14. Finn
Chapter 14
Finn
I t takes all of my self control to walk away from Rune in the coffee shop without doing something crazy, like asking her out on the spot. Maybe I would have, if Ella hadn’t been there, watching us like a hawk.
My head’s all kinds of crazy over this girl. I had been en route to meet up with my parents when I recognized her car parked on the side of the road and figured a quick stop for coffee and breakfast was probably in order. Maybe say a quick friendly hello and be on my way. A true sentiment, but—there’s nothing friendly about the way I felt when I saw her standing there. Blame my ego, but I swear those eyes lit up like a sunrise when she recognized me. It sent a jolt straight to my groin and made me think all sorts of wild thoughts. About the possibility of…I don’t even know what. I shouldn’t admit to anything. I hardly know the girl.
Besides, it’s been years since I dated anyone seriously.
Dating makes me nervous. It resurfaces a lot of old insecurities, thanks in particular to the train wreck of a relationship that I had beginning in my junior year of college. My romantic interest was a cute English major named Amy, who gave off solid girl-next-door vibes and was as enthusiastic about getting naked together as I was. I’ve always been strongly introverted, but it really felt like we had something great going on between us: study sessions interspersed with sex. A lot of sex.
We dated for a year and a half, and I was starting to really think of a future with her.
I didn’t realize anything was amiss in our relationship until I walked into the library one day and found her making out with a theater major. To make matters worse, she followed me out and explained in great detail all the shortcomings I had as a boyfriend that made her look elsewhere. And then she broke up with me. In the middle of the campus courtyard, surrounded by students who were mindlessly unaware that my heart and pride were being hacked apart with every word that tumbled out of Amy’s mouth.
I spent the rest of my senior year alone in my dorm room, pouring my heart and soul into my writing. It wasn’t great work, but it was the push I needed to start writing prolifically enough to make progress. It was also when I started to plot out the series of novels that would end up changing my life.
It’s been nearly eight years, but the more I delve into my work, the less tempted I am to bring anyone in to upset the balance. I thrive on silence and solitude and no one has tempted me to go deeper than some short-term, highly physical relationships. For me, solitude and self-reliance are foundational pillars of my life and success. Which is maybe what Amber was getting at when she made those comments, now that I think about it.
But Rune—that girl makes me feel as if I’m missing something.
She has that look like she’s thinking far more than she’s willing to admit out loud. All I want to do is pry back the secrets behind those beautiful eyes.
I guess on the positive side, this new obsession gives me something else to focus on besides my struggles with work. Whatever brief inspiration I had last week seems to have disappeared. I set my alarm for five this morning, only to spend the next two hours forcing out words that seemed all wrong and staring into space in disgust at my ineptitude.
It’s been that way since I got back from Chicago two days ago. All I can think about is the fact that I can’t write anymore, that my career is apparently over, and—Rune. I’ve wondered if she’s thought of me at all. It occurred to me that I should pull my head out of my ass and just text her, but I was afraid of coming off too strong. I’ve never thought of myself as an insecure person, but apparently I am.
I shouldn’t care so much.
I’m overthinking everything about this. It will be good to see her tonight. Maybe I just need a real conversation with the girl to settle my thoughts. It’s probably some latent caveman instinct that has me worried about the girl who came in with the snowstorm. Girl cold, need fire, etc.
It’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, which intrigues me to no end, now. I might write about passion, but I’ve experienced very little of it in real life. Historically, the more solitary my lifestyle, the better my writing. But maybe that’s no longer the case.
Maybe I just need a real life muse to get me back on track.