by Kate, Jiffy
But I know the Finley no one else sees. I know his fears and doubts. And I refuse to let them ruin this moment or us.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I tell him, walking into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. “I’m making us sandwiches and then we’re going to have an inside picnic.”
“Like old times?” Finley asks, his eyes still searching, still trying to convince himself this is real.
I shrug. “Like old times, like new times… whatever you want to call it.”
“This is really happening?” he questions.
Turning toward him, I pause with one hand on the open refrigerator door. A moment passes between us where I’m silently telling him to take his own advice and just let life happen and he’s silently telling me okay.
“Yes, Finley, this is really happening.”
A rueful chuckle escapes his lips as he runs a hand through those dark curls, drawing my attention to his biceps and then down to the couple of inches of skin showing at his waist.
God, he’s beautiful.
“Grilled cheese or PB&J?” I mutter, my eyes still glued to that patch of skin as my mouth goes dry.
“Do you have Doritos?”
“Yes.”
“PB&J.”
After making our gourmet meal and pouring glasses of wine, instead of the milk cartons we used to drink—because we’re adults—we settle in the dining room on a few blankets and pillows I grabbed from upstairs.
For hours, Finley and I talk about everything. I tell him about New York and the conversation with Trevor. I tell him about some of the travels I’ve been on and show him pictures from one of the photo albums I packed into my suitcase. Finley gets the most enjoyment out of my backpacking in Europe because that’s something the two of us used to daydream about.
He was going to take his saxophone and play in the streets at night and we were going to tour every museum during the day. Our daydreams were so specific, we even knew what hostels we wanted to stay in and where we wanted to eat.
“I stayed at the Circus Hotel, you know,” I say, leaning on one elbow as I look over Finley’s shoulder.
He pauses, turning his head to the side. “Really?”
“Of course,” I say with a snort. “How could I pass up a hostel with its very own David Hasselhoff museum?”
Finley gracefully turns over until he’s lying on his side facing me. “Was it as cool as we thought it would be?”
I’m trying to gauge if me telling him all this is cutting deeper, because I did the things we dreamed about together without him or if it’s the opposite and he’s happy I did the things.
“If I’m being honest,” I start, taking a sip of wine to help wash down the memory, “it was one of the best and worst days of my trip. I was about a week and a half in when I made it to Berlin, so I was kind of starting to feel homesick, but not in the typical sense. I wasn’t crying in my pillow at night because I missed New York… or Trevor,” I add, my eyes drifting down to the mostly-empty glass. “I missed you. Everything we had read about it was true and as happy as it made me to be there, doing the things, I missed you so bad that first day it literally hurt. I sat at the rooftop bar and just tried to imagine where you were and what you were doing.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy, like a wet blanket.
After a minute, maybe more, Finley takes the wineglass from my hand and pulls me to him, nestling me into his chest, as we lie on the blankets. “Is it wrong for me to say I’m glad you missed me?”
“No, if it had been you who went, I would want to know you missed me like I missed you.”
Kissing the top of my head, Finley breathes deeply. “Let’s go there one day, together.”
“I could show you all of it, everything, you’d love it.”
We lay in silence for what feels like forever, the sun already setting in the evening sky, beyond what can be seen from the large windows. Finley holds me and we soak up each other’s presence.
“I’m glad you went,” he finally says. “I love that about you, your fearlessness to go after what you want. It’s one of the things I love the most.”
“What else?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he starts listing things like they’re being read from an old piece of paper that has folds and creases from being read so many times.
“I love the way you see people beyond the obvious. I love your heart. I love how you love others the way you want to be loved. I love that you’re caring and nurturing even though you weren’t raised with that kind of love in your life. I love your wild, untamed curls and the fact you don’t try to hide them. I love the shade of blue in your eyes. It’s not royal or navy or pale… it’s your own color. I love your lips. If I could spend every moment of the rest of my life kissing them, it would be a life well-lived…”
He continues naming things from serious to silly and I drift off to the cadence of his voice.
Chapter Seventeen
Finley
After helping Jette upstairs to her bed, one of the few pieces of furniture she has right now, I tuck her in and kiss her one last time before leaving and locking the door behind me.
I could stay.
It would take nothing to convince me to slip under the covers behind her and pull her to me, but I know she’s tired and we’ve covered a lot of ground in the small amount of time she’s been back.
There’s plenty of time to take things slow. It’s always been how Jette and I work best. We’ve always been willing to let things unfold naturally between us. I see no reason to change that now. As badly as I want her and want to make her mine in every sense of the word, I don’t want to rush things and mess it up.
We’ve come so far and waited so long, what’s a little while longer?
Making my way down the steps of her townhouse, I see a Jeep pull up alongside the curb across the street. Shaw O’Sullivan steps out and looks my way.
“Finley?” he asks, unable to see me clearly in the dimness of the streetlights.
“Yeah,” I reply, walking toward him. “Hey, Shaw. How’s it going?”
“Good, everything okay at Georgette’s?” he asks, motioning over my shoulder to where I just left.
I glance back, wishing I was still there and missing her already. “Yeah, fine. Jette just got back from New York and we were…” I drift off, unsure what to say, but realizing there’s no need to skirt the truth or make excuses. “Catching up.”
Shaw’s coy smile tells me he’s probably reading more into things than necessary, but he’s always a man of few words, so in true Shaw O’Sullivan fashion, he merely gives me a nod, no questions asked. “Need a ride home?”
“No, no,” I tell him, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I’m good. Just going to enjoy the cool New Orleans night while I still can.”
“Better believe it,” he says, walking around the Jeep and grabbing what looks like to-go bags, probably from the cooking school he runs that’s next door to his bar. “Hungry?” he asks, holding up a bag.
“No, thank you, though.”
Shaw smiles, nudging the door shut with his shoulder. “Probably a good thing you turned me down. Avery would kick my ass if I gave away this crawfish etouffee. She’s usually up with Shae when I get home from the bar. We have late night rendezvouses in the kitchen once she puts him back to sleep.” He waggles his eyebrows and I have to laugh.
“Enjoy your night,” I call out with a wave as the two of us go our own way.
“Be careful,” Shaw calls back.
A look further down the street and I see Shep and CeCe’s lights are out. But something about knowing they’re all close and everyone kind of leans on each other makes me feel something I’ve never felt before in my life.
It’s like community… a sense of belonging.
I want it all, things I never dreamed of, especially since Georgette walked out of my life. Every person sinc
e her has never lived up to the extremely high bar she sat. And I’ve never been the type to be with someone I don’t see a future with, which means, I haven’t really been with that many people in the last five years.
Sure, there have been a few hookups and I’ve dated a few girls, but nothing of substance and nothing that’s lasted beyond a few dates.
Standing in Jette’s kitchen earlier, watching her and realizing we actually have a shot for a second chance at…us…well, it was more than I could wrap my head around. I’ve hoped for it, dreamed about it, longed for it… but never really allowed myself to think about the true possibility.
Every time I looked at her tonight, it felt like I was dreaming. But she’s not a dream, instead, she’s the most real person I’ve ever met. So, along with taking our time to keep from making any rash mistakes, I’m also hoping this new reality will settle in and I’ll start to believe it.
Georgette Taylor is back and she’s mine.
Chapter Eighteen
Georgette
Waking to my alarm clock, I stretch and try to get my bearings. The smell of coffee drifting up the stairs brings me upright.
In my bed.
In my house.
But no Finley.
Finley.
Touching my lips, my mind drifts back to yesterday and images play like an old movie—Finley waiting on my porch, kissing in the foyer and later on the blankets in the dining room, a vague memory of him helping me upstairs and a soft kiss in the dark. By the time I’m finished remembering each kiss and touch and need and want, my cheeks ache from smiling so hard.
I think I’d forgotten what it was like to be kissed by Finley Lawson.
I’m not sure how, but maybe my mind had blocked it out as a method of saving me the heartache of missing out on something so wonderful.
But now that I had experienced it again, and I remember, I want more.
There’s probably some sort of unspoken rule about how long you should wait to reconnect with your lost love after breaking up with your ex-boyfriend, but I’m not sure rules apply to me and Finley. We’ve always gone against the grain, pressed boundaries, and done things on our own terms and timeframe.
I don’t see that changing now.
Climbing out of bed, I slip on my robe and walk downstairs, inhaling deeply as the coffee aroma grows stronger. Just as I’m walking into the kitchen to pour myself a cup, my phone rings from the counter where I plugged it in last night.
My first thought is Finley, but upon further inspection, I see it’s my mother. Sighing, I swipe to answer the call. It’s useless to send her to voicemail. When she finally decides she’s ready to talk to me or has something pressing to tell me, she’s relentless. We might go weeks without speaking, but when she’s ready to talk, the whole world better stand still.
“Hello,” I speak into the phone, answering on the fifth ring.
“Georgette,” my mother greets, in her typical no-nonsense tone.
Glancing at the clock on the stove, I see I only have about an hour before I need to be at the gallery to open it for the day. I also have two scheduled appointments before lunch and Dani won’t be there much for the rest of the week. So, I decide to get this over as quickly as possible.
“How are you?” I ask, going about making my coffee.
She huffs something between a laugh and a sound of disapproval. “I guess I should be asking you that.”
Trevor. That’s the only answer I need. Since he’s closer to my parents than I am, I’m assuming he’s already called to tell them about my quick trip to New York and the result of that trip.
“Well, I’m great. Thanks for asking,” I say as cheerfully as possible, just to piss her off even more. When she starts respecting me and my decisions, I’ll try to lay off the sarcasm. Until then, this is the best I can do.
“What has gotten into you?” she asks and I can picture her trying to rein it in and not completely lose her cool. She’d love nothing more than to go off on me right now. I can feel it through the phone. “First you take this job in New Orleans, of all places, leaving poor Trevor to fend for himself. Then, you decide to make it permanent and buy a house. Lovely of you to ask us our advice on that, by the way. I’m sure your grandfather would be so proud to know how you finally decided to spend your inheritance. And now I find out you’ve packed up the remainder of your belongings and broken things off with Trevor.”
Her tone increases in volume and ire as she goes along. By the end, she’s practically screeching in my ear and I’m forced to hold the phone at a distance to save my hearing. Although her accounts are accurate, so I merely reply, “Yes, mother, that about sums it up.”
“Well, you’ve made a huge mistake,” she continues. “Your father and I have let you sow all the wild oats we can stand at this point. Running off to New York, chasing this silly dream and career path, backpacking across God knows where.” When she breaks for a breath, her huff almost sounds like she’s on the verge of tears, but even if she were, it’s not because of love for me. No, the only thing that would upset her to the point of tears would be me embarrassing the family name. That’s it. “You’re going to fix this, Georgette. Call Trevor and make amends, and as soon as possible, let this job and all the frivolity go and get back to your life. Salvage what you can before it’s too late.”
Staring at the cabinet in front of me, my mug of steaming coffee in midair, I inhale a deep breath and center myself before replying, “I’m not going to do any of that.”
My voice is quiet and calm and I wait for the storm brewing on the other end of the phone.
“You will,” she retorts.
I hear the “or else” in her tone, but she doesn’t say it. However, I know what she wants to hold over my head. The trust fund I recently dipped into for the purchase of my townhouse is the inheritance I received from my grandparents, not what I’ll eventually get from my parents. And she still thinks, after all these years, I care about that.
“I won’t, and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”
I hope she hears the finality in my tone and my words.
“Don’t do this, Georgette,” she pleads, something resembling desperation in her voice. “You’re our only daughter… we… well, we care about your life and only want what’s best for you. Trevor is what’s best for you. He can provide the kind of life you deserve and he will help you make the choices to further yourself. Walking away from him is a mistake.”
She just can’t bring herself to say it.
We love you.
That actually would’ve gone a hell of a lot further than we care about your life.
Bullshit.
“The only person who knows what’s best for me is me.” At this point, my voice is trembling from anger and frustration and hurt. In my twenty-three years, she’s never shown an ounce of motherly love. Not once. Sometimes, I wonder if it would kill her to say something kind. Maybe it’s not in her DNA. Maybe it’s because she was raised by a shrew and doesn’t know any different. Whatever it is, I refuse to let her pass that on to me.
“I have to get ready for work,” I continue. “Goodbye, Mother.”
Hanging up, I don’t give her another chance for a rebuttal. She’ll call back, I’m sure of it, but it won’t matter. There’s nothing she can say that will change my mind.
After a few seconds of breathing to clear my mind and regain my composure, I take a sip of coffee before placing it on the counter. If I hurry and get dressed, I can make it to Neutral Grounds before Finley heads out for the day.
I need to see him. He’ll be able to erase the bad juju my mother’s phone call brought. He’s always been able to do that. It’s like his superpower.
Running upstairs, I quickly shower and pick out a simple, yet put-together ensemble for the day and slide into comfortable flats for the walk to the gallery, but put my power heels in my bag. Letting my curls run wild, I add a little product to tame the ends and swipe some mascara and lip gloss on and call
it good.
There are some things about me that are a bit high-maintenance, my love of expensive art and well-made clothes and shoes, but I think I balance it out in other areas.
As I’m locking my front door, I hear a familiar voice call out from across the street. Turning, I see Avery walking out with a baby strapped to her chest. “Hey, neighbor!”
“Good morning,” I call back.
We both make our way to the sidewalk and then I check the street before running across.
“Headed to the gallery?” she asks, nodding toward the Quarter.
Taking a peek at a sleeping Shae O’Sullivan, my heart warms and expands. Gently, I swipe a finger down his perfect little cheek. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m headed to work, but stopping at Neutral Grounds first for a coffee.”
“Just a coffee?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Shaw told me he saw Finley leaving your place late last night.”
Word does travel fast around here.
Chuckling, I bite back a smile. “Yeah, we…uh—”
“No need to explain,” Avery says with a gigantic smile. “Really, totally judgment-free zone here.”
“I would say it’s complicated, but that couldn’t be further from the truth,” I tell her. “It’s a long time coming and we’re taking things slow.”
Her smile softens and she reaches out to give my hand a squeeze. “I’m glad to hear it. And I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I’m really glad you decided to settle in here. It’s so great to have more familiar faces on the street. Let me buy you a coffee this morning,” she says, looping her arm through mine as we begin to walk down the street toward Neutral Grounds.
Chapter Nineteen
Finley
Walking down the stairs, my phone in hand, I’m just getting ready to send Jette a text to tell her good morning, when I hear her voice floating through the shop.