“You’re just saying that.”
“I am not,” I tell her. “You wouldn’t believe how much crap I took from my friends.”
This news seems to please her because her grin becomes positively radiant. “Do you think I’m stupid?” she asks.
“I think you’re incredibly smart!” I assure her. “I mean, look at you.” I make a broad sweeping gesture around her prop room. “You have your own successful business. So successful you’ve expanded.”
“But I don’t drive,” she says, sounding down on herself.
“Some might say I don’t either.”
“True that.” Finley laughs before adding, “But I have twelve food groups.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty nuts,” I joke back. “But other than that, I think you’re incredible.”
Her eyes open wide and she gives three very slow blinks before asking, “You do?”
“I really do,” I tell her. Then I lean toward her and do the one thing I shouldn’t, especially because I’m not sure I’m staying in Elk Lake. I kiss Finley Harper.
It’s not a grand, passionate expression of lust. Instead, it’s sweet and gentle and so thoroughly moving I don’t ever want to pull away from her. Ultimately, she’s the one who retreats.
“That was nice, thank you.”
“I should be thanking you,” I tell her. “And it was more than nice. It was wonderful. Now, should we order supper?”
“You still want to stay?”
I want to find every person on the planet who ever made fun of Finley, and then I want to smack them upside the head. I hate that she feels vulnerable about being herself. In my eyes, she’s darn near perfect.
In fact, I’m so wrapped up in my feelings, I suddenly tell her, “I’d like to take you out on a real date.”
Her posture jolts ramrod straight. “But you might be leaving Elk Lake.”
“That’s true,” I tell her. “But that won’t be for months, if it happens.”
“I can’t live in New York,” she tells me. “Not that you’re asking me to, but why would we date if we didn’t think it might go somewhere?”
“I don’t know what the future holds for us, Finley. But I do know that if you and I are meant to be, things will work out. That’s the way life is.”
“But you still might leave,” she repeats.
“I might. But at least you’d know that a possibility up front.”
“One date,” she decides. “I’ll let you know after that how I feel about another.”
I lean into her once again and lower my head toward hers. “That sounds fair,” I tell her. And then I kiss her again. This time it’s even sweeter than before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
FINLEY
When I woke up this morning there was no way I could have predicted how my day was going to turn out. Not only did Thomas buy the car I wanted for myself, but I told him I was on the spectrum. Then he asked me out on a real date and kissed me! I’m more optimistic than ever that he might just be my person.
After ordering our supper—buttered noodles for me, and linguini with puttanesca sauce for Thomas—I open a box full of ostrich feathers. I sit down cross-legged on the floor and start pulling them out of the box.
“First you take them out of the plastic sleeve,” I tell him. “Then you need to ruffle them up.” I illustrate by pinching the base of the feather and then sliding my hands up to the top. Finally, I shake it in the air seven times until it flumes to full capacity.
Thomas sits down across from me and follows my instructions. When he’s successfully fluffed his first feather, he says, “These are really soft.”
