Can't Help Falling

by Cara Bastone

  Well, maybe she had a great reason. But he’d be damned if he’d ask.

  “Where’s Fin tonight?” Mary asked, looking up from the puzzle she and Matty were dominating on the kitchen table.

  Tyler could have kissed her. Not wanting to appear too eager to hear the answer, he walked to the fridge and helped himself to a beer.

  “She...had other plans,” Via replied. Was it his imagination or had Via’s eyes flicked over to him?

  “She had that date,” Kylie called from the front door as she came in from the cold. Tyler did everything in his power not to freeze and cock an ear. He really did not want to look like a wolf scenting an enemy on the wind. He wanted any mentions of Fin and dates to leave his fur decidedly unruffled. “Remember, Mary? She told us about it this week at the store?” Kylie came into the kitchen, her nose pink and Tyler’s red stocking cap clashing gorgeously with her coppery hair. She was holding a fresh bottle of olive oil in her hand.

  “Thanks for going to get that, Ky,” Seb said, taking the olive oil from her and immediately shoving a cup of hot cider into her hands. “Even if you don’t want to drink it, just hold it in your hands for a minute—I’m getting cold just looking at you.”

  “He always says that to me too,” Matty groused without looking up from the puzzle. “It doesn’t make sense. You can’t get cold from looking.”

  “You can when you’re looking at pink toes on freezing-cold linoleum,” Seb replied in an equally grousy tone.

  “I’m sensing you’ve had this conversation before,” Kylie said, a small smile on her face as she sipped her cider and went to the table with Matty and Mary, peering down at the puzzle as she sat.

  The date! Tyler wanted to shout. Am I the only one who hasn’t lost my mind here? Why isn’t anyone asking about this freaking date?

  But alas, no one asked. Either all of them already had the info on said date, or they just plain didn’t care.

  Who didn’t care about the dates their friends went on? he demanded angrily in his head as he helped set the table, carted plates of food into the dining room and then as he stabbed at the manicotti Via had prepared. Everyone else chatted happily over dinner while Tyler stewed. What kind of friends were these people that they didn’t even ask? Fin could be on a date with a psycho right now and they’d all just be dipping bread in olive oil and quizzing Matty on state capitals like a bunch of...like a bunch of normal people who weren’t in danger of being much too interested in Fin, he eventually had to admit to himself.

  There wasn’t something wrong with every other person at this table. There was something wrong with him. Because Fin was a thirtysomething woman on a date. It wasn’t a national headline, for god sakes. It barely even registered on the gossip Richter scale. The only reason it mattered to Tyler was because he was the idiot who was somehow still letting shit like this matter.

  Even though she’d told him in no uncertain terms that they weren’t and would never be a match. Even though she was only hanging out with him these days because she and Kylie were becoming closer. Even though she laughed and ate cake and drank beer and laughed and smiled and blushed and locked gazes with him with those huge, gorgeously icy eyes of hers and—Wait!

  It was that last part that was getting him all confused over manicotti. It was the last part that had him stewing over her going on a date. It was that last part that he needed to freaking forget about. Because it was that part that was screwing with his life.

  Tyler knew, even seconds after he had the thought, that he wasn’t going to be able to forget it. She was just too Fin to forget it. And nights like they’d had last weekend were too rare in a person’s life. Nights that seemed like they were painted in a different palette of colors. So. Yeah. He wasn’t going to forget it. But that didn’t mean he had to keep on clutching the balloon string either. He could let it go. Let it breeze away. He could even wave goodbye if he was feeling sentimental.

  He stabbed at more manicotti, trying not to frown.

  No matter what, he had to let it go.

  * * *

  FOR ONE JOLTING SECOND, Fin thought the text was from Tyler.

  How’s the date?

  But no. Of course, it wasn’t. It was from Via. She was checking in that the date she’d talked Fin into taking wasn’t a monumental disaster.

  Luckily, said date was currently in the restroom so she didn’t feel like a complete ass answering a text at the table. She thought about her answer for a moment, looking around the cozy little restaurant. It was a dark pub in Brooklyn Heights that he’d chosen for their date. She liked the stubby, droll candles on each table, the saloon doors that separated one part of the restaurant from the other. She liked the stuffy portraits of famous people in thick gold frames that lined the walls. And she’d really, really liked her thirty-dollar burger. But the date?

  Shrugging to herself, Fin typed, Good.

  Wow, Via texted back. Sounds like he’s really knocked your socks off.

  It was dumb that even the word socks made Fin’s pulse feel like it was racing backward for just a second. She thought of strong hands on her ankles, tugging her just so, competently stripping an article of clothing from her body. She thought of what it had felt like to wear an article of Ty’s clothing, how that pair of his wool socks had looked draped over the rest of her clothes in her hamper later that night. She scowled. How irritating. “The man doesn’t have a monopoly on socks,” Fin mumbled to herself. “Socks are a normal thing.”

  “What’s that?” Donovan asked as he came around the back of her chair, his hand grazing her shoulders, as he slid back into his seat.

  “Oh. Nothing. Everything all right?” He’d been gone for over ten minutes. Which was kind of a long time to be in the bathroom on a date.

  “Yes.” His maple-brown eyes tightened with chagrin as he traced a hand over his dark, buzzed head. “Look. I wasn’t in the bathroom. I was taking a work call. I know that’s a really shitty thing to do on a date.”

  “Yes,” Fin agreed immediately, making him smile. “That is a shitty thing to do on a date. But Winnie told me just how busy you are. I’ve been warned.”

  Winnie was one of Fin’s clients and apparently one of Donovan’s good friends. She’d been the person to set them up.

  “Right. But I’m still sorry I had to take that call. It’s a sad day when I’m too busy to pay attention to a beautiful woman at dinner.”

  Fin knew it was a compliment. But there was something about his wording that got under her skin. Did that mean that if she were an unbeautiful woman it wouldn’t be a sad day if he were too busy to pay attention to her?

  Was she just looking for a reason to be annoyed by this guy? Was it a bad sign that she found his bad-boy attractiveness kind of grating? Would it have killed him to iron his shirt before this date?

  “I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” she said, bolting from the table and noting the fact that he hadn’t stood up when she had. She marched into the bathroom and pulled up Via’s phone number. Leaning back onto the counter, she dialed the number.

  “You were right,” Fin said without preamble the second Via answered. “I mean, you never actually said it out loud, but I knew you were thinking it. And. Yeah. You’re right.”

  “Uh. Hold on.” There were the sounds of chatting in the background that faded away when Via closed a door on her end. Fin remembered that her friends were all together right now at Seb and Via’s. She’d shirked on the invitation in order to go on this dud of a date. “Sorry. Okay, go on. What am I right about?”

  “I’m into Ty.”

  There was dead silence on the line for an excruciating ten seconds and then a victorious, very unladylike whoop that Via generally only made when she was romping the competition during a softball game. “I knew it.”

  “I just said you knew. We both know you knew it. Now can we please move on to what a huge problem this
is?”

  “Uh. Not seeing many problems here, Finny.”

  Fin hopped down from where she was sitting on the counter and listened to the sound of her winter boots clomping around the tile bathroom. “How about the fact that I’m on a date with another man right now?”

  “Well, see, Fin, there’s this thing called dumping someone? It tends to work really well when you want to stop having dinner with them.”

  “No. That’s not the point.” Fin tossed her braid over her shoulder, ignoring her own reflection as she paced past the mirror. She didn’t need any additional assistance confirming the fact that she did, in fact, look like was losing her marbles. “The point is that this guy, Donovan, is really hot. Brown eyes. Short, dark hair. Deep voice.”

  “Just your type.”

  “Right. But I can’t stop thinking about how his shirt isn’t ironed.”

  “Since when do you care if a guy irons his shirt or not?”

  “Exactly,” Fin hissed, scaring the crap out of an older woman who’d just swung through the door. The woman averted her gaze immediately and scurried into a stall.

  Fin sighed, tried to calm down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have never, in my life, cared about ironed shirts, or hair gel, or plaid welcome mats, or matching cuff links, or opening cab doors or any crap like that.”

  “And then you went and got a crush on Tyler and you found you kind of have a taste for it.”

  “Via, we both know that Ty is a piece of work. He’s douchey, he’s—” But suddenly, Fin found that she actually didn’t have a list of complaints against Tyler. She had a list of fictional complaints against him. Things that she’d thought were true when she’d turned him down for a date. And maybe they had been true back then. But in the last few months of getting to know him, had she ever really seen him be selfish or thoughtless or douchey or entitled? With the exception of the floppy blond hair and the plaid doormat? No.

  “But...” Via prompted.

  “But he’s a really caring person and he shows it in a hundred different ways, and I am not interested in a man who’s not even going to iron a shirt for a date with me. And that’s Tyler’s fault.”

  “You’re blaming him for raising your standards?”

  “I don’t want standards! I don’t even want a man! I just want to—”

  “Finny, at some point you’re going to realize that having a true connection with a man, the right man, isn’t the end of the world. Maybe, just maybe, Ty’s presence in your life doesn’t prevent you from having the life you’re supposed to have. Maybe it provides you with the life you’re supposed to have. If he’s really the man you’re supposed to be with, then he’s going to help you build a family, not stand in the way of it.”

  “Via,” Fin said, sagging back against the counter and ignoring the curious stares of the other bathroom-goer who was just now washing her hands. “This is a lot.”

  Via laughed sheepishly. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry. Some of us get a little self-righteous when we’re in love. I’m just saying that when I was falling in love with Seb, I had all these reasons why I shouldn’t, and your advice was basically for me to get out of my own way and let the good times roll. And that’s my advice for you. Dump the wrinkly hottie and quit beating yourself up about having a crush on a really good guy.”

  “A really good guy who isn’t my type at all,” Fin said, because she was feeling obstinate.

  “Types only mean something until you really get to know the person. And then they don’t mean shit.”

  Fin laughed despite herself. It was always something when Via DeRosa took it upon herself to drop a curse word. “Good point.”

  “As always.”

  Fin rolled her eyes. “As always.”

  “I heard you roll your eyes.”

  “Love you, sister.”

  “Love you too.”

  They hung up and Fin, alone in the bathroom, finally turned to the mirror to really take a look at herself. She looked past the bright, befuddled, wild expression on her face and let her eyes fall to her jewelry. She gripped at the pendant she wore. She could barely remember putting this on. It was a heavy black stone that hung from her neck. Obsidian. A protection stone. And on her ears, two onyx studs, also black, also meant for protection. She wore her silver bangles with a matching black tourmaline bracelet on each wrist. Protection, protection, protection. And then her clothing. Not a stitch of color on her. Black tunic, black leggings, black winter boots.

  She was basically Tyler’s heavy-velvet-curtain metaphor in human form, blocking all light and possibility. She looked down at herself and saw no joy. No anticipation. No excitement of any kind.

  She’d dressed for battle.

  Why the hell was she even here?

  Turning on her heel, Fin marched back to the table, saw that the plates had been cleared and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Look, Fin,” Donovan started as she slid into her seat.

  “I’m not available,” she interrupted him. “I’m sorry. I know that Winnie said I was. She thought I was. But my situation changed over the last few weeks. I have feelings for someone, and I’m only here in order to avoid seeing him tonight. So. Yeah. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

  “Wow. Um...” Donovan narrowed his eyes and quickly looked down at the table, like he had a dirty look to give, but didn’t want to give it to her. “Okay.”

  “You seem...” Fin started, but then stopped. He seemed what? Great? They’d talked about nothing, he’d ditched her to make a phone call and then she’d ditched him to make a phone call. He didn’t seem great and neither did she. They seemed like two velvet curtains who went out to dinner thinking they might have velvet-curtain sex sometime in the future.

  How romantic.

  Donovan chuckled when she didn’t finish her thought. “It’s okay. Really. You don’t have to stroke my ego. No harm, no foul. He’s a lucky guy, whoever he is.” Donovan finished his wine in two gulps, setting the glass down with a clink. “Can I just ask though, if you like him so much, why are you avoiding him? Is he married or something?”

  Fin laughed because it surprised her so much, the idea of Tyler being married to someone. She’d simply never thought about that possibility before. Tyler getting married. Tyler in a black suit, navy eyes, pulling perfectly folded vows out of his coat pocket.

  “I feel sick,” she muttered, covering her eyes.

  “Ah. So he is married.”

  “He’s not married. He’s just not my type.”

  “Types are bullshit.”

  She blinked up at Donovan in surprise. “You’re the second person to say that to me in less than five minutes.”

  He gave her a droll look. “Have a heart-to-heart through the bathroom stall, did you?”

  She pursed her lips. “I called my friend while I was in there.”

  He held his hand up for the check. “We both snuck away from a date to make phone calls. Are you sure we aren’t meshing? I kind of think we’re a match made in heaven.”

  She laughed this time, liking Donovan a lot more now that she wasn’t going to have to see him again.

  “Trust me, we’re not.”

  Donovan handed over his card after a quick perusal of the check. “You’re the psychic. I suppose I’ll just have to trust you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Is my purple bag still in your guest room?

  FIN LOOKED DOWN at her phone and again experienced that disorienting up and down of thinking a text was from Tyler and then realizing it wasn’t.

  Normally, Fin wouldn’t leave her brew on the kitchen stove unattended. It was a special tincture she was making for Matty, who’d come down with a stomach bug and still wasn’t 100 percent. But Fin could sense the palpable anxiety emanating from Kylie’s text and she figured that if there were such a thing as a purp
le bag emergency, Kylie was currently in the throes of it.

  She jogged to the bedroom, checked and then jogged back, eyeing the tincture critically and deciding that no harm had been done.

  Yup. It’s here. Do you need it tonight?

  Instead of texting back, her phone rang.

  “Hey,” Fin answered.

  “I’m such an idiot,” Kylie groaned.

  “For leaving a bag behind? Trust me, little sister, that does not an idiot make.”

  “No. I’m not an idiot for that. Well, yes, I am. But mostly I’m an idiot for thinking this stupid trip was going to be fun.”

  “Ah.” Kylie’s class was taking a two-night trip to Albany to see the state capitol, among other things. And though Kylie had been pretty excited about it not two weeks ago, ever since they’d gotten their room assignments, she’d been a wreck. Apparently, she’d realized that Anthony was her only friend, and she had nothing in common with any of the girls with whom she’d be rooming. And she didn’t have the purple bag. Which was, apparently, the last straw. “Okay, well, I don’t think the lack of a purple bag will ruin the trip.”

  “No, but my lack of having any friends will.”

  “You have friends, Ky.”

  “I have old-people friends. No offense. But you and Mary are not going to be on this trip with me. It’s just going to be me and a bunch of catty fifteen-year-old girls talking about bras and blow jobs and TV shows I’ve never even heard of.”

  Fin opened her mouth to deny the probability of those actually being the topics of conversation, and then she reflected on her own teenage years and conceded that Kylie was probably right.

  “Ky, you don’t have to make friends with all of them. Just make friends with one of them. You said you’re staying in a room with three other girls. I guarantee that at least one of them would rather talk about books or movies than blow jobs.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Bring your headphones and your Kindle. Worst comes to worst, you’ll just end up being the antisocial chick who is super into music and reading. That’s not the worst rep a girl could have, all right?”