Chapter 23 #3
Just as he described, my bath is filled with water and bubbles; candles provide the only light in the room, making it warm and comforting.
A towel is already hanging on the towel rail and my slippers are waiting for me on the floor.
But none of that is even the best part. On the built-in shelf that joins the bath with the wall, there’s a glass of wine big enough to make me feel well and truly fuzzy.
I strip out of my clothes, excitement overriding the tiredness that remains in my bones. When I sink into the water, it’s warmth coats my skin and settles deep within me. Any stress from this past week flows into the soapy water and I can pretty much feel the tension in my muscles dissipate.
As I lay there, staring at the ceiling and sipping on wine, my mind drifts to everything going on in my life.
Nerves prickle my skin like the hot water when I first sunk into it.
I wish I knew what progress was being made on the part of my manuscript that I sent to that agent.
I took one look at Janelle’s other clients and read through her portfolio and something in my soul lit up like a light bulb.
There was this voice in the back of my head telling me that something about her was right and so ever since I’ve been writing and re-writing my query letter to her and until two weeks ago, I never once had the confidence to send it off.
I always knew I was meant to be a writer.
The moment I understood the way my brain worked and knew that seeing everything in my mind like a movie could be nothing other than a positive for me, I just gave it a try and instantly fell in love with it.
Every time I read a romance novel, fresh ideas would pop into my mind, and I’d find myself glued to my desk, writing until my mom told me off for missing dinner or failing to do my homework.
I’ve been thinking a lot about quitting my job.
Whenever I think about it, excitement and relief fill my chest and make it swell like a balloon about to pop.
I love my job, really, but I am not in love with my job.
I am in love with writing. When it comes to my career, I seem to be too monogamous to keep cheating on being an author.
My wine is almost finished, so I slow down, limiting myself to one sip per thought in my mind.
Before my thoughts can drift to Finn, there’s a soft knock at the door. I make sure bubbles are covering my body before saying, “Come in.”
Finn sheepishly pokes his head in through the small gap in the door. “Dinner is ready.”
“God it’s been half an hour already?”
“Yep.” He steps inside, closing the door behind him. He takes a seat at the edge if the bath and starts stroking my hair. “You been lost in thought?”
“A little,” I admit.
“Want to run anything by me?”
A warning bell sets off in my head and I know it’s my walls just itching to come back up. I refuse to let them.
“Just thinking about my career. As much as I like being a nurse, it’s just not … me.”
“Then what is you? Being an author?”
I nod and relax my head against his thigh. “I think so. I hope so.”
“I think so, too,” he says, and that single bit of validation has me feeling more confident about my decision then I ever have.
“I sent off part of my manuscript to this agent. Janelle Parsons. She focuses mainly on Romance and Fantasy, and she’s amazing at her job. I sent over the first three chapters and a query letter two weeks ago and now all I can think about is quitting my job.”
“Then quit,” he says simply.
I scoff. “Yeah, sure.”
His hand pauses its smoothing of my hair. “I’m being serious. Quit.”
“Finn.” I lift my head and turn to face him. “I have bills to pay, a cat to look after, food to buy.”
He shrugs. “I’ll pay for all that.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I don’t even care that the bubbles are barely doing anything to cover up at the moment. “What the fuck do you mean you’ll pay for that?”
“Should I find you a dictionary?”
“Finn, I don’t need a sugar daddy.”
“I know you don’t.”
“Then what the fuck?”
Why the hell is he finding this funny? His laughter booms, hitting every corner of the bathroom.
“Will you stop laughing at me!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes while swiping away stray tears from his eye. “God, you’re just hilarious.”
“I do not remember making a single joke.”
“You didn’t.”
I send him a look, only making him laugh once more.
“You’re not paying for me, Finley.”
“I can afford it, Oakleigh,” he counters.
I don’t ask how he can. Last I checked working in construction didn’t necessarily put you in a position to pay for two sets of bills and even buy land on which you plan to build your own house. It’s none of my business, though.
“I don’t need you to afford it. Thank you, I appreciate your offer, really, but I can handle myself.”
He cradles my face, and his eyes communicate something to me that I have yet to understand. I want so bad to know the unspoken words, I desperately crave to speak the same language and understand him in a heartbeat.
With a soft smile, he says, “Take your time getting out. I’ll sort out a plate for you.”
He stands and leaves quickly and now I’m left here utterly confused, wondering if that was an offer Finn genuinely hoped that I’d accept.