7. Anouk
Anouk
Finn’s chosen birthday lands on a Saturday this year, and he’s not on shift.
It’s a perfect San Francisco spring day. There’s music floating from somewhere, people are walking the pier, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and there’s a light breeze that carries the smell of saltwater.
He grins at me over the rim of his beer. “To surviving another year.”
“To another fabulous year,” I correct, tapping my glass to his.
We think Finn’s a year or two older than me, but we aren’t sure because we don’t know his exact birth date—the result of not being able to find a birth certificate or hospital records that could tell us.
He was abandoned as a toddler at a bus station in Yuba City.
For years, he didn’t have a birthday. When we became friends at the state home, I decided that wasn’t acceptable.
So, I gave him a birthday.
I picked this date—April tenth—because it was Miss Helen’s birth date.
She was one of the few social workers who treated us abandoned kids like humans.
She sneaked Finn extra snacks when he was going through growth spurts, she sat with me during panic attacks, she told us we deserved the world even when the world kept saying otherwise.
She died the year I graduated high school, but at least she saw Finn take his first step on the long path to becoming a firefighter when he got accepted into the Advanced EMT and Paramedic program.
So now, when we celebrate Finn, we celebrate both him and Miss Helen.
And just now, when he blew out the candles the restaurant put on a slice of chocolate cake, he did it for both of them.
“You think Miss Helen would be proud of us?” he asks solemnly.
“Absolutely.” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a firefighter. I’m a data analyst. And we’re still best friends.”
Miss Helen used to tell us she hoped we’d never stop taking care of each other.
Finn looks down at his beer and smiles sadly. “Yeah…you’re right.”
“Hey,” I nudge him. “No cry-cry on a birthday.”
Another Miss Helen rule. And since, in the group home, it was always someone’s birthday, we learned early how to find joy even on the hardest days.
He cups my cheek with a rough, warm palm. “I wouldn’t have made it without you, Annie.”
I choke on my tears because there’s no cry-cry on a birthday.
“Well, of course not. You’d be arrogant and insufferable if I weren’t there to manage your ego.”
He laughs—loud, the kind of Irish belly laugh that makes strangers turn and smile because Finn shines like that. He lights up rooms without trying.
Leaning back in his chair, sunlight catching his copper-brown hair, he asks, “Annie, do people like us get happy endings?”
Finn isn’t prone to melancholy, but turning thirty has wrapped him in a layer of reflection.
I know he wonders if he’s designed to ever find someone to be with. Finn doesn’t date. He has sex—lots of it—his words, not mine.
He’s the opposite of me, who’s never had sex. Not because I didn’t want to, but because dating with an anxiety and speech disorder and a fundamentally introverted nervous system isn’t exactly easy.
In high school, no one asked me out because I was too much of a mouse.
At Stanford, a few guys tried, but they ended up becoming great research partners instead of more.
Even though Finn sleeps around and I don’t, we’re running from the same thing: intimacy.
We spent too many years without love, and then when we finally found each other, we clung tight and built thick walls so the world couldn’t hurt us again.
Those walls protect us, certainly. But they also trap us.
“We’re not at the end, Finn,” I say softly. “And we are already happy.”
He grins. “You’re right. I have a job I love. A home I love. I have you.”
“And a string of notches on your bedpost,” I tease.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Annie, I know you haven’t had sex, but even monkey sex doesn’t actually scratch the bedpost to make a notch.”
“Ha. Ha.” I roll my eyes.
We order another round of beers as we soak in the good weather.
We talked about his work for a while. Finn’s firehouse has a new captain—a woman—and Finn really likes working for her.
“She’s tough but fair.” He drinks some beer. “Doesn’t bark to hear herself, you know? She actually listens. Runs drills harder than the guys, too. Nobody coasts on her watch.”
I smile into my drink. Finn has never been intimidated by strong women. He admires them. He always has.
“The guys who were worried about reporting to a woman are doing okay with that?”
He shrugs. “They have to. She doesn’t let the old-school guys pull any of that macho nonsense. Makes everyone better.”
There is respect for his boss in his voice, and I’m thrilled that he’s working for someone good.
Speaking of which….
“Things better with the new asshole CEO?” Finn asks on cue.
I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “I guess. The guy keeps asking me to say things in meetings, and then I stutter, and then….”
“You become self-conscious and stutter some more,” Finn finishes for me.
“Yep.”
“And how’s the guy you told to stop helping you?” he asks about a conversation he encouraged me to have with Vijay.
“I know you mean well, but…please don’t do that. It rattles me even more and….”
“God, Anouk, I am so sorry. Thank you for telling me.”
“Since then, he’s been good at letting me take the space I need,” I tell him. “Now…if only my CEO….”
Finn stiffens. “I thought he said he’d give you more time and all that.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Luther is fair.” Just saying his name makes something flutter under my ribs.
Stupid.
For the past few weeks, he’s been nice to me, and to my horror, I am…crushing on him.
How dumb is that?
Finn studies me and then blinks, like his brain needs a reboot. “You like this guy.”
This is the problem with having someone who knows you so well that they see right through you. “Wh-what? N-no.” I am not convincing.
Finn scowls. “This is the guy who made you feel like you had to apologize just to finish a sentence?”
“Yes, but—”
“The guy is an asshole, Annie.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“It’s…just a cr-crush.”
Finn groans. “You’re stuttering as soon as you talk about him.”
“N-no, I’m not,” I object, stuttering.
Excellent, Anouk, very believable.
Finn narrows his eyes like he’s trying to decide whether I’ve been brainwashed.
“He’s gotten better,” I offer.
“Uh-huh. So, tell me, how is he better?”
I drain my beer. “He’s stopped looking at me like I’m incompetent?”
Granted, it’s probably because I’m a good data analyst, and he wants to make sure I help the Novagene project succeed. But still….
Finn scoffs and is about to speak when something in his line of sight changes his expression entirely—from annoyed to annoyed and surprised.
“What?” I ask, twisting in my chair.
Finn makes a warning sound in his throat, like a dog spotting an intruder. “Did you just manifest the son of a bitch?”
I freeze.
What does he mean? Not the obvious, right?
I turn and see a man walking toward us on the pier, looking perfectly CEO-ish in dark jeans and a crisp black Henley.
Luther Grant.
And next to him—glossy blonde hair, long legs, effortless confidence—is Erin.
Finn has seen pictures of everyone on my team—I walked him through my new project and showed him who’s who on the company intranet.
“He’s Luther, isn’t he?” Finn keeps his voice low.
“And Erin,” I whisper back.
They’re talking intently. Erin has her hand in the crook of his arm. They look like a couple.
Now, a lot of things make sense.
“They’re dating?” Finn muses.
“Looks like it.”
They spot us a second later, hard not to, since they’re coming into Pier 23.
Over eight hundred thousand people live in San Francisco, and they have to walk into the same restaurant as the one where I’m celebrating my best friend’s birthday?
The universe has a nasty sense of humor.
Luther’s stride falters, Erin’s doesn’t.
“Anouk!” she says a bit too brightly, like we’re friends. We are not. “Out enjoying the sunshine?”
Finn leans forward, resting his forearms on the table in a way that every firefighter learns during de-escalation training—casual but ready.
Luther’s eyes flick to Finn, then back to me. His voice is polite but cool, flickering with something I can’t read. “Good afternoon.”
“Hi,” I whisper, hating the way my pulse jumps. “Ah…this is Finn. My—”
“Date,” Finn cuts me off.
“Oh,” Luther offers, his lips pursed.
Finn puts his arm around me as I take a sip of water. “She’s all mine,” he adds cheerfully, lying so fast I choke on my water.
“Finn,” I hiss, kicking him under the table.
He winks.
Luther’s jaw tightens.
Erin’s eyebrows lift as she looks between the three of us—curious. “Well, what a coincidence to see you—"
Luther clears his throat, interrupting her. “We should go. We have a reservation.”
“Right,” Erin agrees, though she’s studying Finn like she’s calculating his net worth.
Firefighter here, lady, he ain’t got no stock portfolio.
Luther’s gaze returns to me. Just me. “Enjoy your lunch.” He sounds almost irritated.
These past couple of weeks, I thought he liked me at work because he was nice, but now…maybe he’s one of those people who likes to keep personal and professional separate?
Well, if that was the case, what on earth is he doing with Erin?
“Th-thank you,” I manage.
He nods once, sharply, then turns away. Erin follows.
Finn waits until they’re out of earshot and then grins. “Looks like your crush goes both ways.”
I slap his arm off of me. “What was that?”
“That was”—Finn tilts his head, giving me a pointed look—“me testing the waters.”
“Which waters?” I ask, exasperated.
“That guy has a thing for you.”
My heart stutters. Why is that so good to hear?
“No way. He seemed downright annoyed to see me.”
Finn cocks an eyebrow. “Darlin’, I know men ‘cause I’m one, and that dude is into you.”
I set my water glass down a little too aggressively. “He was cold.”
“He was jealous,” Finn says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Mm-hmm.” Finn leans back and pops one of the last of the tortilla chips on the plate into his mouth. “Men are simple creatures, Annie. When they see something they want, they get weird about it.”
I glare at him. “He’s not weird about anything. He’s a CEO.”
“Exactly.” Finn chuckles. “Weird squared.”
I give him my best withering look.
He laughs softly as he nudges my arm. “Hey. If he’s the wrong guy, he’ll show you. If he’s the right guy, he’ll show you. Either way, I’ve got you.”
I look up at him, at the boy who became my family—who chose me when the world didn’t. Who shares a birthday with the woman who saved us both.
“Happy birthday, Finn.” I kiss his cheek.
He smiles. “Best one yet.”
“You say that every year.”
“And it’s been true every year since you came into my life, Annie.”