Page 3 of Cabin Fever

“Like, yes, you have to pay for extra people in each cabin,” Dahlia continues, “but it’s way less to double up in a room and not pay for two full cabins, and⁠—”

“Dahlia!” I might need to slap her to make her stop talking gibberish. “Can you speak in plain English, please?”

Finn drops his hand and looks up with a smirk. “What your sister’s trying to say is that you got an early birthday present.”

My eyes pop. Does Finn remember that my birthday is in three weeks?

Dahlia lowers her voice. “Mom was trying to save money, and I didn’t know until⁠—”

“Know what?” Sweat trickles down the back of my left arm.

Finn pulls out his keycard and flicks it between his fingers. “You get to room with me, Harp. I promise I won’t bite.” He leans closer and raises an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to.”

Chapter Two

Deck Six, cabin 6042, is at the end of a hallway so long it appears to curve with the earth. I find it forty minutes later than I meant to because Theo’s uncle needed to know whether the wedding block had priority access to the private lounge, and he wasn’t satisfied with a ‘no’ from only me. We had to get Pam from Guest Services involved.

I swipe the key card. The little light goes green, and I push the door open, dragging my suitcase behind me. I barely get past the threshold when I see him.

Finn Gallagher is standing in the middle of the cabin with a shirt in his hands, holding it mid-fold. There's a duffel open on the bed closest to the submarine window. Apparently, my mother also couldn’t spring for a room with a balcony.

“No.” I groan, pulling my suitcase in and letting the door slam shut.

“Harper—“

“No.” I can’t seem to say anything else. It’s irrational, this reaction I’m having to Finn. I realize that, but can’t do anything to stop it. I’ve been dreading seeing him since Dahlia told me she was engaged, and now I have to run a wedding under these circumstances? Is he going to be in this room all the time?

I’m like a cat. I need my territory. Finn just walked in, squatted, and peed all over it. And the thing is, I have nobody to be angry with. If this were because of the cruise line, I’d be furious, but it's Mom and Dahlia. They didn't do this to hurt me. Despite being a little blasé about the budget until recently, I understand things feeling tight at the last minute. I get not wanting to pay for an extra room.

But Finn?

“Well, damn, Perry. I thought you’d be a little glad to see me.” Finn’s bare, tanned back is to me, and I allow myself to sneak a small peek at his physique. He’s filled out since I last saw him, but not in a bad way. He looks strong. Like he puts his body to good use.

We were inseparable once. Finn, Theo, Dahlia, and me. The three houses on Larkspur. Popsicles and bike ramps, lemonade stands, throwing sticks and skipping rocks at the creek behind Theo’s house. If you’d asked me then, Finn would’ve been listed as my best friend, right next to Dahlia.

But that was before high school. Before Dad’s arrest.

Finn clears his throat, and it’s then that I realize my face is visible in the corner of the mirror above the desk. Our gazes meet, and I drop my eyes, my cheeks flaming. No problem, he just witnessed me inspecting his entire backside. Easy recovery from that one.

“Want me to find a couch to sleep on?” he says with an audible smirk.

I shoot him a look, not sure if that comment is coming from whatever he read in my expression or an actual place of compassion. Regardless, he and I both know how Dahlia would react to me making the best man homeless.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “No. It's fine. I've slept in worse conditions.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Hard to believe. Considering that reaction.” Finn points to my folded arms and hunched shoulders.

“I once did a corporate retreat in a yurt.” I drop my hands. “Show me the room, Gallagher.”

The tour takes four seconds because the cabin is the size of a generous parking space. There’s the bed he claimed and a second twin along the inside wall, close enough that if we both reach out in the night, our hands will meet in the six inches of international waters between them.

There’s a desk the width of a laptop, a small closet, and a bathroom you access by a strip of floor so narrow that when I step toward it, and he steps out of it at the same time, we do a full-body splashdown in the doorway. His chest to my shoulder, my hip to his thigh. Warmth coming off him like a radiant heater. We freeze, then both overcorrect, and I end up tripping backward, nearly taking out the goosehead lamp attached to the wall paneling.

Finn’s eyes are dark behind his lashes. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say anything. Just stalks past me to his bed.

“Thanks for the tour,” I say.

“No prob.” He doesn’t turn around.