Page 37

Fox:

Wine’s open. Dinner’s ready.

Finn:

You’re the best!

I put the phone down and go back to the kitchen, move everything from low heat to the plates, and warm the sauce again. I slice the bread I baked earlier because it turns out that when you have twelve hours to fill while stuck in a small apartment, you learn to bake bread just because.

As expected, five minutes later, Finn comes in with snow melting in his hair. His cheeks are red. He shrugs out of his coat, drops his bag by the door, and stops in the middle of the room to look at me.

“I could get used to this, you know?”

“If I’m here anyway, I might as well cook.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“The point is”—he walks into the kitchen, puts his hands on my hips, kisses me on the corner of the mouth—“that I appreciate it. And also that you’re spoiling me.”

“Maybe I want to spoil you.”

Something passes through his eyes, but he’s too quick to hide it.

We sit down and eat. Finn asks about my day—what I did, and if I read any more of his books. I tell him about the first failed attempt at bread before I got it right. I tell him I called Nikko at some point in the afternoon and lied about being in a bar in Nashville, which Nikko definitely did not believe. Finn laughs into his wine.

He tells me about the upcoming Thanksgiving market, about Meredith’s incredible ability to handle county officials without raising her voice, and about Emmett trying to set up a coffee run just to walk past Dr. Cross’s vet clinic.

Finn’s whole face gets involved as he tells his stories, making his blond hair fall into his eyes, so he keeps pushing it away.

I finish first because I don’t stop to talk while I eat, and he does. I clear my plate, kiss the top of his head as I pass behind him, and take the dishes to the sink.

Behind me, Finn is still working through the last of his vegetables. It’s a peaceful sound. His fork against the plate, his breath, the occasional appreciative hum.

I could get very used to this.

That thought has been walking around my head for days, and it hasn’t gotten any smaller. If anything, it’s grown.

“I have an idea.”

I turn from the sink. Finn is standing behind me, his empty plate in his hands.

He’s rolled his sleeves up, and at some point during dinner, he must have untucked his shirt. The line that’s been between his eyebrows since he came through the door has smoothed out, and his eyes are less sharp than they were an hour ago. Selfishly, I like to think I have something to do with this change.

“Yeah?”

“Come for a walk with me.”

I take the plate from him. Put it in the sink and wash it quickly before drying my hands. “What do you mean?”

“You need the definition of a walk or…”

I pinch his nipple through his shirt. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious. Noëlle says so all the time.” His hands reach up to my chest and rest there while his eyes meet mine. “It’s dark. It’s snowing. Everyone with any sense is at Joe’s or on their couch. And the ones who are out aren’t looking at other people. They’re too busy trying not to slip.”

“You know how small this town is.”