ButRoxanne?
Roxanne is a song you jam to, and Finn does exactly that.
He moves without thinking about it, loose and unbothered, fully committed to the moment. At the chorus, he pretends to strum a guitar, grinning big when I catch him doing it. I burst out laughing.
People around us start joining in, clapping, swaying, singing along with zero shame, and suddenly we’re surrounded by dozens of middle-aged couples.
So, for the first time in my lifetime, I let go of trying to look controlled or graceful and just move. I sing along when I know the words, laugh when I don’t, spin when someone pulls me in, and clap when the room does. Finn’s laughter is infectious, bright, and unfiltered, and every time our eyes meet, it feels like we’re in on the same ridiculous joke.
The last time I danced was with a soccer player, and he was perfectly nice. Polite. Careful.
I hated every second of it.
This is different.
This time, I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. I’m moving without thinking about how I look. I’m surrounded by strangers and music and Finn’s unrestrained joy, and something inside me loosens, like I’ve been holding my breath all along.
As the song builds and the room singsRoxanneat the top of their lungs, I throw my head back and laugh, because for once, I feelfree.
I climb into Finn’s truck as he closes the door for me. I buckle my seatbelt while he circles to the driver’s side.
A few messages from my sisters, and one from Aiden.
I open his first. It was sent twenty minutes ago.
Aiden:
Turning in for the night. Early shift tomorrow.
Neptune already had dinner, and he’s home now.
I still have your key. I will give it to you tomorrow.
Have a safe night.
I lock my phone without answering yet.
“All okay?” Finn asks as he clicks his seatbelt into place.
“All okay.”
The drive back is short, barely long enough to let everything settle. Within five minutes, he’s pulling into my driveway and shifting the truck into park.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I had a really great night.”
“Aye,” he replies, smiling. “Me too.”
I reach for the door, but he’s already stopping me.
“Allow me.”
He’s out of the truck in seconds, moving around to my side, offering his hand. I take it, and just like before, he places it on his shoulder, hands firm at my hips as he lifts me down effortlessly.
“Thanks.”
We stand there for a moment, close enough that I can feel the decision forming before he ever makes a move. I see it in his eyes — the pause, the calculation, the lean toward something more.
He dips in… and I turn my head, letting his lips land against my cheek instead.
