Chapter 13
Thirteen
Skylar
I stare down the street, chagrined at all the people streaming into the cafe. “Alas, we’re not getting in at the Bluejay today,” I say. “We’re late for the lunch rush.”
Finn says nothing, and I turn to find him holding the door to his truck open.
“Get in. I have a better idea.”
I climb in, and he watches me buckle my seatbelt before closing the passenger door.
When Finn slides behind the wheel, I ask where we’re going.
“The bakery doesn’t sell anything other than sweets,” I tell him.
As we head out of the main business district, we pass Canary Crepes, and my stomach rumbles at the thought of their Nutella and banana crepes, or the bacon and melted bleu cheese one. But we roll on by.
That leaves The Magpie—the swanky restaurant and bar up at the ski lodges, nestled on the road among the million-dollar cabins. A fun bar at night during the off-season, but for meals, it’s a bit high-end for how I look at the moment.
“I don’t think I’m dressed for linen tablecloths and flowers on the table,” I tell him.
“That’s why I’m dropping you off at your house, where you’ll get a shower first, and you can dress for lunch on the train.”
The train? The ski lodge attached to The Magpie has an additional feature involving an authentic steam engine that circles the mountain.
“But that takes advance reservations,” I point out. “And how do you know where I live?”
“Lease agreement has your home address on it. As for the train, you don’t have to know all my tricks,” he tells me as he pulls up to my house.
“You’re right. I think I learned enough for one day. How did you hold me up like that without giving yourself a hernia?”
He laughs and then reaches for me. I don’t resist.
“May Day magic,” he says, nibbling my bottom lip.
I want to talk, but I’d rather sit here and let him eat my face a little longer. Unfortunately, he hears my stomach growl again. Pulling back, he orders me inside and assures me he’ll be back in 20 minutes.
Twenty minutes later, I’m not ready yet. So, of course, Finn shows up like clockwork.
I let him in, and immediately, my sullen, contrary cat, Nirvana, sidles up to him and begins rubbing her face all over his shin.
I’m in my favorite yellow sundress, but I haven’t shaved, finished drying my hair, or put on makeup.
Still, this man eyes me like I’m a slice of lemon cake on a plate.
“Wow,” he says, picking up Nirvana.
I wince as I blot my hair dry. “He doesn’t like to be picked up.”
The little fanged traitor proves me wrong as he settles into Finn’s arms like an oversized baby.
“I think he does.”
“Unbelievable,” I say. “Make yourself at home. I have to finish putting my face on.”
“Don’t go to any trouble,” he says, but I did notice that for once, Finn’s not wearing his steel-toed boots.
Instead, he wears new-looking leather dress sneakers, light chinos, and a pale olive linen button-down shirt.
He’s dressed in about $800 of crisp, new Banana Republic.
Not super high end, but still more luxe than what my budget can afford, in my cotton blend Wal-Mart dress from two summers ago.
When I come out of my room, I see him studying the scratched-up end of my sofa, courtesy of Nirvana.
“You need to stop scratching your mom’s furniture,” Finn murmurs, rubbing my cat’s belly.
“I need to just throw out that couch. It’s awful.”
Finn offers no judgment, but I know what he’s thinking. I can only imagine what his house looks like back in Lake Norman, compared to this crappy, tiny rental of mine.
Not that any of that matters.
It’s not as if what we have is anything more than physical.
If he wants more than that, he has no idea what he’s getting into.
Did I say I was worried about how we would be perceived as a couple?
Well, no need to worry. The train is empty except for the two of us.
It turns out, a person can book the train for private parties, and it just so happened that there was an opening.
The train itself is charming, with old-school touches like brass lamps, dark wood, and velvet seats. There’s a chef’s menu brought to us in four courses by a server dressed as a conductor from a luxury train from the early 1900s.
There’s nothing in the world like having the best sex in your life, followed by a great meal and even better conversation. I learn a lot about Finn and find out we have a lot in common.
We both like cats, obviously. Finn would like multiple dogs one day, preferably rescues.
Then the conversation goes deeper. He and his brother Oliver had some bad times in their childhood, with a domineering father and an absentee mother who struggled with addiction. Normally, here’s where I would crack a joke to lighten the mood. Or change the subject.
But I can see these are things he wants me to know about.
As his friend, I reach across the table and hold his hand. “I’m so sorry that happened to the two of you,” I say. And then, the kiss of death.
“I know what it’s like to have a rough childhood.”
I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t like to talk about it.
As the server delivers our lava cakes for dessert, I stare down at the table, hoping he’s not going to follow that up with more questions.
“What happened to you?” Finn asks.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it; it’s just that I don’t want to burden this man with it. I know the more we get to know each other—the more he gets to know the real me—the more I’m going to get attached.
And I was having the perfect birthday.
But when I look up from the lava cake that I’m too stuffed to eat, I see the look on his face. My heart tells me that’s the face of a man who’s not going anywhere. You thought he flaked out once, but it turned out not to be flaking.
But he will be going back to Charlotte without me. He’ll be just another person I banged one time who knows all my secrets.
At least I know he won’t use them against me, even if this doesn’t go anywhere.
“When I was seven years old,” I say, “my dad and mom were killed in a drunk driving accident. My mom’s mom raised me after that.
She had chronic pain, so I mostly fended for myself.
Her medicine made her sleepy. One day, when I was about ten years old, I got called into the counselor’s office at school.
Another lady was there who said she was from child welfare.
They informed me that Nana would not be picking me up from school that day.
She had been picked up for stealing money out of the cash register at work.
Looking back, I think she just needed money for pills.
Anyway, that social worker took me to a hotel, and I stayed with her for weeks. ”
I’ve been staring at the table this whole time. I look up at Finn.
“Weeks? At a hotel?”
I nod. She was nice enough. She took me to school early in the morning so I could get the free breakfast and lunch. At night, she brought me McDonald’s, and though I got tired of it, I never complained.
“I think they were trying to get Nana to clean up her act so I could go home. But she never did. She overdosed a couple of years later. In the meantime, nobody wanted a 10-year-old foster daughter. Most people want babies. I went from family to family, sometimes staying a week. Sometimes a month. I felt like a burden most of the time. Eventually, I landed in a group home, which sucked. One of my housemates locked me in the attic, and I climbed out the window. They called me Rapunzel after word got out.”
Now, Finn holds my hand instead of vice versa. He gives it a little squeeze. Our lava cakes are untouched.
“You don’t want to hear all this.”
“Believe me, Skylar, I do.”
On a lighter note, I tell him my one saving grace growing up was my best friend, Iris.
We were thick as thieves all through elementary school.
She would take me home for sleepovers all the time, much to the chagrin of her aunt Patty.
But her grandma, MiMi, was wonderful. And the foster families who’d been cajoled to take me in temporarily, they didn’t really care.
The more sleepovers I went to, the less they had to feed me.
“I started dating as soon as boys began to notice me. Anyone with a car was good enough. I figured maybe one day I’d find a guy I could run away with.
I did do that, more than once. A lot of guys made big promises just so I would give them what they wanted.
But in the end, they turned out not to be who they said they were.
So I decided from when I was about 18 on, that it was all meaningless. ”
I glance up again. “What was meaningless?” Finn asks.
I shrug. “Dating. Romance. Relationships. All men were phonies. All men have ulterior motives. They all say whatever it takes to get what they want. So, I decided I would play the game to my advantage. I would flirt, get what I wanted when I needed it, and move on. I locked up my heart, and no one was going to hurt me ever again.”
Finn gives me another squeeze.
He kindly suggests we take the cakes to go. I agree. Talking about this crap does not help my digestion.
Mercifully, the train makes its slow stop back at the station behind the half-empty ski lodge. Outside, the sun shines down through the fragrant pine trees.
“It’s so pretty here. Pretty soon, the mountain laurels will be blooming. You should make sure to take a hike up here in late May. It’s unreal,” I say.
“How about you come with me?”
Somehow, Finn is still holding my hand as we make our way to his truck.
“It’s not a date, though, right?”
He smiles. “Not a date.”