“Good for her. You apologize?”
“Yes.”
“And she forgave you?” Shep asked as he forked up a bite of whipped cream–covered pancakes.
Finn thought back to the moment. “Not in so many words, but she accepted my truce.”
“So what now? The white flag is raised and you stop jumping down her throat every time you see her?”
Was that all that he wanted? Just a cease-fire? “What other option is there? It’s not like there’s a future or anything.”
“Why not?”
“A, she’s not staying. And B, I’m not interested in a relationship.”
“You know, you could just be her friend. She’s going to be here indefinitely, doesn’t know anyone, and is having a bit of a tough time. Maybe you could try that as opposed to just getting in her bed again.”
“Really?” Finn said that one word slowly, and laced it with a whole hell of a lot of skepticism. “Was that your plan when Hannah came back to town? Just be friends? No sex?” He cut into his pancakes before spearing another bite.
“No, my plan with Hannah was to get her back. Finn, from the moment that woman walked back into my life she was mine. There was no chance in hell I was going to give up until she realized it, too.”
Something uncomfortable settled in Finn’s gut at Shep’s little speech. The food he was chewing going down with an uneasy swallow. It wasn’t just a relationship that Shep had wanted when it came to Hannah coming back to town, his brother had wanted marriage, wanted forever.
The thought of a long commitment period made Finn’s lungs constrict and his head spin. The thought of marriage? Well, that was like he was suffocating.
Nope. Not for him. He didn’t want it. He was better off alone.
Bullshit. And there was Owen’s voice, echoing loud and clear in his head again. He ignored it…or at least tried to.
“What do you want, Finn?”
“I have no fucking clue.”
“Well, I suggest you figure it out.” Shep made that task sound so simple as he speared another bite of pancakes with his fork.
Finn knew it was going to be far from simple.
* * *
St. Sebastian’s was the one and only Catholic church in Mirabelle. They had three Mass times on Sunday morning: eight, ten, and twelve. As Brie had spent another late night going through stuff in the spare bedroom/office, she opted to go to the ten.
When she’d opened her eyes that morning she couldn’t help but notice that some of the massive weight had lifted from her shoulders. Sure, there was still the stress of being in Bethelda’s house and dealing with everything, but the truth was out there and not everyone hated her.
There was also the fact that she wasn’t feuding with Finn anymore. He’d apologized and she didn’t for one second doubt that it had been genuine. She also didn’t doubt that there was still something between them. She’d be a filthy liar if she said she hadn’t thought about their kiss on the floor of the living room.
Not that it meant anything was going to happen again. She wasn’t delusional. The very last thing she needed to do was get tangled up in anything or anyone in Mirabelle. That being said, she also knew she shouldn’t isolate herself. She’d never done well being confined to the same four walls, thus her going to church. That and she wanted to experience something that was part of her history. Bethelda had gone to this church and so had her grandparents.
She got there about ten minutes early and a handful of people were outside milling around on the front steps. When she walked inside it was to find that only about half of the seats were filled. There were ten pews on both sides of the center aisle, and each looked like it could seat from eight to ten people. She found herself a spot on the right and toward the center, wanting to be more in the middle of things than on the outskirts.
Brie wasn’t what could be described as a practicing Catholic; the last time she’d gone to church was over the holidays. She’d been with her parents in Spain and they’d gone to Christmas Eve Mass at the Basilica in Barcelona.
To say that St. Sebastian’s was much, much smaller would be an understatement. The Basilica had a capacity of nine thousand, St. Sebastian’s was closer to a hundred and ninety. The little, whitewashed, red-doored, steepled building didn’t have any of the opulent, gothic architecture, but it was still beautiful in its simplicity.
The crucifix above the altar was different from anything she’d seen, the cross made of driftwood. And then there were the windows. Stunning stained glass, each one depicting a different scene from the Bible. Crisp, clear sunshine shone through, and the colors danced on the mahogany hardwood floors and white walls. Brie got lost in the one closest to her showing Jesus washing the feet of the disciples.
Before she knew it, the choir started singing a hymn and the congregation was standing up. She looked around to see that the church was almost filled, just about every single space taken up by a person.
The priest got to the altar, turning to face his congregation and waiting for the hymn to end. He was probably in his sixties, with white hair and a white beard. Brie wondered how long he’d been there, wondered if he’d known her grandparents.
Petunia and Harold Grimshaw had probably been married in this church…Bethelda had most likely been baptized here. Brie imagined a baby Bethelda, dressed in a white christening gown, crying out as the water touched her forehead. It resembled the picture that Brie had seen many times from her own baptism. She just switched out the background to match this church.
For her, buildings held memories, and the people still existed here. They’d breathed here, lived here. The Grimshaws—all of them—had sat in these pews, warmed these seats.
When everyone went to sit again, her hands moved to the edge of the pew, her fingers curving around the wood and pressing in. It was like she could touch the memory of them here, a memory that wasn’t her own.
It was then, right there in that moment, that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she’d made the correct choice by coming to Mirabelle. There was so much she had to figure out, so much she wanted to learn.
She also knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but it would be worth it.
* * *
There were a number of things that Finn had taken up since moving back to Mirabelle, and going to Sunday Mass with his Grandma El and his parents was one of them. It wasn’t just him that now went regularly, either. Shep, Hannah, and baby Nate were all loaded into the pews as well.
Now, just because Finn went to Mass didn’t exactly mean he was in good standing with the church. He hadn’t gone to confession since he was fifteen and then there were his extracurricular activities. Nevertheless he was still there every Sunday.
After breakfast, he and Shep headed over to St. Sebastian’s, meeting up with everyone else in the parking lot. His mother had given him a rather severe frown when she’d seen him, the question clear in her eyes.
“I fixed it, Mom.”
“Good.” She nodded, linking her arm with his and letting him lead her inside.
So there he stood, Ella on one side and his mother on the other, as everyone listened to Father Duncan read the Gospel. It was then that it happened, a baby on the other side of the church started to cry. When the dad sidestepped out of the pew, it opened up the view to the next row. That was when Finn’s eyes landed on a head with unmistakable mahogany hair.
Sunshine streamed in from the stained-glass window behind Brie, highlighting the red tones among all of the deep rich brown in her hair. It was down and around her shoulders, and all he could think about was sinking his fingers between silky strands again.
Someone cleared their throat behind Finn, and he pulled his focus from Brie. It was then that he realized everyone was sitting again…except for him. He glanced over his shoulder as he sat down to find Shep smirking at him. As he pulled his attention forward he saw that his mother was giving him an appraising look. Her eyes moved past him and in the direction he’d just been starin
g. He knew the second she spotted Brie because her eyebrows rose high.
Not wanting to see whatever look his mother was about to give him, Finn immediately turned to Father Duncan. For the next fifteen minutes he tried his hardest to focus on whatever the man was saying while keeping his eyes resolutely forward.
He failed. Miserably.
Everything going on around him became white noise, and more than once he got a sharp poke from Shep because he wasn’t standing, sitting, or kneeling like he was supposed to be. If at the end of the hour he didn’t have a bruise on his back—his brother kept poking the exact same spot—and a crick in his neck from straining to look forward, he’d be shocked. Not only that, but he heard nothing except the thoughts in his head. Well, his thoughts that were prompted by stuff that Shep had said at breakfast.
So what now? The white flag is raised and you stop jumping down her throat every time you see her?
Well, he did want to be down her throat, he just didn’t want to jump there. No, he wanted to kiss the hell out of her. Feel her lips under his. Taste her mouth. Hear her moan…
Yeah, that wasn’t a good track to go on while sitting in a place of God. So instead he moved on to another thing that Shep had said.
You know, you could just be her friend.
Friend. Friend? He’d never in his life been friends with someone that he’d slept with…except Rebecca. She might’ve been his girlfriend when they’d had sex for the first time, but she’d been his best friend, too.
And now he was on a track that he really didn’t want to be on. Thinking about Rebecca was always a bad choice. Always. So, moving on to something else.
What do you want, Finn?
He hadn’t meant to turn and look to where Brie sat, but before he even realized what he was doing, he had his eyes on her again. Her elbows rested on the back of the pew in front of her as she knelt, and her hands were clasped together as she looked forward. She’d pushed her hair back and over her shoulder, giving him an unobstructed side profile of her face.
God she was beautiful.
What did he want? Her. He wanted her, and he was so over fighting it. Over the stupid excuses he’d tried to come up with. As fate kept proving, he wasn’t going to be able to stay away from her while she was in Mirabelle. The thing was, he didn’t want to stay away. He wanted to see her in whatever way he could.
* * *
The sunshine outside of the church was almost blinding when Brie walked outside. She reached for her purse on her shoulder, digging around for her sunglasses as she walked down the stairs. As her eyes were focused down—both paying attention to every step that she took and trying to shelter her eyes from the sun—she didn’t see the solid wall of man that moved into her path.
“Oomph.” The startled sound escaped her lips as firm hands landed on her shoulders, steadying her.
Brie would know those hands anywhere. She looked up to find Finn grinning down at her. The sun had nothing on brightness when it came to his smile lighting up his eyes.
“Why is it that running into you around town means literally running into you?”
“I have no idea.” She shook her head, unable to stop herself from grinning back at him.
His hands disappeared from her shoulders and she immediately missed them on her body. She’d say that was an interesting development, but the man’s touch had affected her from their very first handshake.
Until him she’d never fully appreciated just how sexy a man’s hands could be. Maybe that was because she’d never seen—or felt—hands as sexy as his. Or maybe it was his hands combined with the rest of the whole sexy package.
Her mind veered to the night they’d spent together…her straddling his legs as she counted his eight-pack, feeling each ridge under her fingertips…
“How was Mass?” Finn’s question brought her back to reality.
For heaven’s sake, she’d just gone to church and was now thinking about sex with Finn. It would probably be prudent to take a few more steps away from the building behind her before lightning struck her down.
“It was good. I…um…” She hesitated for a second, unsure of how much to say to him. Truce or not, he wasn’t a confidant. “I just wanted to get out of the house. If I’m in there for too long I start to feel claustrophobic.”
“Understandable. I don’t know what I expected when I walked in there yesterday, but it sure wasn’t that.” He shook his head.
“I think unexpected has been the major theme since I got here.”
“Brie?” a soft voice said from behind Finn. They both looked over to see Ella making her way over from a group of elderly ladies. She might move a little slowly, but she could walk unassisted.
“Hello, Ella.” She smiled.
Finn’s head whipped back to look at Brie and he looked dumbfounded. “You know my grandmother?”
“We met at Bethelda’s funeral,” Ella answered, reaching a withered hand out and grasping Brie’s. Withered or not, she had a firm grip, her skin soft and warm. “How are you, deary?” she asked as she let go of Brie.
“I’m good. Just enjoying this beautiful Sunday.”
“Excellent.” She beamed. “So how do you know my grandson here?”
Brie glanced at Finn to find that stunned expression still on his face as he looked between her and his grandmother.
“We met at the Sleepy Sheep last week.”
“Oh.” Ella nodded, the brightness in her smile diminishing for just a second as pain flashed through her blue eyes. “My Owen built that bar with his own two hands.” As she said it one of her hands came up and she began to rub the gray pearl on her necklace between her thumb and forefinger. “I see you didn’t head back to Chapel Hill yet.”
“No.” Brie shook her head, seeing Finn’s reaction become even more astounded. “I’ve been a little bit delayed.”
“I see that. So how long are you going to be delayed for?”
“At least the next month or two I think.” She hesitated for only a second before continuing on with the truth. “Bethelda left me everything in her will. She was my biological mother and she gave me up for adoption.”
What was the point in not saying it? Pretty much all of Finn’s family knew anyway. Besides, Ella had known Brie’s grandparents…she’d been close with Petunia. Brie had the sense that Ella would be a wealth of information, and the only way she was going to get it was from laying it all out on the line.
The truth will out.
Ella’s blue eyes went wide, her hand letting go of the pearl and coming up to cover her mouth that had dropped open. After a moment she shook her head, moving her hand away. “Bethelda had a daughter? I…I had no idea.”
“I don’t think anybody did.”
“Well, that explains the whole you not knowing her thing but being at her funeral. Who was your—” Ella abruptly stopped, shaking her head as she looked around, realizing it wasn’t the time or place.
Brie knew the question that Ella had wanted to ask: who was Brie’s father?
Now wasn’t that the million-dollar question? One Brie had been asking herself for over twenty years.
“You should come over and talk with me sometime.” Ella reached out again, patting Brie’s arm. “If I have any answers to any questions that you have…they’re yours. And I promise not to pry.”
Brie shrugged. “Even if you did pry, I don’t know very much.”
“How about next Sunday? For dinner?” Ella asked. “You can come over a little early, we can talk, and I can teach you how to make Petunia’s cobbler. Peaches aren’t in season, so we will have to make strawberry rhubarb. It’s delicious, too. And I’m sure one of the bartenders at the house can make us some Mirabelle Sweet Teas, which coincidentally has very little sweet tea.”
“Yes.” Brie agreed without hesitation.
“Finn, honey,” Ella said, and turned to her grandson, “you’ll let Brie know how to get to the house?”
“Yes, I will,” he said with a nod.
Finn kissed his grandmother’s cheek and she smiled at them both before she turned around and walked away. She slowly made her way over to Faye who was talking to some other women. Faye looked over and spotted Brie with Finn, and she lifted her hand and waved as the corners of her mouth turned up.
Brie waved back before moving her attention back to Finn, who was still looking beyond surprised. “You only met my grandmother once? Only had one conversation with her?”
“Yes.”
“She has dementia. Some days she’s fine, and others…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Well, other days she thinks it’s twenty or thirty years ago. Or really any point in time that Owen was still alive.”
“Owen was her husband? Your grandfather?” She could sense a profound sadness from him. It was there in how he held his body, his shoulders down. It was also there in his words and in his eyes. She didn’t like seeing that sadness there, wanted to make it go away.
“Yeah. She doesn’t usually remember people who she’s only met once, and she very clearly remembered you.”
“Maybe I’m just memorable.” Oh shit. What had she just said? It sounded like she was flirting.
Because you are flirting.
But the comment worked, Finn’s lips quirking to the side. “I can attest to the fact that you’re very memorable, indeed.”
Annnnnd he was flirting back.
Flirting or furious, were those the only two modes in which they could interact with each other?
But it was more than just that, there was something about the look in his eyes that made her pretty sure he was remembering something about their night together. His eyes lingered on the small diamond hanging above her breasts. She remembered the way he’d traced his warm lips over the chain, how he’d kissed the pendant. When his eyes met hers again she knew they were thinking about the exact same thing.
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