“Okay, so that’s how it is.” Finn sat back. “For crying out loud, Sam. I’m just looking out for you.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Finn looked down for a moment before answering. “It’s okay, Sam. I get it.”
“I know you do.” Sam touched his arm. “Look at us: two fools in a bar …” She gestured around the almost empty bar. “It’s actually very nice in here. Posh. Table service, mood lighting, olives … very demure, mindful blah blah.” She spluttered a laugh.
“Come on, Sam,” Finn said softly, wishing she’d just talk to him. “You don’t need to put on a brave face for me.”
Sam rolled her eyes at him. “Me—brave face—hahahah!”
Finn watched in horror as her face crumpled. She looked down and wiped her face with her hand. “This is too much; this whole damn day is too much.”
Tears fell in great big drops, onto the oak table.
Grabbing the tiny black napkin that had come with her tequila, she tried to mop up the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You’re right. Tequila is not a good idea.”
Finn moved closer, gently pulling the napkin from her hand and offering his sleeve.
“Here,” he said, voice low. “Use this—I don’t mind.”
Sam huffed a laugh through her tears. “What, and ruin your designer hoodie?”
“It’s not designer.” He shrugged. “And you can ruin anything of mine, Sam. I mean it.”
He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to make any of this better—what could he do to bring her back to herself—the brave, talented and unstoppable Sam he thought he knew.
“Want me to see if they can whip you up aSamwichor aFinnomenal?” He nudged her.
The tiniest smile on her lips made his heart soar. “God, not theFinnomenal. Cream cheese, jalapeños andpineapplein a wrap … I haven’t had one in ages.”
“No time like the present,” Finn said, happy to see her smile.
“Um, Finn,” Sam said. “Maybe not here—it’s Italy—they don’t put pineapple on anything.”
“You’re so right.” Finn chuckled. “How do you think they’ll feel when they hear you put banana into a sandwich?”
“It’s a dessert sandwich,” Sam said, her lips quirking into a smile. “Like banoffee—which sounds Italian, doesn’t it. I think I’ll be fine—you on the other hand, as the inventor of the criminally and insanely delicious Finnomenal—you might actually get arrested.”
Finn laughed. This was the Sam he recognized: witty, funny, and so easy to talk to. For a second the tension in his chest loosened. She shifted and suddenly her hip was close to his, her warm, soft body leaning into him.
“What would I do without you, Finn?”
She leaned against his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin. A surge of protectiveness filled him as he slid his armaround her and pulled her in closer, holding her like he was shielding her from everything, even herself. He smoothed her hair back from her face, inhaling her scent as if he’d never get to see her again.
“Thank you,” Sam said, looking up at him. “I just hate this feeling. I thought I could do it. I really did.”
Her breath warmed his neck, making his blood heat up. She was so close.
Her lashes were wet, her face blotchy. It made something inside him twist sharply. What had happened to make her doubt herself?
“You can do it,” he said quickly. “You’re the best out there—you are what the Finnomenal is named for.”
She giggled and shook her head. “Finn!”
“No—you are, Sam.”
“Finn—I messed up today,” Sam said quietly, as if she was hearing someone else say it. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Her whole body seemed to deflate right next to him. “I messed up. I always mess up.”
