Page 5

When I got in the rental car in LA, all I left behind was a text to Nikko saying I had some stuff to deal with. After years on the road with the band, Nikko is the first to recognize when I need my space, so when he replied that he’d cover for me with the family and to look after myself, I just kept going.

The plan wasn’t to come to Vermont. In fact, the whole idea was to drive to Wyoming, where an old high school friend now runs a ranch. A few days on the road, a few days catching up, and another few days back to LA would fill the time until Nikko and I flew to Vermont for our traditional Thanksgiving with the Hall family.

The plan was not to skip Wyoming, turn my location tracking off for Nikko, and keep driving until a week later, I arrived at Finn’s doorstep.

I don’t know what I was thinking, but I know which part of my body was doing the thinking. My dick, as usual, because it seems to have a long-distance permanent connection to Griffin Hall.

Finn stirs against my shoulder. He makes a small noise and presses closer, then pulls back, his whole body going rigid.

He sits up. His hair is a disaster and his voice is groggy. “Shit. What time is it?”

I glance at the digital clock on his nightstand. “Seven-oh-eight.”

“Fuck. Fuck.”

He’s out of bed in a heartbeat, standing naked in the middle of his bedroom, running both hands through his already ruined hair. His skin is warm-toned in the morning light, and I stop paying attention to what he’s saying for a second because I’m looking at the small mark I left on his hip bone last night.

“Fuck. I have a meeting at eight.”

“I take it that’s not a good thing.”

“Yes. No, well, it’s the mayor…and the community center director and Meredith and possibly the fire marshal… I honestly can’t remember.”

“Isn’t the Chamber office right across the street from here?”

“Yes. But I have to prepare. You don’t just show up to a meeting with the mayor of Winterberry without a plan, Fox. And the plan is”—he gestures wildly in the direction of the kitchen—“scattered across my kitchen table.”

I stand and walk to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Lucky for you, you have the personification of cool under pressure right here.”

He looks around. “Where?”

I turn him around, and with a slap to his ass, I push him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Go shower. I’ll make you coffee.”

“I don’t have time for coffee.”

“Go. Shower.”

He hesitates for a second, then nods and disappears into the bathroom.

I pull on my underwear and jeans from last night, skip a shirt, and head into the kitchen.

Finn’s kitchen table has papers on every available inch that isn’t taken up by three empty coffee mugs and a takeout container. His laptop is still open, but the screen is dark now.

The first thing to do is coffee.

Finn has one of those pod machines, but there’s a French press in the dish rack, so I grab the ground coffee from the cupboard.

While the water heats, I notice the mistletoe on the floor by the front door. I must have dropped it last night when Finn opened the door and my sole focus became claiming his lips. I pick it up. The little red bow is slightly crushed, but the leaves are intact. I put it on the counter next to the coffee maker and go back to the table.

I try my best to stack the papers in order. Then I wipe up a small ring of dried coffee, close his laptop, and place it on top of the paper pile.

I gather his three coffee mugs and rinse them out in the sink.

Finn’s messenger bag hangs on the back of a chair, so I lift the stack of papers and the laptop and slide them all inside.

When the water boils, I prepare the coffee, letting it rest in the press while I find a travel mug.