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Cleaning myself up, I splash water on my face then slip into a fluffy robe. The thumping makes my heart skitter in my chest, so I pull the robe tight around my body. At the door, I unlock it and pull it open.
Finn stands on the doorstep with his face pinched with worry, and his brow furrows the moment we make eye contact.
“Finn? What—what are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?”
12
EMMA
“Emma? Are you alright?”
Holding the door open, warmth from outside sweeps past my bare ankles and highlights in the back of my mind that my apartment is much cooler than the outside world. It suddenly becomes preferable as I try to catch up with what Finn is saying and why he’s even here.
“What?”
Finn’s brow dips and the deep concern brimming in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Emma,” he says slowly. “Are you alright?”
“Um…” I can’t find an answer, not fast enough to ease the worry that rolls off of Finn. “What are you doing here?” I repeat my question as, for some reason, my thumping mind can’t move past it.
Finn’s lips press together and he shifts his weight to his other leg. “When you didn’t turn up to class today, I was concerned that I had crossed a line with you. That I had…misread our signals and offended or hurt you in some way.” He pauses and a faint flush of color rises across his cheek. “Then I overheard your friend, Ana, on the phone quite distressed about not being able to get in contact with you, so I got your address from administration and came to see you.”
“Ana…” I breathe out, my thoughts turning back to my phone. “I should call her.” Turning, my grip slips from the door and I head back into my apartment. Behind me, floorboards creak and the door clicks closed. Before I can head for the bedroom, Finn’s hand is on my arm and he guides me toward the tattered couch in my living room. It takes no encouragement at all for me to sit, then Finn steps back far enough so the space is clear.
That bothers me suddenly. Why won’t he sit next to me?
“Emma, have you had anything to eat today?”
My stomach immediately aches at the thought of food, so I shake my head and clutch at the edges of my robe. “I’m definitely not hungry.”
“Water?”
I nod. Water sounds cool. Cool and clear and crisp. My mouth is suddenly as dry as the desert and my throat aches. Finn moves through the archway into the kitchen, and I focus on him as he hunts for glasses. It’s sweet that he’s here, I think. Although my mind runs like wandering through quicksand, it’s difficult to concentrate on so many things at once.
The kettle hums to life and cups clink together, then the tap rushes and in a blink, Finn is back in front of me with a glass of water. The glass fogs up except around his fingertips and when I take it, an odd chill shoots up my spine.
“I’ll make you some tea too,” Finn says. “Hot and sweet.”
“Like you,” I murmur weakly, then I drink. The first drop of water is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted and before I know it, I’m gulping hungrily like it’s the first time I’ve ever hydrated myself. When the glass is half empty, Finn’s fingertips land on the back of my hand and he coaxes the glass away from my lips.
“Slowly,” he says in a low voice. “You’re clearly dehydrated so drink slowly.”
My chest clenches and I want to ignore him. I want to drink the entire thing just to spite him but that feeling alarms me. He’s done nothing to me, so I’m not sure where the sudden hostility is coming from. Tiredness, perhaps?
“Emma…if this is about what we did yesterday?—”
“Oh God, no.” I shake my head, causing stragglers of my hair to brush quickly against my cheek. “Yesterday was amazing.” Another sip of water and the chill cuts through my mind fog. “I really enjoyed that, and I’m not mad about that at all, trust me.”
The relief is clear on Finn’s face and even his shoulders slump slightly while he watches me.
“So, what’s wrong? Just looking at you I can tell something isn’t right.”
The kettle behind him comes to a boil, but Finn doesn’t move.
“Honestly, I think I just had too much to drink last night. It was a good night and I—” I stop myself as the ache behind my temples flares when I try to remember.
“Just too much to drink?” Doubt lingers in Finn’s tone but the relief is clear, and I focus on that. Was he really so worried about what we did that he came to check on me, or was he concerned he was going to get caught?
I study him as he steps back into the kitchen and makes the tea. After a few minutes, his soft humming reaches my ears and warmth pulls at my heart. He was definitely worried about me, not himself. With each slow sip of water, I start to feel more like myself and by the time Finn is back with two mugs of steaming hot tea, my chest no longer feels stuffed with wool.
