“Our plans for the rest of our day?” he reminded her. “We’ve got no TV, no Wi-Fi. We should probably conserve our laptop batteries. That knocks out your first and second options and leaves us with option three.”
“Right. We go to our rooms to read.”
Rooms, plural. Had one littlesever caused such plunging disappointment before? He was preparing to engage friend-mode Tom and exile himself to Josie’s pink bedroom when Finn spoke again.
“Oh, but actually…”
Tom held his breath, daring to unfurl a tendril of hope.
“I mean, we only have one lantern, so separate rooms wouldn’t work,” she said. “Want to stay out here?”
Separate rooms were definitely safer for his wayward thoughts. But what’s life without a little danger? “Sounds perfect.”
He fetched his e-reader from his bag while Finn retrieved a book from her room.
Back in their positions, he pointed to the massive tome on her lap. “That’s a doorstop.”
“I’myet againtrying to get throughInfinite Jest. Someday I need to admit to myself that I wasn’t built to read this book. What about you?”
He powered on his Kindle, grateful to see a full battery icon. “While I’m doing dissertation edits, I limit myself to comfort reading. I just started one of my favorite Terry Pratchett books.”
She brightened. “I’ve heard he’s funny!”
“He’s hilarious. Actually…” Was he really going to suggest this? “If you’re not into your David Foster Wallace, I could, um, readThe Color of Magicto you.”
He was excruciatingly aware of every moment of silence that stretched between them after his impulsive suggestion, unsure if he’d had a good idea or the worst one ever. Then, thank the giant space turtle, she grinned up at him. “Will you do voices? And accents?”
He’d definitely had a good idea. “Voices, yes. Accents, badly.”
“Awesome. Let’s do it.”
Finn repositioned herself on the end of the couch nearest to him, an afghan tucked around her shoulders and a half smile on her lips, and he pushed aside his unaccustomed bout of nerves to get comfortable in his chair and began narrating the story of the wizard Rincewind from page one.
He read to her for hours. His voice grew hoarse as he deepened it for the barbarian and squeaked for the sea troll, but he read on and on. They took a break for sandwiches and wine, and when they returned to the living room, Tom made the bold move of sitting with her on the couch. Not only did Finn not object, but she stretched out, her legs draped over the sofa arm and the top of her head brushing his thigh.
Now the hoarseness in his voice could be attributed to a different source, and he gingerly slid a hand along her silky hair. When she didn’t move away, he caressed the strands to the rhythm of the dialogue as he read. Eventually her breathing evened and slowed so much that he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. He stopped his narration, and after a moment, she stirred, twisting her neck to look up at him.
His hand stilled. “Are you tired of the story?”
“No.”
“Should I keep going?” He couldn’t read what was happening behind her serious eyes.
“I just… I keep thinking about what you said earlier.”
His shoulders tensed. “Yes?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.
“I met him first.”
“Sorry?” His lungs struggled to pull in enough air as she rolled to her back and looked up at him.
“Dylan. I met him first. He was so handsome, and he was a football star. I thought he was what I wanted. He was what all the other girls wanted. But then he introduced me to you.”
Tom’s lungs stopped working entirely, along with his heart and his ability to speak.
“You were so different from him.” Finn sighed.
“Yeah.” He offered a self-deprecating laugh, while inside part of him withered. “Not handsome. And not a football star.”
