I look between them in disbelief.
Then Finn’s eyes are back on mine, his smile never leaving his face.
“Well then, I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow.”
It’s not a question, and it’s not a demand either. For a second, I genuinely don’t know how to answer.
“Um,” I start. “I don’t think—”
“May,” he cuts in gently, “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to go to dinner with me. If you want to marry me after, we can talk about that later.”
The grin that follows makes it worse.
I just stare at him.
He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone.”
I reach into my pocket, pull it out, and hand it to him.
“Would you mind unlocking it?”
I take it back, swipe up, let the face recognition activate, and hand it back to him. He types something quickly, and I hear his phone buzz in his pocket. He hands mine back, pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and types again.
My phone dings in my hand.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says with a smile, then turns and walks away, leaving me standing there trying to process what just happened.
I open the door, climb into the truck, and buckle my seatbelt. George is still on the phone, talking to someone about a budget deficit, completely unaware that my brain is short-circuiting.
I look down at my phone, to the new message thread Finn just created.
Me:
I would love to go out with you tomorrow, Finn.
Finn:
I’ll pick you up at 7, lass. Send me your address.
Chapter 8
Today is the day we get our new home, and I’ve been so excited about it that I barely slept. My mind hasn’t been able to settle, too full of anticipation, nerves, and restless excitement, I can’t shut off.
I woke up extra early, took Neptune on a long walk while the town was still quiet and half-asleep, and came back buzzing with energy I didn’t know what to do with. By the time the sun was fully up, my bags were packed and waiting by the door.
The Otter Rock Hotel has been wonderful, but I’m ready for a bed I can call my own and a kitchen that doesn’t involve sandwiches and takeout containers. I’m ready to feel settled. Planted. I want to belong somewhere again.
Work goes by in a blur, either because it’s an easy day or because I’m floating through it. I’m not entirely sure which. As soon as I clock out, I’m moving on pure adrenaline, skipping tomy truck, driving straight back to the hotel, and stuffing my bags and Neptune’s bed into the back. At the front desk, I turn in my keys, hug Mark like I’ve lived there for years instead of days, promise to bring Neptune back to visit, and then we’re officially on our way.
From the hotel, the drive to our new neighborhood is barely ten minutes, but it feels like a transition into something new. We’re on the south end of Depoe Bay, where the homes have a very classic Pacific Northwest coastal charm—with soft beach colors, cedar siding, wide porches, big windows, wraparound decks, and greenery everywhere. Tall trees line the streets, thick shrubs and ferns fill the yards, and moss climbs the trunks. Through the spaces between the houses, I can see the ocean stretching far out, blue and endless, framed by rooftops, trees, and sky.
“We’re here,” I tell Neptune with a smile.
He’s panting, tongue out, tail thumping the seat like he understands every word.
When I turn into the driveway, I sit still for a moment. The house is even better than the pictures. Built in a classic eighties coastal style, lifted on supports, with a wide wraparound deck that circles the entire upper level, and big windows that make it feel open and bright. It looks sturdy and airy at the same time, like it was built to last and built to breathe.
I press the garage door opener and drive the truck in, deciding we’re exploring first and unpacking later.
