by Melody Grace
Finn doesn’t answer. He just opens the passenger door for me. “You cut your hair,” he remarks as I duck into the car.
“You didn’t,” I say pointedly.
“Touché.” He laughs, closing the door behind me and circling around to the driver’s side. I watch him, déjà vu rushing through me like a wildfire, hot and insistent. I must have sat in the passenger seat of his car a hundred times or more, all those late nights we’d slip away to the creek or out past the shoreline drive. I would have said once that it was my favorite place in the world, sitting right there beside him with my feet up on the dashboard, humming along to whatever old country songs his beat-up AM radio could pull from the wire.
“Nice upgrade, huh?” Finn must be reading my mind as he settles behind the wheel. “That old thing took me as far as Georgia before the engine crapped out on me in the middle of highway seventy-five.”
Georgia. I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking if that’s where he went. Instead, I pull out the first listing. “It’s waterfront, new build. Just take the beach road out past the harbor.”
“Yes ma’am.” Finn doesn’t seem shaken by my cool tone. He cruises through the center of town, one hand on the wheel, the other resting out of the open window. “So, you’re a realtor now? Somehow I didn’t picture you behind a desk selling condos.”
I shrug. “It’s a job. I work the office, mainly. Admin, phones. I was lucky Delilah got me the gig. She’s the real mastermind there.”
“Now that, I can picture. How’s the acting?” he asks, looking over. “I always wondered if I’d see your name up in lights on Broadway one of these days.”
I feel a pang, remembering my life in New York City after high-school – the one he knows nothing about. “I’m not doing it anymore. It was just a hobby,” I answer briskly. “So what are you looking for in a house?” I change the subject. “A dock? Outside space? Room for big parties?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
Great.
We keep driving. Oak Harbor is a small coastal community near the mouth of the Cape Fear River, with a bustling waterfront, cute clapboard houses, and a few stores and restaurants leading back from the rocky shoreline. It used to be an old fishing town, but these days, tourism is the main draw. People come from all over to fish off the boardwalk, take the ferry out to see the old lighthouse, and visit the wide Atlantic beaches just across the sound.
“This place hasn’t changed at all,” Finn remarks, looking outside as we cruise slowly along the sleepy main street.
“Small town life,” I shrug. “We got a new pizza place that stays open past ten on the weekends.”
“Living life on the edge.” Finn laughs. Our eyes catch. Electricity crackles, straight from his clear blue eyes down the back of my spine, and I feel the rush everywhere: hot and sweet, pulling low between my thighs.
I look away.
“How are your folks?” he asks, gripping the steering wheel with both hands now.
“Good.” I take a breath, calming myself. “My dad got a promotion to the head office in Savannah, so they’ve moved out there for six months, to see how they like the place.”
“And Lottie? She’s, what, nineteen now? She must be off at college.”
“No,” I answer quietly. “She’s here in town too.” I quickly change the subject away from my little sister. “It’s this turning, just up ahead.”
Finn follows my directions up to the first property: a boxy chrome and glass condo set on the waterfront, with a balcony looking straight out across the bay. He peers up at it over the steering wheel and shakes his head. “Not for me.”
“But you haven’t even seen inside,” I protest. “The view’s amazing.”
“I told you, I’ll know it when I see it.”
Finn looks at me again, and the intensity in his gaze is enough to make me wonder, why he’s back here of all places? He could be off relaxing in the Caribbean, or sunning himself on a private yacht. Why did he come to our little mom and pop shop instead of one of the big, flashy realtors up the coast? Why, even after everything he did, does my heart race, and my blood pump faster? Just one look from him could make all my heartbreak melt away.
He clears his throat, and starts the engine again. “Where to next?”
We visit another five houses, but Finn doesn’t even make it inside to look at half of them.
“Fame’s changed you.” I’m only half-kidding as we drive away from a great beach-front mansion I would kill to live in. “I guess you’re jaded by all the fancy hotels and private jets.”
“Sounds like someone’s been reading the tabloids.” Finn grins.
I flush. “I’ve seen a couple of things around. You know, in passing,” I add carefully. “That stuff’s not true is it?”
He gives me a wink. “Every word, sweetheart.”
I know he’s only teasing, but I still can’t help thinking of all the things I’ve read over the years, stories of Finn dating Hollywood actresses and frolicking backstage with sexy models. I block those images and sneak a look at him instead, that familiar profile and easy posture. His free hand taps out a rhythm on the window frame. He always did have restless hands; he used to say it’s why he first picked up a guitar. He would play for me, just idly strumming as we killed time on those hot, late nights, sprawled out in the grass miles outside of town, watching fireflies spiral in the midnight sky.
I suddenly get an idea. “I know the place,” I declare. “Take the highway north, just past the bridge.”
Finn does as I say, and soon, we’re pulling up the winding driveway of an old house backing onto the creek. We came here once, years ago. We wandered the empty, run-down rooms before sitting down by the dock, our feet dunked in the cool water. Now the house sits under shady cypress trees, the paint fresh and the front path newly mown.
“The Thomas mansion?” Finn asks, slowly getting out of the car. I scramble out too. “This place was falling apart the last time I saw it.”
“They finally sold it, a few years back. Some developer took it back to the studs, but they did a really nice job. It still has all the original floors, and that great porch wrapping around the back.”
I lead him up to the front door and step inside. I can already see it on his face, that this is the place, but still, I take him through the warm living areas, furnished with classic, beachy furniture, and out back, to where rhododendron bushes and rolling grass lead all the way down to the wide expanse of slow-winding creek.
Finn breathes in the salty marsh air and looks out over the water, like he’s already home. “I’ll take it.”
“Don’t you want to know how much it is?” I ask.
He shrugs, his big-shot lifestyle peeking through. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Ask if they’ll lease it for a couple of months.”
I nod. It’s a big property to be rattling around all alone -- but maybe he won’t be. I realize that for all I know, he could have a gorgeous, sexy girlfriend just waiting back at the hotel. “So, just so I know what to tell the owners…will you be staying here alone?” I ask, trying to be casual. The grin he gives me says I failed, miserably.
“I should have someone out next week.”
My heart sinks.
“To hook up the cable. I can’t be without my TV.”
Finn’s eyes gleam with humor. He’s teasing me, dammit.
“Great!” I refuse to show I’m ruffled. “Then we’re all set.”
I turn on my heel to head back out front, but Finn pauses. “Wait a second. Don’t you want to show me the rest of the property? Upstairs, all the bedrooms?”
Me and Finn, alone in a room with a king-sized bed? I’ve had dreams like that, and I know exactly how things wind up: the both of us tangled up naked, sweaty, and gasping with pleasure. But there are consequences to the most perfect moment of release – and I learned that lesson the hard way. “Sorry,” I reply, my cheeks burning. “I can’t stay. I have to be somewhere. I’m already running late.”
“Sure thing.”
Finn drives us back to the office, still perfectly at ease. But as the miles pass, his nonchalance burns me. Since the moment he walked in he’s been behaving like everything’s fine between us, like it’s no big deal to just show up and act like nothing’s wrong. Or maybe it isn’t, to him. What happened between us may have made an indelible mark on my heart, but what if he barely gave it a second thought on his path to sold-out stadiums and number one hits?
My heart suddenly aches so much I want to cry. I need to get away, but I manage to hold it together until he pulls up outside the old carriage house, and I can climb out of the car on unsteady legs. “I’ll get the contract sent over right away,” I tell him.
“Don’t I get your number?”
I stare blankly.
Finn’s lips curl in a teasing smile. “For questions about the lease.”
“Oh. You can call the office. Delilah will be able to help you out. In fact, you probably won’t see me again. Like I said, I meanly deal with the admin.”
Finn gazes at me thoughtfully for a moment, so long I wonder if I still have frosting on my face. “I like it,” he says finally.
“Like what?”
“Your hair. You always used to hide behind it,” he says, his smile slipping through my defenses all over again. “Now I can see your eyes.”
I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.
Oh no. Not this time.
I turn away and hurry up the steps without looking back, but I feel his gaze on me with every step. This doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. Finn McKay is back in town, as gorgeous and charming as ever. But I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.
For the sake of my heart, I’m steering clear.
Two.
I wasn’t lying about running late. I make the drive half an hour out of town, all the way to a run-down old farm set on a couple of acres of plain grassland. It’s the home of the Brunswick County Animal Shelter. I’ve been coming out here for years, first as a kid, just to play with all the animals, but then volunteering to help with donations and paperwork. It’s a special place to me, the one place I can go to forget the rest of the world and just feel like me. Like I’m doing something that matters.
Today, I need that escape more than ever.
I pull up beside a muddy pick-up truck in the overgrown lot. I head into the main house to change into old jeans and a sweater, the kind of outfit that can stand up to fifty over-eager dogs – and all the mess that comes along with them. Right away, I’m attacked by a barking, drooling herd of Labrador puppies. Someone found them in a box out on the highway. It breaks my heart to think of them out there in the dark, crying for their mother.
“Whoa, easy there.” I push them down, laughing, but they trail me all the way outside. I find Edith, the owner, mending wire fence by the kennels. She’s a legend around town, the one who started taking in strays twenty years back. She built a couple of kennels every other year, taking in every abandoned dog and unwanted kitten litter around. Soon, there was a whole farm full of unwanted animals running wild. The puppies race on ahead, bouncing eagerly around her, then skittering off to play in the mud.
“Sorry I’m late,” I greet her, my boots squelching on the wet ground. “I got held up at work.”
“That’s no problem, sweetheart.” She looks up, her wiry grey hair pulled back with a bright batik-print scarf. “I’m just finishing up here. The collies got out again last night. I had a call at three AM that they were halfway to Wilmington.”
I smile and reach to help her fix the wire in place. “How’s Chester doing?” The old German Shepard has been sick for a couple of days now.
Edith tuts. “Not great. He’s still off his food, so I called the vet in. Maybe he’ll know what’s the problem.”
“Poor guy,” I agree. “I’ll go stop in, see if I can make him drink something.”
“And would you move the feed, when you get a chance?” Edith makes a face. “We had a delivery, but the boy just left it on the porch, and you know my back’s not what it used to be.”
“No problem.” I straighten up. “I’ll go see to it now.”
I head back inside and start my usual routine. Some people think it’s boring, dirty work to refill feed bowls and clean out the kennels, but I like it. I’ve always loved animals, especially dogs. I love how simple and loyal they are, how they don’t judge or criticize, but accept you. When I was a kid, I had a terrible stammer. The experts all said it was nervous anxiety and nothing to worry about. I started speech therapy, learning how to slowly take control of every word, but it was a long, hard process. Worst of all for any ten-year old kid, it made me different. The kids at school would tease me until I was so self-conscious that I barely spoke at all. I retreated into my own little world, losing myself in plays and poetry, whispering a single word in response to questions, or just ignoring them all. Other people’s words were safe – I could memorize whole monologues from school plays – but when it came to speaking my own mind, I couldn’t string the sentences together. Mom didn’t know what to do, until someone suggested a pet might help. She brought me out here one day, and that’s all it took. A motley litter of strays came bounding out to meet me, and I fell head over heels in love. You see, I didn’t need to speak to the dogs to make them like me. They seemed to know exactly what I was feeling without a single word. They didn’t tease me, or judge; they just loved me for me. Unconditionally. Even later, after the speech therapy worked and nobody could tell I’d ever had a problem, that acceptance and peace never went away. The animals helped me when I needed them most. When I was at rock bottom again, after Finn left and I had nothing but questions and scars that nobody else could see, I found myself back here, trying to forget the world all over again.
Finn…
I take a break from hoisting feed-bags. His face fills my mind, that knowing smile and vivid stare that could melt from blue to green and back again, like the waves shifting in a storm. How many nights have I lain awake, wishing that he’d come back again? They were the futile prayers of a heartbroken girl. Now that the universe has conspired to deliver him to my doorstep again, all those questions flare to life.
We were friends, first. I was just a junior, and he already had a reputation, strolling around school in those black jeans like he didn’t give a damn. He was cool, reckless, a heartbreaker through and through – and so far out of my orbit, it was like we were living on different planets. My friends would whisper the latest gossip about him in hushed, scandalized whispers: all the girls he hooked up with, and the latest trouble he was in. I never even spoke to him, until one October afternoon. I was out with the dogs in the woods back behind town, and found him by the creek, playing his guitar.
I remember it now, how surprised I was to hear such sweet, soulful melodies drifting out from the strings. He had such a rebellious image, like he didn’t give a damn about anything, but the expression on his face that day was so intent and careful as he plucked the melody, stopping and starting over each time he got a chord wrong.
When the dogs rushed back, barking, I jumped out of my skin. He looked up and saw me. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, backing away. “I didn’t mean to watch.”
“That’s OK.” He laughed as the dogs swarmed him curiously, licking at his face and nudging his hands. “Who are these guys?”
I told him about volunteering at the shelter, and we wound up talking until the sun started sinking in the pale autumn sky. We talked about my acting, and his music, about everything and nothing at all. The next day in school, I figured he’d act like nothing had happened, but instead he stopped me in the hallway to talk some more. My friends’ jaws all dropping when he called to me by name. We were unlikely friends, nobody could ever figure us out: the rebellious heartbreaker, and the shy, quiet girl who always had her head in a play. But Finn never seemed to care. All through the winter, I saw him around school. He would even give me a ride sometimes, when he found me waiting at the b
us stop in the pouring rain, or lugging a backpack overstuffed with books. We would have stayed that way too, just friendly, if fate hadn’t brought us together again, away from everything. That dark, cold New Year’s Eve when the air hummed with electricity, and everything changed for good.
A distant door slamming brings me back to reality, and I realize I’m standing in the middle of the storage shed with dry feed scattering at my feet. I push aside the past and go check in on the dogs, making sure that the old terrier has a blanket and the nervous poodles can hide in a fort of boxes, out of sight. Edith moved Chester into the main house when he first got sick, and when I finally find him in the office, hiding under the desk, he’s heavy and unmoving.
“Poor boy,” I murmur, crawling under to softly stroke his coat. Chester lifts his head and stares at me with miserable eyes. “What’s got you feeling so poorly, hmmm?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
I startle at the noise, and bang my head on the underside of the desk. “Owww!”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” A male voice comes from behind me. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Edith said to come right back.”
I carefully crawl out and straighten up, rubbing my head. “It’s OK. I think.” I turn to the newcomer, trying not to wince. “How can I help you?”
“I’m the new vet.” The stranger smiles, extending a steady hand to shake. He’s definitely an upgrade on the old one. Tall and broad-shouldered, he can’t be older than thirty, with sandy blond hair and a clean-cut jawline. “Sawyer Green. Are you sure you’re OK?”
I nod. “It was just a bump.”
He frowns. “Well, if you start feeling dizzy or nauseated, let me know.”
“And what, you’ll check my heart-rate?” I ask, nodding to the tiny animal-sized stethoscope in his hand.
Sawyer smiles. “Either that, or try some de-worming.”
“Eww.” I laugh. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Good call.” His eyes go to poor Chester, still slumped there under the desk. “May I…?”