Don’t start, Finn.
My mouth wants to speak a million promises. I want to fix everything. I want to mow down everything that stands in her way, and I want to help make her dreams happen. And I want to be there to see the look on her face when they do.
Is this love?
No. That would be lunacy.
I think they call this infatuation.
I’ve had girlfriends before—three, to be exact—but I don’t remember ever feeling this way upon first meeting them. One was a friend when I first enlisted. We got together after several months and stayed together for the duration of our deployment.
After a two-year dry spell, I dated someone else I worked with in my late twenties. She wanted to get married, but her dad wanted me to work for his insurance company, and the whole family was dogging me about it. So that eventually broke us up. My third girlfriend was about five years ago—a tepid three months after meeting on a dating app. I swore off relationships after that and threw myself into my career.
Now, at 42, I’m established, successful, and ready for the next chapter in my life.
When Iris and Oliver step away to talk about something, I let Skylar steer the conversation. It takes every bit of self-control not to move closer to her, ask her if she’s dating anyone, askfor her number, ask her about her favorite kind of pizza, her birthstone, and her preferred ideal date.
It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman that I worry that I’ll come on too strong and scare her away.
Three
Skylar
Oliver has taken off for some reason, leaving Iris and me to operate the booth on our own. Which is fine. It was always the plan. He sure was helpful, though. And I liked seeing someone be kind and attentive with her—up until he left. Perhaps flaked, even.
That’s what men do, in my experience. They flake.
Finn’s frame overwhelms the tent, and he looks lost without his brother. The reason for Oliver’s sudden departure seems unknown to Finn, too.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say, giving him an out.
“I’m staying,” Finn insists.
When he goes to sit, his shirt tail flutters, revealing a slightly rounded, perfect belly.
My inner chaos gremlin is having thoughts.
Want to nibble it. Want to eat chocolate pudding off of that tummy.
Finn heaves his frame down onto the cheap plastic chair. Under his weight, the spindly chair legs sink into the grass about a third of an inch.
My underboob area begins to sweat.
OK. Maybe not such a flake.
I like him.
“You and your brother always take vacations to quaint small-town festivals together?” I tease, trying to pump Finn for information.
Finn laughs. “No. I don’t get vacations. I came to check on my baby brother and make sure he’s not making the biggest mistake of his life.”
I nod, but in a way that tells him I’m trying to comprehend. “The biggest mistake of his life was taking a vacation in a small town?”
He casts a glance toward Iris, who is staring off after Oliver.
I look back at Finn, whose face has turned severe. Concerned. He leans in and says only for my ears, “He says he’s in love. He’s talking crazy like he wants to uproot his life and move here because of…well, because of your friend.”
“Iris,” I say.
