by Emelia Blair
The declaration is childish to say the least but Finn pauses and meets my gaze, a softness in his eyes. “Knowing you…you would have.” He reaches out and caresses my face, a curious awe on his face. “You’re just that kind of person.”
My cheeks flame and I duck my head, clearing my throat. “There’s hot chocolate further down the path. It’s fifty cents per cup.”
We make our way down the pathway and it takes us longer than it should because Finn wants to look at every little thing. At some point, he takes my mitten covered hand and holds it in his bare one.
I frown at that and then take off my other mitten. “Put this on and keep you other hand in your pocket.”
He gives me an amused look. “It’s fine.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. “Don’t argue with me.”
He grins. “Yes, Ma’am.” And he puts on the mitten.
We walk together like that, our free hands in our pockets and our mitten covered hands held together loosely. I try not to think about it. I try to prevent my self control, my determination from eroding, but my barriers are slowly crumbling and I’m scrambling to fix them.
If he had been arrogant and haughty, hating him would have been so much easier. Yes, Finn can be arrogant but sweet, dominating but tender. He looks at me like he wants nothing better than to devour me whole and yet, he holds my hand, kisses my cheek, teases me, playfully. He makes me laugh and he acts foolish to get a reaction out of me. And under all that lies a man with sharp instincts and who’s going to drive me out of business.
I can’t hate him but I could have tried harder in staying away from him. But he tracks me down like a bloodhound with a scent, popping up when I least expect it, forcing me to spend time with him, time that I genuinely enjoy.
I sigh, quietly.
This is a losing battle and there’s a good chance that my heart will be torn to shreds by the time this is over.
“How do you spend Christmas now?” I break the silence that is making my heart hurt with all these painful thoughts.
His hand tightens on mine as he answers, “Traveling, mostly. I still attend the Annual Ball that my grandmother throws; I have to. But I just move around. Last year, I went to Sydney, enjoyed the sun and waves for a few days.”
“You went alone?”
He glances at me, smirking. “I can hardly drag my grandmother there. She’d be scandalized by the half naked women and men on the beach.”
“I meant, did you go with a girlfriend? It was Christmas.”
Finn stares ahead of him, studying the lit pathway. “No. The women I usually date,” he hesitates, shooting me a look. “I don’t think you’d approve of them very much.”
I raise my brows. “I don’t think I’m in a position where I can be approving or disapproving anybody in your life.”
His lips tug up in a boyish grin. “I meant they weren’t like you. I was never friends with them.”
I stop in my tracks, giving him a bewildered look that is laced with a hint of happiness. “You consider us friends?”
Finn studies me. “Well, no. Not just friends. But definitely friends first.”
I smile slowly as I say softly, “Yeah. We are friends at the very least.”
Finn gives me that odd look again. It makes me feel like he has something to say but he’s not quite sure how to put it into words.
“What about you?” He comes to stand in front of me, looking down at me. His cold naked hand brushes back an errant curl from my face. “How did you spend your last Christmas?”
“Like I always do,” I murmur, very much aware of how close to me he’s standing. “There was a Christmas Eve dinner at our house. Danny and his family came as well as Lucia with hers. Jerry showed up. People kept dropping by through the night. We sang carols, although we were quite drunk at some point and somebody started singing Taylor Swift and we all thought it was a carol.” I snicker at the memory. “Danny kept following me around with mistletoe because he had bet Lucia that he could kiss me one hundred times and she had paid me ten bucks to keep it less than that. We had Christmas lunch together, me and Aunt Helen and Aunt Vee. I made pancakes for breakfast and we opened gifts. People dropped by and we went visiting. It’s how it always is.”
A wistful look appears in Finn’s eyes that he quickly masks. “That sounds lovely.”
Recalling how lonely and miserable his Christmas used to be, I’m suddenly grateful that I’ve always been surrounded by family and friends. “What about the rest of your family?” I ask, curiously.
Finn curls his hand around mine and we begin walking once again. He’s quiet for a moment and I wonder if I’ve touched upon a sensitive subject.
“My dad passed away when I was thirteen and it was just me and my mam till she got cancer a few months later. My paternal grandmother took me in after mam passed away. It’s just me and her now.”
His story makes me sad. At least when my parents passed away, I was too young for it to have much of an impact on me. He had been older. I can imagine a wild amber eyed teenager, filled with grief, forced to move away from his home, lonely and scared, missing the presence of his parents.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, gripping his hand tightly, wishing I could go back in time and wipe the tears off of the face of the young heartbroken boy. “It must have been horrible.” My voice sounds a little thick.
He gives me a startled glance. “Are you crying?”
“No!” I protest, trying to discreetly blink away the wetness that had gathered in my eyes. “It’s just the wind is too cold. That’s why—”
“There’s no wind.”
“Well, there was, a few minutes ago,” I say, stubbornly.
Finn stops walking and makes me face him, his hands coming up to my cup my face, the look on his face, unbearably tender. “This is the first time somebody’s cried for me in years.”
“I told you—” I try to cover up my moment of weakness.
He lets out a small laugh. “Yes, yes. It was the non existent wind.” He lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me softly.
As his cold lips press against mine, my eyes flutter shut, and I let out a small sigh. Like always, there’s a hum of electricity running between us, this vibrant spark that I can’t deny no matter how much I want to.
His lips move against mine, slowly, and he nibbles on my lower lip, tugging on it, playfully, before nudging my lips apart and tasting me. A moan escapes me when he sucks on my tongue, exploring my mouth, committing my taste to memory, and I lean into him, helpless against this kind of affection from him. It’s like time is standing still around us as he holds my face between his hands like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held and his mouth worships me.
My heart is quivering in my chest and I don’t know why my eyes are wet but there’s something undeniably significant about this moment. I’ve never felt this way about another person and even as my mouth moves against his, deep inside another barrier falls and crumbles to dust.
I’m both terrified and exhilarated.
My hands curl up on his jacket and I hold on for dear life as he savages something inside of me and I let him. My emotions are all over the place and when he finally releases my lips, I rest my head on his chest, not ready to meet his gaze that has a habit of entrapping me. My breathing is harsh while his is just as unsteady and for a moment, it feels like he’s trembling.
“You’re a dangerous woman, Clara Winter,” he whispers into my hair.
I think to myself that the same could be said of him. But I don’t say anything.
We stand like that for a long time and I can smell his cologne, a scent that I have only ever been able to relate to him, a smooth woodsy scent that is pleasant and not overpowering in the least.
Finally, I clear my throat and say, “How about that hot chocolate?”
I raise my head and meet his gaze.
A troubled look passes in his eyes before it vanishes and is replaced by a grin. “If it makes you stop crying.”
I scowl, and stepping back, I punch him on the arm. “I wasn’t crying.”
He laughs and then drags me closer till I’m tucked into his side, and we start walking. When I try to pull away, he tightens his grip on me, complaining, “I’m cold.”
“You’re such a liar,” I grumble but make no further attempts to shake him loose.
Since it’s late, the stand for the hot beverages is minutes away from being packed up but we still manage to get two drinks. Choosing to sit on the bench nearby, we warm our hands and drink the hot chocolate.
After a while, Finn says, lazily, “I much prefer the one you make.”
I snort, “That’s handmade and this is from the machine. Of course, there would be a difference.”
He turns his head to look at me. “Why are you always so defensive around me?”
I flush. “I’m not.”
He raises his brow. “Yeah, you are. It’s like you’re waiting for me to hurt you or something.”
“Don’t be absurd.” My voice doesn’t sound very convincing.
He studies me. “You really think I would hurt you?”
“You barely know me,” I retort, uneasily.
He’s quiet for few seconds then says, “I know that you’re a workaholic and that you love your diner. I know you like to bake or clean when you’re upset or stressed out. I know that you often skip dinner because you tend to forget to eat. You hate apples and yet you make the best apple desserts in town. You’re adored by the townspeople and you have a soft heart even when you try to act all prickly.” His voice is soft as he finishes, “And I know that what’s between us scares you.”
I swallow, my mouth dry, and stare down at my cup. “T-that’s a lot of assumpt—”
“Don’t,” Finn says, seriously. “Don’t try to belittle this. I have eyes, Clara. Ever since our date, you’ve made sure never to be alone with me. You’ve put up barrier after barrier. You come back late or sometimes just sleep in the office. You’re working yourself to the bone. Is it because of what I said? Is this because I’m thinking of setting up a branch of Expresso House right across the diner? Am I now the enemy?”
My mouth trembles and I purse my lips into a thin line, trying to hide my conflicted feelings. “Of course not.”
“You’re lying,” he says, flatly.
My eyes flare up and my jaw tightens. “Watch it, pal.”
Suddenly, he’s grabbing my face and I see a cold anger on his, as he says in a taunting tone, “So the only time you’ll be honest is when my hands are on you? That’s not exactly a problem for me.” Gone is the charming Irishman with the laughing eyes and in his place is a man with icy eyes and a slow burning temper that is scalding in its intensity.
“Don’t try to intimidate me,” I warn even as my blood runs cold and I feel cornered.
A snarling wolf.
“Darlin’ I couldn’t intimidate you if I tried. But you sure love to push me around when you feel like it, ” he says, mockingly.
I feel the pain that is always lingering near the surface, these days, rise up and my throat tightens up, even as I force the tears back.
Bastard.
I push his hands away and stand up, my hot chocolate spilling on my leggings. I’m blind to the way it burns, my heart aching so badly that it’s hard to breathe. “I knew I shouldn’t have come,” I say with great difficulty. “I’m leaving.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me back, “Your leg—?”
I yank my hand back, feeling the rush of hot tears. “Don’t touch me!”
I turn my head, not wanting him to see the way my eyes are shimmering against my will, and try to leave.
He swears in Irish and drags me back into his arms this time. “I’m sorry. Damn it. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”
For someone who rarely ever cries, this is twice in one night and I have only him to blame for my haywire emotions. “I’m not crying!” I struggle in his arms, only to be held even more firmly.
“Then why is my jacket wet?” He demands.
“It’s your jacket. Take some responsibility for it,” I retort, refusing to admit it.
A reluctant laugh is torn from his lips. “I wish you’d let me take some responsibility for you.”
My struggles are futile and I realize it, finally growing still.
Finn looks down at me. “If I let you go, do you promise not to run away?”
“What am I, five?” I mutter with dignity.
He gives me a deadpan look. “That’s not a promise I hear.”
I stay silent, mutinously.
He stares at me and warns, “You run and I drag your pretty ass back. Are we clear?”
“Asshole.”
“Keep the dirty talk for when I’m fucking you, Darlin’,” he says with a smirk.
Heat stains my cheeks but I can’t come up with any sort of retort.
He finally releases me.
I stumble back. “I don’t like you.”
“Sure you do,” he studies my face and looks relieved.
I huff. “I wasn’t crying.”
“You were about to and it was my fault,” he admits ruefully.
I turn my gaze away and rub my hand on the spot where the hot chocolate had fallen. It’s a little tender but the pain is fading away.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” I lie.
From the look on his face, it is obvious that he doesn’t believe me.
“Just a little,” I amend my statement. “It’ll be fine. Honestly. It wasn’t that hot to begin with.”
Finn runs his hands through his hair, looking frustrated. “I’m not trying to sabotage your business, Clara. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”
I blink. “W-What?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at me dead in the eye. “Everything you’ve built is based on customer service. I can’t compete with that. Your diner is like a home away from home for the people who come there. It’s a gathering place for friends. Somewhere, they can finish their food and get up to help you out with the extra work. Where they can just drag in an extra chair and not feel awkward at all. You give them an experience that my chain of coffee shops can’t. It’s like a community center. Everybody is welcome and taken care of. They come there for you and what only you can give them.” He lets out a sigh. “I don’t know how you don’t see that. It doesn’t matter how cramped it gets sometimes, people still want to come to your diner.”
His words make my heart flutter and listening to someone who is essentially an outsider, talk about my business with such praise, I feel a sense of pride, as if I’ve actually achieved something.
Finn grimaces. “Besides, it’s not like it’s a done deal. The sale went through because my business partner wanted to do this. I came here to see if this was indeed worth investing in. I haven’t drawn any conclusions yet.”
My lips part in shock as I ask, “A-Are you serious?”
He flashes a faint half smile. “Of course. Do you think I personally come and check out each place before setting up shop there? That’s for my marketing team to do. I just wasn’t sure initially and now, I think it’s a good idea but maybe the location by itself might not be financially sound. I’m the one who has too strong of a competitor.”
His words shouldn’t make me this happy but they do.
He must have seen the way my eyes just lit up and he chuckles dryly. “Heartless little thing.”
I tuck my tongue in my cheek and try to look a little severe by drawing my brows together.
This just makes him laugh as he smooths my forehead with his hand. “The layout of your diner right now is great. Don’t change anything.”
I look up at him. “I’ll think about it.”
He raises his eyes heavenward and then puts his hands on my shoulders, “Can I convince you to spend some time thinking about something else as well?”
I stare at him warily. “What?”
“Us.”
I bit my low
er lip, “There is no—”
“You know,” he begins, nonchalantly, cutting me off. “When my father came to Dublin, it was to meet a friend of his after ten years. He was going to be there for two days and then fly back. They met at a pub and the waitress who served them was my mother. He fell in love with her almost instantly. He pursued her, won her heart, and never left Dublin.”
My legs feel weak as I hear what he’s implying. “W-Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugs his wide shoulders. “Just something to think about, Darlin’.”
Chapter 7
Finn’s little story doesn’t leave my head for the next three days and I ponder over what he was trying to say. There is the obvious answer but I’m almost afraid to consider that. Instead, I decide to drive myself insane, racking my brains over it.
“Aunt Vee, are you sure it’s here?” I move through the attic, looking around. “I don’t see any box marked ‘Clara’s Hearth’ in here.”
“It’s there, somewhere,” my aunt’s voice comes through the phone, irritated. “You’re not looking hard enough.”
“If I look any harder, my eyes will fall out,” I snap.
There’s a terrible silence on the other end which has me scrambling to apologize, “But what do I know? I’m half blind. You have fun with your friends. Never mind me!” I end the call hastily, and stare down at the phone like it’s personally responsible for me bring rude to the one person who can actually make me suffer for it.
The attic is surprisingly clean, courtesy of my aunt who hates and abhors even a little bit of dust. I look around but don’t find anything.
“It was here, last year,” I say loudly, scratching my head. “I know I saw it a few months ago. Where are you?”
A sound from the trapdoor that leads to the entrance of the attic has me looking over my shoulder, “Aunt Helen?”
Heavy footsteps and then a familiar head pops out from the open latch. “Oh, hello,” Finn looks surprised to see me. “I thought I heard something. What are you doing here?”