Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
OAKLEIGH
My laptop sits on my thighs as I take a deep breath in then release it. Tranquility is something I rarely exhibit, what with my job and this recent thing with Finn, and so right now, I let the feeling sink into my bones and replace any bubble of stress it comes across.
I stare at my unfinished manuscript in front of me and I’m filled with excitement and determination. I’m at the climax of the story now, the ghost that the FMC has fallen in love with has been almost fully resurrected, ready and determined to love her with every ounce of his newly acquired life.
My fingers have been itching to write this part—the part where the characters finally stop denying the reality of their feelings; where “like” is an insufficient word, when “love” explains it so much better.
It’s when they stop denying each other physically…
And that’s exactly why this goddamn chapter has remained unfinished for two weeks.
How can I write about something that I can’t even remember experiencing?
It’s been months since anyone’s hands wandered along the planes of my body; since someone has worked hard to pull a moan from my mouth or a plea for them to not stop.
Now, the memory of it feels like a leaf floating down a river—traveling further and further away from me until the feel of pleasure is a ghost against my skin.
I feel like the MMC in my novel, I suppose—alone, forgotten, and desperate for touch.
I hesitate over the keys of my laptop, waiting for the words to find their way to the tips of my fingers. Nothing comes. I’m blank, empty, pretty much a born-again goddamn virgin at this point, because how the hell have I forgotten sex?
Even though my writing is getting me nowhere, I still growl in frustration when my doorbell goes off. I throw my laptop onto the couch beside me and get up to answer the door.
A flustered Finn is standing on my doorstep, face flushed, shirt crumpled. His heavy breathing makes me think of the very activity I was just struggling to write about.
“What?” I ask, the frustration in my tone mostly directed at myself.
“Did you go on a date with another guy four months ago?”
My breath halts. “Why?”
His head tilts as if he’s hoping he’ll see why the hell I’m asking him that. “You’re kidding me, right? You don’t think that was something that would have been useful for me to know?”
“Not really. My love life is really none of your business.”
“It is when I’m supposed to be telling people that we’ve been dating for eight months!”
Oh, right. That.
I purse my lips together. “There’s a possibility that it could have maybe been information that you might have needed to know.”
He tilts his head the other way, this time as if he’s checking to see if I’m being serious.
“Okay, fine, yes, you should have known!”
He rolls his eyes and huffs a breath before storming past me into my house.
“In my defense,” I say after shutting the door. “It was purely a trial date.”
He turns to me. “What in the goddamn seven hells is a trial date?”
“It’s a date one goes on to see if they’re ready to start dating again. I went on it with this nurse from work and it turned out to be one of the most awkward experiences because he was weird and rude and— And I don’t know why I’m telling you this!”
“Maybe because I need to know?”
“Well, now you know. There.”
Finn lets out a breath and his shoulders drop. He drags a hand through his hair and down his face before slumping down onto the back of my couch.
“Why did you need to know if you were ready?” he asks. When he looks up at me, there’s something that looks an awful lot like hope in his eyes. I look away.
“You know full well that I don’t really have a good track record with men.”
Finn stands and moves closer, and I, like an idiot, stand my ground. He reaches behind me and grabs the end of my ponytail, twirling the ends around his fingers. The action feels strangely intimate.
“Not a good track record?”
I shake my head, not trusting my words. I can smell his signature spicy scent and it does something to my brain, like a wire that short-circuits.
“And what if that track record could change? Could end?”
“I—”
I stare into the hazel eyes of the man before me, and I’m overwhelmed by the plethora of emotions within them. There’s kindness and patience and something that sparkles at the corners. The brightness brings out the honey tones and the greens and makes them glow. It’s … a lot. It’s too much.
I shake my head vigorously, so much so that Finn is forced to drop my hair from his hands. I hastily step back and sidestep him to move into the kitchen. I take deep breaths but none of them seem to calm the raging war inside of me. Confused. I’m confused.
“Why are you here, Finn?” I ask, my voice croaky.
I’m facing away from him, so I don’t know what he’s doing. All I know is that the lack of warmth around me tells me he’s thankfully keeping his distance.
Eventually he clears his throat. “I, um…Yeah, I’m here.”
“Why?” I ask impatiently.
He “ums and ahs.”
“I messed up.”
My eyes narrow at my kitchen sink. “What did you do?”
Ollie saunters into the room, his meows loud and demanding. I turn just in time to see Finn immediately pick him up, subconsciously stroking him as if he’s some kind of service animal. Not that my cat seems to have a problem with that, if his purring is anything to go by.
“I was trying to plan somewhere to take you. There’s this cherry festival over in Merton that I thought you’d love—they have everything cherry flavored. I thought, ‘oh, great, I can take her here, you know? Maybe even make her smile at me for the first time in fifteen years.’”
I file away my feelings on the last part, as well as my unidentified sensibilities about this trip he seems to have planned just for me.
“And?” I ask, trying to sound cool, calm and collected.
“And, well, I accidentally ended up bringing it up in conversation to my mom and now she insists on coming with us.”
Great.
“So, now, what? We’re going on a date with your mom?”
He gives me a look. “You think I could say no?”
“Well, did you even try?”
I know Wanda can be a little stubborn, but sometimes if you say the right thing, she backs off.
Finn’s arms flail about and Ollie drops down to the floor. “Of course I tried, Lee! I tried for a good solid two fucking hours, but if you’re as stubborn as an ox, then my mother is next level; like—I don’t know—her horns are dipped in some kind of goddamn silver.”
“Alright, alright!”
Finn takes a deep breath and I get him some water. He chugs it down in three large gulps, and my mind becomes distracted, focusing on the way Finn’s neck moves and tenses as he swallows. I’m not sure why it’s something I’m finding mildly attractive right now, but it’s extremely inconvenient.
“Okay,” I say with a rough shake of my head. “When is this thing?”
“We head off as soon as you’re ready.”
I lean onto the countertop so I can properly take in Finn and all of his goddamn audacity. “Are you kidding me? Finley, am I ever going to find out things before they happen, or are you just dead set on surprising me with every little thing until this month is up?”
“I thought it would be a nice surprise.” He bends to stroke Ollie’s jet-black coat.
I know Finn said he’s unable to keep switching between pretending to date and our usual argumentative nature, but this is …
an adjustment. He comes up with so many surprises—picking me up from work, leaving me food and doing my laundry—that it’s beginning to come across as if I’m always there, in the forefront of his mind, and that has my stomach rolling in a way that I refuse to portray as butterflies.
Finn taking something that other men have belittled and shut down, and clearly showing that if it’s important to me then it’s important to him, doesn’t feel like something driven by our bet.
It feels much more purposeful than that.
I hide the blush on my cheeks with a glass of water, taking tiny sips to buy my skin time to return to its usual paleness.
“So, what do you say?” he asks when it’s been a few minutes of quiet. “You feel up to pretending in front of my mom for a bit?”
In truth? No. I hate lying to Wanda, but this is what I agreed to do. Looking back, I’m not entirely sure why I agreed, but I’ve made my bed and Finn has made his.
“Are you doing this because of the bet?” I ask, taking him by surprise.
“To be honest, Cherry, I’d forgotten all about the bet.”
He forgot about the bet. He forgot about the bet.
“Let me go and get ready.”
“But you already look gorgeous.”
Time for another glass of water. I duck my head as I pass him to go down the corridor into my bedroom.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I’m waiting by the door in one of my usual cherry-print crop tops, distressed shorts, and my one and only pair of cowboy boots.
My fingers tap on my cross-body bag nervously as I try my best to review our “story” in my head.
Finn walks out of the bathroom and sees me by the front door.
“You good?” he asks.
“As good as I’ll ever be.”
He stops to watch me, taking in my expression, my tense shoulders, concern clear on his face. I take a deep breath and try my best to rid some of the apprehension from my face. Judging by the way he looks at me, I’m guessing it hasn’t worked.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I’m just nervous.”
He closes the distance between us, his hand finding my waist, the other my chin. “You are my saving angel, I hope you know that.”
“Never thought I’d witness the day where Finley Southwick calls me an ‘angel,’” I jest. A nervous chuckle follows, and Finn replicates the sound.
His smile is sad as he says, “If it were up to me, I’d be calling you a lot more.”
My eyebrows dip. “Just thank you, Cherry.” His thumb swipes across my lower lip. “My Cherry.”