel. She's watching me with rapt attention now.
"You haven't told me where we're going tonight."
"Nope."
She tries to guess while I head away from Main Street and the downtown. When we pass the Mattichogue water tower, she goes quiet, working it over. A few minutes later, we make the turn onto the road that leads to the vineyard.
"What's going on?" She swivels a confused look at me. "We're going to your family's place?"
"I'm taking you to dinner," I say, turning on to the private drive that leads straight toward the Bardot estate's main house. "Dinner tonight just happens to require crossing my mother's territory. Stay low, move fast, and try not to make eye contact with Evan. You'll only encourage him."
She laughs, but I catch the anxious way she nibbles her lower lip.
I park the Maybach, help Darcy out, then we enter the main house together, where we do not stay low or move fast. Unfortunately for everyone present, eye contact with Evan is immediate, because my family has arranged itself around the big kitchen looking extremely casual, which means they watched us approach the whole way up the drive.
Mom's at the marble-topped island with her sleeves rolled, handwashing dishes even though her top-of-the-line dishwasher is sitting neglected.
Evan's on the sofa with his leg up, phone out, angled for a clear view of the door.
Nobody in living memory has watched me walk into this house with a woman on my arm. The Bardots are handling it about as smoothly as a fire drill.
"Hello, Darcy." Mom crosses the kitchen wiping her hands, and I watch her run through six greetings and land, catastrophically, on all of them at once.
"Welcome. Sit down. Don't let us intrude, I know you two have plans.
Can I get you anything? Wine? There's a very nice rosé open. Finn, offer her something."
"We're eating in ten minutes, Mom."
"Then something small." She has Darcy's hand in both of hers now and appears to have no intention of releasing it. "It's lovely to have you here. It's been years since... well. It's lovely."
"Thank you for having me," Darcy says, warmly, squeezing back, and my mother beams at her like she's said something remarkable.
From the sofa, without looking up, Evan announces to no one in particular, "A catering van came through at five. Looked fancy."
"It wasn't catering," I say. "It was a chef."
"Chef? Huh." Evan lets the information sit there for about one second. "Did you iron your own shirt?"
Darcy tries to hide her amused smile.
"Ignore him," I tell her.
"I'm impossible to ignore," Evan says. He looks up then, taking his time about it, the grin arriving in stages. His eyes flick to Darcy. "He must like you a lot. He's pulling out all the stops. Which isn't saying much, considering we're talking about Finn."
"Careful, Ev. Your jealousy is showing."
He just cackles and goes back to his phone, and only I catch the half-second where his eyes hold mine on the way down.
Evan is the one person in this house who knows about the bet I made with my friends back at The Retreat, because I told him on the auction steps like an idiot with pain-med solidarity.
He's never said a word about it since and I hope to hell he knows to keep his mouth shut about it now.
He may be a clown and a jackass most of the time, but my little brother is also a damn good friend to me. As if to prove the point, he gives me a look of quiet approval as I step in closer to Darcy in the kitchen.
Mom releases Darcy's hand at last, and the look she gives me over Darcy's shoulder is quick and says plenty. "Go on," she says, shooing us. "You two go enjoy your evening."
We go out the kitchen door into the long gold evening, and I exhale for what feels like the first time since the driveway.
"Your mother is wonderful," Darcy says.
"My mother is going to interrogate Evan the second that door shuts."
Darcy giggles. "Oh, absolutely."
I take her hand and walk her down the gravel path along the east rows, the light lying long and warm across the vines, the water showing between the hills the way it does for about twenty good minutes a day.
Colton's windows are lit at the far guesthouse, he and his son Tyler conspicuously not outside.
Darcy walks slow on purpose, taking it in, and I watch her taking it in, which is the better view by far.
The stone guesthouse where I've been staying glows warm and inviting ahead of us.
I let us in, and I see the room hit her a beat before I can do anything about it.
My duffels along the wall, gear cases stacked next to the cozy furniture, rope coiled over a chair, boots by the door.
Three weeks and I've unpacked nothing. The room says it out loud.
This is a man who doesn't stay. I have the sudden urge to burn my own luggage.
Her eyes travel the room and catch on the shelf under the window, where the novel and the matching audiobook I brought home from the library yesterday sit squared on top of each other in plain sight. I wonder if she'll ask about them, but she moves past without comment.
"It smells incredible in here."
It does. The chef and her team have the small table by the back windows dressed in white, candles lit against the blue coming down outside.
A bottle of the family's best vintage Pinot Noir stands breathing on the sideboard.
The whole guesthouse smells like roasting meat, butter and thyme and someone else's Michelin-starred talent.
The chef says a few quiet words about what she's prepared for us tonight. Her team sets the plates. And then, on a cue I never see her give, they're out the door and up the path, and it's just Darcy and me alone in the quiet of the guesthouse.
She looks at the table, the candles, the vines outside going dark through the windows. Then at me, one eyebrow lifting and that pretty mouth of hers fighting a smile.
"I recognize that chef, Finn. She's got her own TV show."
"I considered cooking for you personally." I pull out her chair. "Then I remembered I like you."
She laughs softly, but I can tell I've surprised her. I've pleased her, which pleases me more than anything else about tonight so far. "This is... amazing, Finn."
I hesitate where I am, hands braced on the back of her chair. "Still impressed, then?"
She nods, beaming at me with a tender, incredulous look in her eyes. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before. This is already the best date I've ever had."
I smile, but inside I'm thanking all the unworthy idiots who've come before. "You deserve a lot more than this, Darcy. But I'm glad I'm the one who's putting that look on your face."
I lift her chin on my fingers and lean down to kiss her. Not the heated kiss my body wants, but a gentle one. A kiss that says I see her, I appreciate her... I genuinely care for her.
It's not a side of me I'm overly familiar with—as in, not at all.
If my brothers could see me right now, or God forbid, my friends at The Retreat, they'd all want to check my temperature to make sure I wasn't feverish or suffering a stroke.
I'm not the type of guy who surprises his dates with a private chef, or who brings them to my place for romantic dinners when there are any number of more exciting places I could take a woman I'm trying to impress.