Chapter 3
Not ready to return home yet, Finch jammed his cold fingers into the pockets of the jacket and kept walking through town until he reached a road that took him into the residential areas of Lyntacky.
He passed homes he’d had playdates in when he was a kid. Some had chimneys belching smoke, while others had humming heat pumps to ward off the cold. He admired the inflatable Santas and outdoor Christmas decorations and thought about the decorations he should put up for his nieces and nephews.
“Nice buns, McAllister!”
Caleb Stanway was another old school friend, and with him was his partner, Jonathan.
“You doing okay there, Jonathan?” Finch asked.
The man’s face was beet red, and he was wheezing like a steam train. He wore a balaclava so only his eyes were showing, and sweatpants with a long sleeved thermal.
“Fuck all of you,” he muttered, jogging away from Finch.
“He’s testy because his jeans are tight, and I said he needed to exercise more,” Caleb said. “Now that you’re out of hibernation, I’ll drop by soon. We’ll drink beer, and I’ll offer you lots of advice, which I’m sure no one has given you already.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Finch called after him as he jogged away.
“I’m glad my jacket fits you!”
“I didn’t want it. June forced it on me!” Finch replied to the fast retreating back of his friend. Of course it would have belonged to someone he knew.
He inhaled a deep lungful of icy air. Socializing and being around people, rather than the hermit life he preferred, was good for him, he knew.
Letting thoughts come and go, Finch reached Circle Left, where you could get accommodation, dine in the restaurant, or drink at the bar, but right now he wanted coffee.
He ran his eyes over the exterior, which was now painted raspberry with lemon trim.
It shouldn’t work, but it did, even if he preferred the pink of before.
More fairy lights had been strung on the facade, and some decals of Santa and his sleigh were stuck to windows.
Finch stopped when he saw the large sign tacked to the side of the building.
“No fucking way,” he muttered, taking the stairs up and going in through the front door.
Touches of the old days remained in the wood paneling and bar, and the modernization successfully preserved that character.
Reaching the restaurant area, where he was greeted with more Christmas carols, Finch found Nancy, the owner, who, along with her usual bright red hair and skin like orange peel left out in the sun too long, was dressed as an elf today.
“You’re selling? What the hell, Nancy?” The words had come out angry, and he had no right to that, but he’d had enough shocks in his life, and this wasn’t one he’d ever expected. Nancy and Hank and Circle Left were part of Lyntacky’s fabric. He didn’t want that to change.
She didn’t look angry, just patted his cheek with a soft palm. “It’s time, Finch. I’m tired, and me and Hank want to do some traveling now.”
“But you said you’d never leave,” Finch protested.
“Honey, I’ve said a lot of things, but these old bones are creaky now, and I want to go visit with some of my family for a while. It’s time to let someone else make memories here.”
Her eyes were kind, and he saw the sympathy. Sympathy for a man who had suffered. Finch hated pity in any form.
“It’s good to see you out and about. How are you feeling, Finch?”
“Good.” He fought back the need to snarl at the pity in her eyes.
He’d had enough change in his life and come back to his hometown because things usually stood still here. Seemed like he’d been wrong if Nancy and Hank were selling.
“Not actually so good, though, I don’t think, but I understand why you don’t want to talk about it. But you need to soon, Finch, or it will destroy you.”
He sighed. “I know, and I talk to a therapist.”
She leaned in to kiss his cheek, then said, “Like I told Nina when she came at me like you just did, maybe seeing as you’re so bent out of shape that we’re selling, you should buy it, Finch, because I’d rather it went to a local.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. He could barely look after himself these days. A place like this was completely beyond him.
“We can’t keep up with the maintenance, so it needs a younger person. Someone to modernize and make it better while keeping the old charm.”
He wanted to argue further, but knew it wasn’t his decision to make.
“Go on outside now. I have the sides down in the conservatory, and the heater’s on. I’ll bring you coffee and cake.”
Opening the door that led out, he stepped through and turned right, taking the stairs down to the gardens. Yes, it was cold, but he had Caleb’s jacket, and he’d always loved exploring out here.
He’d only taken a few steps when a loud sniff told him he wasn’t alone.
Stepping to the right, he saw her. Even with her back to him, Finch knew that hair.
Shoulder-length, blond with highlights, and always styled perfectly.
She had on a long beige overcoat and a black scarf was wrapped around her neck.
“Some days are hard, N-Nancy. Today is one of those. I just don’t want her to suffer, but I don’t think she’s got long.”
She’d clearly heard his footsteps but had mistaken who they belonged to.
“Who don’t you want to suffer?”
Nina Winters spun at his words, her eyes going wide as she saw who stood behind her.
“What are you doing here, Finch?”
He took in the black smudges beneath her eyes where mascara had run and the damp cheeks from her tears.
“I live here.”
She frowned. “At Circle Left?”
“In Lyntacky.”
His hometown wasn’t short on beautiful women, but this one had always made him feel a little something more.
He thought of her as exotic and could put most of that down to those hazel eyes, which tilted up slightly at the corners in a way that made her look like she had a secret and wasn’t willing to share. Then there was that perfect Cupid’s bow of her upper lip that Finch had always wanted to taste.
Nina was also loud like Blue. She was always the one talking, always the one with an opinion, joke, or story. She was also his sisters’ friend, which was another reason why he hadn’t dated her.
“I know you live in Lyntacky,” she said, and there was a bite to her words that told him she was embarrassed he’d caught her crying.
“Why are you crying?” he asked. He hated the sight of her tears and what they made him feel. But then, maybe it was good he was actually feeling something for once.
“Allergies,” she said quickly.
“Bullshit. Who don’t you want to suffer, Nina?”
“None of your business.” She recovered fast, lifting her chin, daring him to continue questioning her. “Why are you wearing sunglasses in winter at”—she made a show of turning her wrist to check her watch—“9:45 a.m.”
“The sun is up, so I wear glasses.” The words came out harder than he intended, more like a growl, and Finch watched her face change.
She went still, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice dropped. “I forgot what happened to you and that you have vision trouble now.” She gripped her hands together, the knuckles turning white. “I’m really sorry, Finch.”
She always looked so certain of herself, so composed, and seeing her like this unsettled him.
He waved her words away with a flick of his hand. He didn’t need her apology, and he didn’t want to think about what her concern was doing to the cold inside him. “Back to why you’re out here alone at 9:45 a.m., crying and not wanting someone to suffer.”
“It’s none of your business.” She straightened, color riding her cheekbones, and not from the cold air. “And seeing as you’ve been in hibernation since you returned, I don’t know why you’d care.”
He wondered that too. Since his discharge, Finch had barely spoken to his own family, so he had no business caring about Nina Winters or her early morning tears.
“That’s not how this town works, Nina, because I know you and everyone else talk about me and what happened.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure there’s plenty of gossip about poor Finch McAllister.”
“Are you saying I’m a gossip?” Her hands went to her hips, and the devastation was gone, replaced with annoyance. He liked that expression a lot better than the tears. “And I’ve got better things to do with my time than talk about you.”
He folded his arms and said nothing. Just looked at her from behind the lenses of his glasses and waited.
“I don’t need you judging me, Finch, so you can just fuck right off.”
“Now, now.” He heard something that might have been amusement working its way up through him, rusty from disuse.
“Is that any way for a lady to talk? Especially as you were just apologizing to me for being mean.” He was deliberately needling her, and it felt good, like blood moving through his veins that had been blocked for months.
Even if he was being an asshole, at least he was being something.
“To think I thought you were hot once,” she hissed, and the words had real heat in them now. “But you’re just like all the other good-looking guys who rely on their faces and have zero personality.”
“You think I’m hot, Nina?”
“I think you’re an asshole,” she snapped. Then she stopped, exhaling loudly. “Look, I know you’re going through some things, and I’m sure that’s making you an asshole but there’s stuff I’m dealing with, too, so maybe we should just stop this conversation now.”
“I don’t need a lecture or sympathy from you, Nina. I get plenty of that from my family.”
He’d always been the strong McAllister, but people didn’t see him that way now, and that was something else he had to adjust to.
Her eyes locked on to his then, and he felt the weight of her gaze, direct and unflinching in that Nina Winters way.
“At least you have someone who cares about you,” she said quietly. “Plenty of people don’t.”
The words sat between them. They didn’t sound bitter. They’d sounded defeated.
Finch’s moods had always been steady, but not now. Now he could change in a heartbeat. Nina was here, and while he knew it wasn’t rational and that it wasn’t her fault he was no longer in uniform, there was a part of him that wanted to blame someone. She was just close enough to be convenient.
The levelheaded Finch McAllister was gone.
“You need a hug or something?” The words were mocking, and she didn’t deserve them from him, but they came out just the same.
Red’s words came back to him then. Nina had been robbed, and her car broken into, and he was treating her like this. You’re an asshole, McAllister.
“Coffee’s here!” Nancy’s voice broke through the tension.
“Thanks!” Nina called back, but her eyes stayed locked on his.
“Look, Nina, I’m s—”
She cut him off. “Like I said, I know you’re going through shit.” Her words were cold and hard. “But then so are lots of people, and they’re not behaving like shitheads.”
He felt shame then. This wasn’t him; he’d always been one of the good guys, but before he could speak, she continued.
“So I’m not drinking my coffee with you.” She turned and stalked back the way he’d come.
Finch stood where she’d left him.
He never intentionally insulted or hurt people.
He’d grown up in a family where peace, love, and understanding were important.
McAllisters were decent folk, and he’d carried that value system into service for his country, but despite it, he had just spent the past few minutes insulting a woman who was clearly already having a bad morning.
He turned and followed her back toward the veranda because he owed her an apology, and some part of him that had been asleep for months had apparently decided to wake up and deliver it.
Nancy was there when he rounded the corner. She had Nina pulled in against her side, one arm around her shoulders, and was murmuring something low that Finch couldn’t catch.
God, had he made her cry again? He didn’t approach.
“How’s she doing, honey?”
“Not good, Nancy,” Nina’s voice was quiet now. “She doesn’t know me anymore.”
Who were they discussing?
“I saw her last week, and it was the same.” Nancy’s voice was sad. “It’s hard on you, Nina, but you know I’m always here for you.”
“I do. And thanks.” Nina took a slow breath. “Mom always loved working here. Loved you and Hank.”
Her mother. Now he really felt bad.
“She’s my friend,” Nancy said.
“Nancy!”
“Coming Hank! You sit under the heater out here for a while and drink your coffee. Finch McAllister is about somewhere. He might join you.”
“Thanks, Nancy.”
“I have to go, but never forget Hank and I are always there for you, okay?”
“Okay.”
After another hug, Nancy went back inside, leaving two mugs of coffee on the table along with two wedges of cake.
Finch tried and failed to picture Nina’s mother. He had some vague memory of a woman who laughed the way Nina did, but it wasn’t clear.
For a moment the only the sounds came from inside Circle Left. Voices, a Christmas carol playing, and the clink of cutlery.
He watched as Nina pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Nina.”
She spun to face him, and he saw she was crying again. Tears ran down her cheeks, and it made his chest burn.
“Go away.” She then picked up her coffee and walked inside, and he let her go.
He deserved that. Picking up his own mug, Finch drank it down too fast, because apparently he couldn’t do anything right this morning, and burned his mouth enough that his eyes watered. His siblings would have said that was payment for being a shithead, and they wouldn’t have been wrong.
The cake was good, and it took a lot more than his life imploding to rob him of his appetite, so he ate it, but left Nina’s piece because eating that didn’t feel right considering his behavior.
When he was done, Finch walked inside, looking around for Nina, but there was no sign of her.
If he spoke to her again, he’d just mess it up anyway, so it was better he left.
“Hey, Finch.” The voice came from a dark-haired woman he’d never seen before. She was middle-aged, he thought, but then, he wasn’t good at guessing ages—and rarely tried with women. “I’m Amber.” She was folding napkins as she spoke.
He nodded.
“Amber came to Lyntacky looking for work,” Nancy said from behind the counter, “and is staying for a while. She’s cleaning for me while Sally’s away on vacation visiting her sister, who just had her first child.”
That was another thing about the people in this town. They were always oversharing information he didn’t need or want.
“Nice,” Finch said, because nothing else came to mind. He nodded at Nancy, and the woman called Amber who he would never speak to again, and reached for his wallet. “I’ll settle up, Nancy.”
Minutes later he was heading outside feeling worse than he had when he’d arrived.
Maybe not worse, because he’d felt things he hadn’t in ages.
But what he did feel was shame for the way he’d treated Nina when she’d done nothing to deserve it.
She’d just been there and triggered him, and he’d spoken without thought.
“So there’s an apology in your near future,” he muttered. Fuck, he hated admitting he was in the wrong, which was most often the case these days.