Chapter Three

 

Finnley

 

Dinner?

He wanted to take me for dinner?

Had I heard right?

“Dinner? Saturday?” Why was I repeating his question back at him? He was going to think I was an idiot, but I was pretty hazy, so I probably heard wrong.

Contrary to my thoughts, his smile grew, and he tilted his head to the side as he studied my face as though in awe. “If you’re available, yes.”

Things like that didn’t happen to me. Ever. Gorgeous men never asked me out on dates. Had my sleepless nights caught up with me? Had I passed out downstairs while working? Was this some sort of fabulous dream I’d mourn when I woke up?

I’m hallucinating again.

I closed my mouth when I realized I was gaping and swallowed hard to clear my throat. “Like… Like a date? Really?”

He chuckled; a warm rumble that tickled over my skin. “Really. Like a date. Maybe it’s a little inappropriate to race back over here while the wake for my step-father is still going on, but I couldn’t put it off. I was thinking Corals on Westbury Ave., around six? I can pick you up if you’d like.”

I needed to stop staring at him in disbelief and answer before he thought twice about asking out someone who was clearly not with it. “I’d… I’d love to. That sounds… wow, yes, thank you.”

I did not just thank him for asking me out on a date, did I? The burn in my cheeks intensified, and my attention slipped to my hands where I was fiddling nervously.

“Is there a way I can get a hold of you? All I have is the number for here.” He waved a hand around the foyer.

“Oh, yes.” My gaze darted to the hall from where we’d come. “I… I can text you from my cell. I have your number on my paperwork. I’ll do that right away.”

His steady hand grasped my shoulder and drew my focus back to him. Warm, dark eyes followed every contour of my face before landing on my mouth. “Text me your address so I know where to pick you up.”

“I live here, actually. Upstairs.”

His brows drew together a fraction in confusion before he wiped it away. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

“There is a flight of stairs around back that lead to a balcony and a doorway. That’s me.”

“Six?”

I nodded, unable to tear myself from the heat behind his gaze. His touch was like fire and slithered over my skin, warming me from the inside out.

“I’ll see you then.”

The hand left my arm, and Aven winked before heading out the door into the snowy evening.

For many minutes, I stood speechless, staring at the wooden doors to the funeral home. The reality of what had just happened was sinking in, and a wash of adrenaline flooded through my veins, bringing a smile to my face. I was all jumpy inside, and for once, it was a good jumpy.

I just got asked out on a date.

When I finally let everything sink in, I turned the locks on both the wooden doors since it was getting late and moved with the intention of heading back toward my office. Margret poked her head around the corner with a knowing grin, startling me and stopping me in my tracks.

“Tell me you weren’t eavesdropping.”

She scowled like it was the most ridiculous notion before waving off the suggestion. “I heard the door chime, so I knew he was gone.” She crossed her arms over her front and grinned. “So, what did our handsome Mr. Woods need to discuss with you that I couldn’t help him with?”

I ducked my head and scooted around her. “That’s none of your business, Maggie.”

“Finnley Morgan Hollins, do not run away from me.”

I shot around the corner into my office and dropped into my leather chair while I pulled forward the folder with Aven’s information. Margret was hot on my heels and stopped at the head of my desk, poised with hands on her hips.

It took everything in me not to look up, so I busied myself searching up Aven’s phone number so I could add it to my phone. The smile on my face begged to be released. It took a minute more before I registered that my actions were being monitored, and I slammed closed the folder.

“Looking for something?” Maggie asked with a grin. Why was she so nosey?

I pinched my lips together and held her gaze. “It’s getting late. You’re free to go if you’d like. I’m just going to finish up downstairs and call it a night.”

When I went to stand, Margret sat in the chair across from me and crossed her legs looking far too comfortable for someone who should have been leaving.

“Owl, how long have we known each other?”

I sighed and slumped back into my seat, knowing I was stuck, especially if she was using my nickname. It meant she was serious about whatever was on her mind. “Since my dad hired you when I went away to school when I was nineteen. So… twelve years-ish.”

“You think I don’t know you? You’ve been like a son to me, Finn. Your father might have been blind or ignorant, but I know you better than you realize. Better than you know yourself sometimes. Samuel’s gone. You don’t need to hide anymore.”

“I never hid. More like avoided. Nothing good would have come from laying out the truth. He knew. We just didn’t talk about it.”

She leaned forward to try and catch my eye. When I met her gaze, her face showed the warmth and love I always wished I’d seen from my father.

“Why was the handsome Mr. Woods so keen to meet with you this evening?”

My cheeks warmed remembering his invitation, and I ducked my gaze to the desk. “He asked me to dinner.”

“And?”

“And we are going out tomorrow night.”

Margret’s hand found mine and squeezed. “I’m happy for you, Finn. You need this. You’re young, and I think you get too wrapped up in your work and your thoughts and forget to live. Your father is gone. Don’t allow his presence to sit on your shoulder and lord over you in death as well.”

“I know.”

She pulled her hand back and rose, smoothing her suit jacket with her palm. “I’ll make sure everything is locked up for the night. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Maggie.”

“And have a good time tomorrow.”

Once she disappeared, I considered how many things had changed over the past month. If Aven had asked me to dinner before my father passed, I’d probably have begrudgingly said no. Dealing with Samuel’s overt dislike for my sexual orientation hadn’t been worth it. Therefore, I didn’t date much.

Well, that and the other issue that went along with dating. Anything past a casual hook-up soured fast when it came to spending the night with a lover. That small reality dampened my excitement when I considered Aven’s intentions. A date I could handle. A hook-up, some sex, no problem. Anything more…

I’d deal with it if it happened.

I reopened the file and fished out the paper where Aven’s number was located. Once I’d added him to the contacts in my phone, I opened a message box. I’d told him I would send him a message, but what did I write? Eventually, I settled for something straightforward and simple.

Hey, it’s Finnley.

I blew out a breath and stared at it for a few minutes, unsure what to expect. A trickle of apprehension and excitement skated through my body. Had it really been that long since I’d dated? Based on appearances, Aven Woods was way outside my league. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to catch his attention, but I wasn’t disappointed in the least.

My eyes were glued to my phone as I waited for a response that didn’t come. Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing. I really was passed out downstairs and dreaming, wasn’t I?

“He’s probably driving home still, Owl. Give him time.” I nearly jumped out of my skin when Margret poked her head in the door.

“Jesus, stop scaring me like that. I thought you left.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Everything is shut down. Now I’m heading home.”

“Goodbye, Maggie.”

“Goodbye, hun. Get some sleep tonight. You don’t want those bags under your eyes for your date tomorrow.”

Margret disappeared again, and I dropped my attention back to my silent phone. She was probably right. He was probably still driving home. Pocketing my phone, I shut down my office and headed into the basement. I told myself to finish only what was necessary and get my ass upstairs.

The woman who’d been brought in earlier was a cremation for an afternoon service on Sunday. The paperwork was all in order, and I’d only just begun preparations when I’d been called away. Once that was complete, I would try to force a relaxing night on myself. If I didn’t at least get a little sleep, I’d be a mess for my date. Even as my thoughts strayed to how I could achieve such a luxury, my palms began to sweat, and the internal jitters I was so accustomed to feeling began their angry dance in the deepest pits of my core.

My mind was tumbling into bad places when my phone pinged in my pocket, jarring me back to the surface of reality. I’d done nothing more than stare off into space as I stood beside the table containing Mrs. Jenkins’ cold body.

I tore my phone from my pocket and smiled when I saw Aven had responded to my message.

You made my night saying yes. I’m really looking forward to seeing you again. Thanks for your number.

I grinned like an idiot as I sent him a quick response.

I have to admit, I was surprised. I’m looking forward to it as well.

Within less than a minute, Aven typed back.

I hope the shock has settled some. Have a good night, Finnley. See you tomorrow.

I sent him a good night and dropped my phone back in my pocket feeling giddy and a million times lighter than I’d felt five minutes before. The last time I’d gone on an actual date was in college. Since then, I’d had a few random hook-ups but nothing that had promised more than a sweaty hour or so of sex—dinner rarely included.

“Shall we get on with it, Mrs. Jenkins?”

I adjusted my rolled sleeves and found a pair of gloves. Work now, worry about a good night’s sleep later.

It was after nine when I finally trod up the back stairs to my apartment on the second floor. A thick haze had engulfed my body hours before and wouldn’t release me from its clutches no matter how many energy drinks I downed trying to dispel it. I couldn’t stop yawning.

In my bathroom, I stripped my clothes and tossed them in a hamper as I debated between a cold shower or a warm bath. Logically, I knew a warm bath would relax me and nudge my brain closer to shutting down, but my anxiety had been mounting since I’d climbed the back stairs, and fear crawled over my skin anew.

My muscles were aching and begging for me to lie down. My eyes stung and were dried out, tugging a headache to life that I knew was a result of minimal sleep. However, as I stared at the tub, fear won out, and my heart came alive, pounding more incessantly.

I ran a cold shower.

Forcing myself to endure for as long as possible, I succeeded in erasing all signs of sleep deprivation as I washed my hair and body. The cold sting of the waterfall was bordering painful, but I refused to step away.

Shivering, I dried myself and slung the towel around my hips as I went to my bedroom to find clothes. My queen-sized bed rarely saw attention, and it sat perfectly made in the middle of the far wall with its deep navy and gray comforter smoothed over the top. It matched the smoky gray painted walls and dark mahogany, three-piece furniture set that filled the room. I’d even hung some paintings on the walls to help give the room a warmer feel, but I couldn’t fool myself. My bedroom was my least favorite place, and if I didn’t keep my clothes in the dressers, I’d probably never venture past the door.

I found flannel bottoms and a plain white T-shirt, dressed my shivering body, and slipped out of the room without looking back. Securing the door behind me, I knew in my gut I wouldn’t be returning there anytime soon. When I did manage to acquire a few hours of sleep, it was generally on my couch while watching mindless episodes of my favorite show. And never because I chose to sleep. Eventually, for survival, since the human body demanded it, there came a point when my brain simply shut down and forced it to happen.

I stopped in the kitchen and didn’t even debate making a coffee. It was routine. Required. Fending off sleep was what I did. It was a war I’d been fighting since I was a child. Something that was getting harder to hide the older I got.

While the Keurig dripped my single cup, I tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave and waited for it to finish. I hadn’t eaten dinner, and it was too late to think about making anything else. Besides, I didn’t have the energy.

With my fresh brew and snack, I curled up on the couch with my fleece blanket and skipped through the seasons of Friends until I found an episode I felt like watching. I drank my coffee and picked at my popcorn while I indulged in a few back-to-back shows. It was one of my favorite episodes. The one after Ross’ failed marriage in London when Monica and Chandler were trying so hard to hide their secret relationship, and they’d involved Joey in covering for them.

I laughed and mouthed the lines along with the actors, allowing my fake friends to wash away my turmoil for awhile so I didn’t have to think about what I should be doing.

At some point, I lost, and my head nodded. My body jerked violently, tearing me from the edges of sleep. With the sudden action, I gasped, and my eyes flew open, darting the room. Instantly, my heart was in my throat, and I clutched my chest as the pounding of blood through my veins intensified. My system didn’t have time to catch up, and my anxiety sky-rocketed before I could take control.

Flight kicked in, and I threw my blanket aside and jumped off the couch in a panic, not knowing where I was going or what I was doing. All I knew was that I needed to get away. Run. Even when there was no safe place to escape to. Darting for the kitchen, I spun and gasped uneven breaths as my world darkened at the edges of my vision.

I couldn’t breathe. Fuck, I couldn’t breathe.

My body prickled sweat to the surface as I spun again and leaned heavily against a wall, sinking to the ground while I gasped and sputtered for air. My lungs begged for oxygen, and no matter how much air I sucked in, it wasn’t enough. One, two… More. Shit! I pinched my eyes closed and forced my thoughts to calm. I knew what was happening, but I was powerless to stop it.

It was a bad one. I hated the bad ones.

Gulping air as my lungs convulsed, I sang the theme song for Friends inside my head while I tried counting breaths and working to slow them down as much as I could. My entire body trembled, and for a long time, I didn’t think my efforts were working. I was on the verge of passing out. Everything seemed to be drifting away like I was being sucked into a void.

Over and over, I sang and breathed. Sang and breathed. One breath. Two. Another. Slower and steadier until little by little the air moved more fluently through my lungs. The light-headedness and ominous darkness retreated.  

When I didn’t need to focus so heavily on breathing, I dropped my head onto my folded knees, hugged myself as I trembled, and sang out loud while my heart rate returned to normal. The same theme song over and over because it was what I knew, and for whatever reason, it calmed me.

My mouth was dry, and muscles were sore when I finally lifted my head again and looked around my kitchen. I had no idea what time it was and how long I’d been asleep—if I’d been asleep at all. I got the sense I had only moved into the pre-sleep place before my body had been jerked awake and tossed into a panic attack.

Friends was no longer playing, and Netflix was stuck on the screen which asked me if I was still watching the program. I shimmied off the floor on shaking legs and check the time on the microwave. Three-forty in the morning.

Great.

I ran the cold water in the kitchen sink and splashed it over my face before finding a glass and pouring myself some juice from the fridge. On the couch again, I sipped my juice as the leftover tremors worked their way out of my body.

I clicked the remote and allowed the programming to continue before shrugging the fleece over my shoulders again. No matter my exhaustion, sleep had moved away for the time being. I knew it would be best to lay down and encourage it to return, but I wasn’t ready. I was never ready. A few more episodes. I could always conceal dark circles under my eyes with a little makeup if I had to for my date.