“Fair to whom?” His face turns bright red.
“To bread,” I tell him. Then I suggest, “Why don’t we go in. I didn’t order our food while we were out so it’s going to take longer now.”
Thomas gets out of the car and hurries around to my side. I open my own door, then I take his hand and let him help me out. “You are confounding,” he tells me.
“I’m my own person,” I assure him. “I like things the way I like them.”
Thomas stops walking and turns to look at me. Then he asks, “How do you like your men?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THOMAS
Finley is constantly throwing curveballs that make me wonder who in the world raised her.Twelve food groups?I’ve never heard anything that ridiculous.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I ask her, “How do you like your men?”
She drops her gaze to my feet before telling me, “I like men who like me.” She says this so quietly, I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.
“I meant, what’s your type?” I’m obviously fishing for her to describe my physical attributes, but she doesn’t.
“I like men who are kind and good. I like ones who talk to me and don’t run away when they get to know me.” She drops her chin until she’s looking at me from under her eyelashes. “I like men who aren’t afraid of me.”
I think I’ve just found Finley’s Achilles’ heel. She’s worried she’ll be left when a love interest gets to know her. Meanwhile, the more I learn about her, the more intrigued I am. “Have you lost boyfriends because they didn’t understand you?” I ask gently.
“I have.” She doesn’t elaborate.
“Do you want to tell me about them?”
“I do not,” she says before taking the final steps to the front door. She puts her key into the lock and opens it.
I follow Finley inside, instinctively knowing things have changed between us. The atmosphere is thick with tension, and I don’t want to go on without clearing the air.
“Finley,” I say. “Please talk to me.”
As she exhales, her shoulders slump until she looks like she’s going to wilt to the floor. Without facing me, she says, “I really don’t want to talk about this. You already think I’m weird enough.”
“Is that what this is all about?” I ask before telling her, “I love weird people! My family is weird. My friends are weird. In my book, weirdness equals individuality and that’s always a plus. Who wants to be like everyone else?”
She turns toward me and I immediately see tears in her eyes. “Most people want to be like everyone else.”
“Why do you think that?” I take a step toward her and gently put my hands on her shoulders. “You’re you and that’s what makes you special.”
“Special,” she spits the word out like it’s a bad piece of meat.
“What’s wrong with being special?” I ask her. “Everyone wants to be special.”
“I’m going to tell you something, Thomas. And not because I want to, but because you’re making me. But just so you know, I’m not very happy about it.”
“What could you possibly tell me that warrants this kind of buildup?” I ask her.
Finley rolls her beautiful green eyes before flaring her nostrils in anger. “I’m on the spectrum. I’m autistic.”
I can’t help the laughter that explodes out of me.That’swhat she wanted to tell me? I stare into her very hurt looking eyes and declare, “I figured that out pretty quickly.”
“You knew? How?”
“The foil, the peas, the sand …”
