18. Finn
Regardless of the lantern he was practically hugging due to the dark, the ocean was like home to him. Safe. Being able to hold her hand . . . that hadn’t hurt his courage either.
They were on the edge of the world, far from any problems. Sitting there with Lucie felt good. Normal. Peaceful. Perfect.
Perfect—the word had a new meaning now, the definition being found in her lips.
Finn stifled a groan, watching her paint with the new brushes he had gotten for her. He had been with more women than he could count up and down the country, but kissing her?—
If he only got to kiss her for the rest of his life, it would be enough.
More than enough. Just kissing her had been the best gift he had ever received.
She tasted like every sweet treat he had ever had.
And he wanted to lick the sweetness right from her skin.
She was the best jackpot. Better than having the engine light off, a full tank of gas, and an open road. Lucie was his miracle.
He was so close to having something perfect for the first time in his life, and he didn’t want to ruin it, like he ruined everything else in his life.
But seeing her face after he gave her the paintbrushes—yeah.
It had all been worth it. He was finally going in the right direction.
To be the kind of man that she needed. To be the kind of man he never saw growing up. Be one he saw in Charlie.
He settled on the far end of the blanket, giving her solitude but remaining close. The two lanterns he brought gave him light to read and her to paint. He lost his hoodie, remaining only in his black board shorts, wanting the salt sea air to seep into his skin.
Folding the cover over the book, he read twenty pages, happily listening to Lucie’s brush sweeping across her sketchbook.
The book he was reading, he’d noticed on Lucie’s shelves the first time he visited. There were so many tabs coming out of it, he had to see what was going on for himself.
The next day, he’d gone to the bookstore and bought it so he could talk about it with her. He was more than halfway through and was honestly loving the werewolf shifter novel more than he thought. Werewolves were baddasses.
Finn glanced sideways, watching as she painted.
She was her own masterpiece. The best part was that every so often, she did this cute thing when she got lost in the painting; her body would move forward as if she were trying to get inside the paper, her brow would furrow in concentration, and then her tongue would poke out slightly.
He still couldn’t believe she’d let him kiss her.
The same thought interrupted his focus to put a bookmark in the book, get up, grab her, and kiss her again.
Finn tried to focus on the same paragraph he had been rereading three times.
But it wasn’t working. She was just too beautiful.
Lucie had become his gravitational pull, and he couldn’t look away from her long enough without being pulled back.
“You painting me again?” Finn asked, pretending to read the same blurb as if he hadn’t been staring at her for the past few minutes.
Finn hated to interrupt her, but he needed her eyes on him more than he needed his next breath. It had been too long since he had seen them.
When Lucie had asked what his favorite color was the other day, he was going to respond with black, the same color he had loved since third grade, but after seeing her sapphire-blue eyes, he had forgotten every other color existed.
Lucie’s cheeks flushed pink, his eyes trailing the color spreading and disappearing down her sweet sundress. On the drive, he swore he saw a red swimsuit strap. In that moment, red became his second-favorite color.
Her eyes darted to him before snapping back to her painting, where she mixed blues and greens.
She winced. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Nope,” he said, crawling to her. “But hey, now you’ve got a live model. If you want some more progress painting, I would be happy to help.”
He had done modeling for about a month. An odd end job in Tennessee. Quick cash. Some lady had seen him walking down the street and stopped him. Something with chaps and a cowboy hat. Not his regular scene, but it had helped pay for his last leg to get to the coast.
When he started working at the Way Station, he paid Whistler three months of his stipend to make the photos magically disappear from the internet before Sabrina found them, and every picture was posted over every surface on the Way Station.
Worth every penny.
Lucie laughed, her brush pausing over the page. “I think I’ll stick to the scenery today.” And Finn found himself staring a little too long.
She held up her work, revealing her painting, a collection of shells she found and rearranged on the beach.
He leaned closer, admiring the way she brought life to the page.
“That’s amazing. Better than the real thing.”
“Thank you,” she said, blushing. Finn followed the blush with his eyes until it disappeared down her dress.
“Okay. Food. Check. Painting. Check,” he checked off each thing in the air. “Build a sandcastle. Che—wait, no. We haven’t done that yet,” he said.
“We’re gonna build sandcastles?” She clapped her hands together and held them under her chin.
He pulled out a shovel and some shell molds from a bag that he’d brought.
Abuela Hidalgo had given him the funniest look when he’d gotten them from their supplies closet.
“Yes, and you’re in luck,” he said, getting up and brushing the sand off his pants. “I’m a world-class sandcastle builder.”
She looked back at him with a grin that made him want to steal more than just sandcastle equipment, and he had to remind himself to breathe.
“Well, be careful,” she teased. “I’m a fast learner; next time we’ll see who’s the real winner.”
Next time.
The words hit Finn between the ribs harder than he expected.
Next time. He pulled at the words, tugging on the string wrapped around the sentiment as he fought against the warmth creeping up his neck.
The idea of being there a next time was almost too good. Too easy. He wasn’t used to things being easy. But the thought of Lucie wanting more moments like this, with him, was something he wasn’t sure how to handle.
“Next time, huh?” he said, trying to keep his tone light as he continued to mold the wet sand beneath his fingers. Lucie grabbed her own pile of sand and followed his lead.
“Oh, definitely. I mean, but only if you want.”
He chuckled and crouched down in the sand, his hands moving methodically as he built the walls of their sandcastle.
“Oh, I want,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek.
They spent the next few minutes building together, Finn’s hands moving on autopilot while his mind drifted to the mission he had tonight.
The Conductors needed to move a small family who was packing as they were at the beach. One of Henry’s old Atlas partners had reached out. The scientist was being watched and asked to join a secret operation to “better the world.”
Atlas and the Conductors managed some computer-hacking shit that didn’t make a lick of sense to Finn, but as it had been explained to him, it tracked an IP address and phone number. It was Legion. They were recruiting.
The phone number was out of service and now disconnected, but the Way Station had a way of linking missing people.
It wasn’t foolproof, but it was something. Sabrina had been running around skipping after they’d put it all together.
So he would continue sneaking moments of stolen joy with Lucie. Work could come later.
“My mom used to love to go to the beach,” Lucie said, breaking the silence. He looked up at her, but her eyes were focused on a worn seashell he had seen in her room, twisting it in her delicate hand. “She died of cancer when I was three,” she said, moving the sand around, not looking at him.
“I’m sorry,” he mourned.
“Me too. I don’t remember too much of her. Just a glance of a smile. A faint perfume. But she loved coming to the beach. It’s why I’ve always wanted to come,” she admitted.
He nodded, not wanting to interrupt, packing another handful of wet sand on the base of the sandcastle, patting it down with the flat of his palm.
“I thought if I came here, it would be like having a piece of her. Like I’d get to know her.
My dad . . . he tried. I guess. But it was hard.
I think I remind him of her a lot, and it hurts.
He was always working or dealing with his own stuff.
I’ve spent a lot of time alone, you know?
” She gave a sheepish laugh and brushed the sand off her hands. “Sorry. That was a lot.”
“No, it’s okay. I get it—uh—my parents were wrapped up in their own problems,” he said, his tone rougher than he intended, coming out like he was speaking through broken glass.
Lucie had given him a precious piece of herself that he would guard with his life, and he wanted to give something just as precious too.
Part of it felt like a hostage situation: “You have something of mine, so I have to give you something back.”
But he knew whatever pieces he gave to her, she would guard. Carefully, he gave another puzzle piece of himself.
“It was gambling, mostly.” He started working on the tower of the sandcastle.
“We were always broke. Always moving. Never had a place that felt like home.” Finn cleared his throat.
“My dad used to hit me. My mom sometimes, too.” Lucie looked up at him, and he was nervous that there would be pity in her beautiful blue eyes, but instead, there was solidarity.
More than anything, he wished he didn’t see understanding.
“No matter how clean I kept the house. Or how good my grades were. Or how much I stayed out of trouble, they were never happy,” Finn continued.
“Some weeks, we would eat steak and lobster. They would take my brother and me out, and we could get whatever toys we wanted. Days later, they would hit us like it was our fault they didn’t have any money.