“And you do?”
I considered this. “I’m working on it.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The way he was looking at me, patient and genuinely interested, made me want to keep working on it. He made honesty feel safer than it had in a long time.
The silence stretched between us, filled only by the faint sounds of Dom and Enzo still getting ready upstairs. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though, and I relaxed, crossing my ankles again and setting my elbow on the sofa arm, resting my head against my fist. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat with someone without feeling the need to perform or manage the conversation.
I chuckled to myself.
“You can’t just laugh and not share with the class,” Finn teased gently.
I met his eyes, catching the way the corner of his mouth had hitched into a lopsided smile. “I was thinking how nice it feels to sit here without needing to fill the time with small talk.”
“Small talk’s the worst,” Finn scoffed. “I’d almost take getting hit by another plane over small talk. But maybe just a small one… or a drone.” He lifted his hand, fingers pinched to indicate exactly how small.
I snorted and my cheeks burned at the sound. But Finn’s smile turned into a full grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The fact that he could joke about something so traumatic, could make me laugh about it without making me feel guilty for doing so, took a level of emotional intelligence I wasn’t used to encountering.
“We’re here!” Dom breezed in, adjusting the cuffs of his Hollywood-cool jacket. “Or at least I’m here. Enzo will be just a minute longer.”
“Dom, how is my brother, who makes money crashing into things so you don’t have to, somehow more high-maintenance than you?” I grinned up at my future brother-in-law, feeling buoyant from Finn’s reaction to my laugh.
“I heard that,” Enzo entered next, his eyes full of merriment as he tucked his teal and gold silk shirt into his impossibly slim jeans. “And you should take it back.”
“Shall we go?” Finn interrupted, standing and extending his hand toward me. “Our reservation’s for seven and we’ve still got to sit in traffic.”
I took his hand as he helped me up, calloused fingers sliding against mine before he released me quickly. He rubbed his palms against his jeans, then, so slight I almost missed it, his hand moved to his neck again. He caught himself, scratched at his chest instead, dropped his hand and rubbed it against his jeans a second time. All while looking away.
Muscle memory, I realized. He was reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.
We followed Dom to the front door where Paulie had moved Dom’s Q7. Finn helped me into the backseat, settling beside me while Dom and Enzo climbed in the front.
I caught Finn’s almost imperceptible wince as we pulled onto the street, his jaw tightening slightly. Motion sensitivity, probably. I shifted closer to the window, giving him more space, and placed my hand briefly on his forearm with a gentle squeeze of understanding.
His eyes met mine, grateful and slightly surprised. I felt the warmth of his skin under my palm, solid muscle beneath that. Before I could pull away, his other hand covered mine, his fingers curling gently around my knuckles in a gesture so natural it made my breath catch. The touch was casual, but it sent warmth shooting up my arm anyway.
The moment stretched longer than it should have, his thumb brushing once across my knuckles before he seemed to realize what he was doing and released my hand. I pulled back slowly, my fingertips still tingling from the contact. After a moment he relaxed, settling back into the seat, and I told myself the flutter in my stomach was just the car’s movement.
Within minutes we were moving through the evening traffic toward whatever restaurant Dom had chosen.
Chapter6
Intelligence gathering under hostile questioning
Finn
The car stopped in front of a restaurant I recognized as the farm-to-table place Dom and Enzo had taken me to when I’d first returned stateside. Best short ribs I’d eaten in years. I climbed out and turned to offer Sasha my hand, relishing her touch when she took it.
The maître d’ greeted Dom by name before leading us to a table near the back. The warm, low lighting and steady hum from the open kitchen were exactly what I needed after such an odd day.
I waited until Sasha was seated before sitting beside her, making sure I could see the front entrance. Dom was already discussing wine while Enzo asked about their burrata appetizer. I skimmed the menu, keeping half my attention on Sasha as she studied the art on the walls.
Our server returned with the wine and appetizer. Sasha declined her pour, ordered Perrier with lime, then asked detailed questions about preparation methods—especially whether dishes contained walnuts or pecans. I filed away the information.
“What are you thinking, my love?” Dom asked Enzo as they studied their menus. When our server returned, Enzo chose the pasta with mushrooms and truffle oil while Dom opted for duck breast with cherry sauce.
Sasha hesitated, asked a few more questions, then settled on herb-crusted chicken thigh. I handed over my menu with my order for ribeye and garlic mashed potatoes—unfussy and familiar without making Dom roll his eyes at my choices.
Enzo raised his wine glass. “To us,” he smiled at Dom beforeturning to Sasha and me. “And to the best siblings we could ask for.”
