Chapter Four

 

Aven

 

At shortly after five, I messaged Finnley to make sure we were still on and smiled when I received a text back almost right away.

Absolutely. I’ve never been to this restaurant. Formal? Casual? Help!

I could sense his nervousness through the phone and chuckled. He had no idea how adorable he was. Professional when dealing with his job, but the moment I’d made my intentions clear, the poor man was a fish out of water.

Casual. It’s not a family diner by any means, but it’s also not black tie. Just be comfortable.

Somehow, I envisioned him Googling the restaurant anyhow just to be safe. When I didn’t get a reply, I returned to my bedroom to finish getting ready. I’d spent the morning cleaning house on the off-chance things went well and we came back for late night drinks. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but at the very least, I hoped to get a taste of those plump, pouty lips of his. I’d dreamed of kissing them all night and hoped it was a premonition of what was to come.

At a quarter to six, wearing dark denims and a black knitted turtleneck, I grabbed my trench coat and headed out into the winter evening. The car needed a few minutes to warm up, and it was a good ten to fifteen-minute drive to Finnley’s across town. I was nervous, but my desire to show him a nice evening was outweighing those fears and making me anxious to get on the road.

I parked around back of the funeral home where he’d indicated was the access to the second level. Right away, I saw the stairs and balcony he’d mentioned. A lonely silver Jetta sat snow covered in the corner of the lot which I assumed was Finnley’s. Otherwise, the place was peaceful and quiet, if not a little ominous at night, especially knowing what may or may not be inside the building. I wasn’t sure how Finnley did what he did for a living. The entire idea of it was a little unnerving.

Not wanting the car to lose any heat, I left it running while I went to call on my handsome date. He answered within seconds looking even more stunning than when he was suited in a jacket and tie.

“Hi,” I breathed taking him in.

He had on a pair of dark jeans and a beige sweater. His hair was styled a little less formally than I’d seen it when he worked, and I like the way it tried to curl at the ends where he’d fixed it up off his face. His doe eyes were heavier and more sleepy than I’d seen before, and on a quick scan, I thought he looked tired. Being as his eyes kind of had that natural look about them, I couldn’t be sure if that was truly the case or not.

“Hi.” He mimicked my greeting almost breathlessly.

His cheeks took on a hint of color, and his radiant smile worked away any drowsiness I thought I’d seen. It was impossible not to be drawn in by the gentle sparkle emanating from his hazel irises.

He wet his full pouty lips and dashed his gaze over his shoulder. “I just need another minute. Come on in.”

“Sure.”

He disappeared down a hallway, and I hovered by the entrance, taking a minute to glance around the living space I could see. Water ran from what I assumed was a bathroom, and I could hear him brushing his teeth.

The living space where I stood was cozy and inviting. Dark furniture, wooden accents, and modestly decorated. It had a lived-in feel. It wasn’t excessively tidy, but it also wasn’t a disaster. A fleece blanket laid haphazardly over a leather couch, and the coffee table had a few empty mugs, cans of energy drinks, a remote, and a half-empty bowl of popcorn among other things.

I imagined him curled in that blanket watching a good movie the previous night all alone. Then, I wondered—prematurely—if that was something we might enjoy on another date night down the line. The thought of having Finnley snuggled up beside me under a warm blanket was an inviting idea I suddenly really wanted to experience.

I was getting ahead of myself, and I knew it. Thankfully, Finnley returned a moment later and dispelled my wandering thoughts.

“All set,” he said as he gathered his wallet and keys from amongst the mess on the coffee table.

He found a beat-up leather jacket in a coat closet and put it on before meeting my gaze and motioning to the door. I went to exit but turned back on a thought. He wasn’t expecting it, and we nearly collided. He stopped short, catching himself by grasping hold of my arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes searching my face, probably wondering why I’d halted.

He was close, and I caught a hint of his body wash as the warm scent filled my nose with my next inhale. Something with spices yet laced with a hint of sweetness I couldn’t pinpoint. I liked it and had to stop myself from leaning in and taking more into my lungs.

“I just wanted to say, you look good,” I whispered and graced him with a smile, my gaze lingering a little too long on his mouth before refocusing on his eyes.

His tentative smile heated my skin, and he ducked his head as though the attention I gave him was too much. “Thank you. You look great, too.” He swallowed audibly.

“Are you nervous?” It was either that, or he was extremely shy. I tended to think it was the former since he didn’t appear excessively shy when I’d first met him.

I hadn’t moved out the doorway, yet he hadn’t backed up, even though we were standing close enough our clothes brushed together. He found my eyes again and shook his head.

“No… well, maybe a little.” He laughed. “I just haven’t been on a date in years.”

Without thinking, I lifted a hand and ran a knuckle along his clean-shaven cheek. His pupils grew with the attention, but he never broke our gaze.

“Then you are long overdue. I hope I can show you a good time.”

Before I could overwhelm him, I dropped my hand and moved out the door onto the balcony. He locked up and followed me down the stairs to my still-running car. It would be nice and warm. Like a gentleman, I opened his door for him, earning myself a shy chuckle as he ducked inside.

Rounding to the driver’s door, I got in and buckled up.

“Nice car.”

“Thank you. It was my treat to myself in January after making it through a rather tough year last year. I thought I deserved something nice.”

He glanced about, taking in the details of the leather interior and all the extras I’d had installed.

“Work tough or life tough?” he asked.

“A combination of both.”

“I understand that.”

Somehow, even with the little I knew about him, I believed that statement.

Corals was a small, family-owned restaurant on the river near the edge of Dewhurst Point. In the summer, they had a patio where you could watch the boats pass by and the fishermen out on the docks. Since it was the first of March and mid deep freeze, I’d made sure to reserve us a table near the stone fireplace at the back of the restaurant.

Once we’d hung our coats on the back of our chairs and pulled in close to the table, which was draped with a heavy white tablecloth, the waiter set a few menus out for us to browse.

“Do you drink wine?” I asked Finnley while motioning for the waiter to stay put for a moment.

“Umm… yes. Sometimes. I’m not a big drinker, but I enjoy it.”

With my eyes glued to my date, I relayed my request to our server. “A bottle of your Pinot Noir, thank you.”

The waiter dipped his head and disappeared to find us our drinks.

Finnley was consumed with examining our surroundings, so I waited until he had a chance to take it all in before asking, “Is this okay?”

“It’s really nice. I’ve never eaten here before. Kinda embarrassed to say I didn’t know it existed, and I’ve lived in Dewhurst all my life.”

“I’ve had more than my fair share of business meetings here. They make an amazing Cioppino Seafood Stew with Gremolata Toasts. If you like seafood, I highly recommend it.”

Finnley’s lips parted as he studied my face with a look of awe. “I understood the words seafood, stew, and toast. Beyond that, I’m lost.”

We shared a laugh as our wine arrived and the waiter filled two glasses. He left again when I explained we needed more time to decide on our main course.

Finnley shook his head at all the choices as he examined the menu and peered up through long lashes as he took a sip of his wine. “Anything else recommendable? I’m not really a seafood person.”

“The eggplant parmesan is pretty amazing. I can’t speak for too much of the menu. I don’t really eat meat, so it limits me.”

Finnley set his wine and menu down as he examined me with questioning eyes. “So, you’re a vegetarian?”

“Hmm…” I chuckled. It was a topic that rendered me open to teasing often in my life. “I use the term loosely. I don’t quite fit in that category either since I’ll eat fish, seafood, and eggs. I break a lot of rules. I just don’t do animal flesh, you know, chicken, beef, pork, lamb, or any other meat like that.”

I wasn’t surprised when Finnley laughed out loud. He covered his face with both hands, elbows on the table as he shook his head. It was a beautiful sound, and I let him get it out of his system. I was used to it.

When he lifted his face, he picked up the menu and waved it at me. “You and I are going to look at this menu quite differently, my friend. Vegetables and I are enemies.”

“Oh no.” We laughed together. “So, I’m guessing eggplant parmesan—”

“Sounds truly disgusting? Yes, yes it does.”

His humor was captivating. The way his entire face lit up when he smiled pulled me in. My face hurt from my inability to stop smiling back at him. “Well, my co-workers rave about the Hachis Parmentier.” I pointed to a picture on his menu. “It’s basically a French version of shepherd’s pie. It will go excellent with the wine, and it’s a meat and potato man’s dream.”

He studied my face before examining the picture. “Well, that’s lovely and all, except my French is rusty—and by rusty, I mean non-existent—so I’m not sure I can enunciate those words well enough to make my choice understandable to the waiter.”

“You are too cute.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. He turned his gaze shyly from his menu, but before he could respond, I added, “I’d be more than happy to order for you. Je parle un peu Français.”

His shy smile faded, and he shuffled a little awkwardly, so I clarified.

“I speak a little French. Not a problem.”

“I’m suddenly feeling really uncultured and inferior over here.”

Damn. Not what I was aiming for. Taking a chance, I slinked my hand across the tablecloth and found his fingers. I gripped his hand lightly in mine and gave a squeeze.

“Please don’t feel that way. I’m no one special, believe me. I’m really grateful you came tonight. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

He stared at our linked hands for a moment before nodding as though deciding something inside his head. When the timing felt right, I pulled my hand back and encouraged him to check out the menu and see if there was anything else he might like.

When the waiter came over a few minutes later, I ordered my favorite eggplant dish while Finnley made every effort to pronounce his French dish while giving me the evil eye and daring me to correct him. If he only knew how not evil he looked. Quite the opposite.

“So, what is it you do for a living?” he asked once the waiter left us again. “I’m picturing this high-class, executive position somewhere that requires you to consult with people all over the world.”

His hazel eyes held the perfect balance of inquisition and warmth that told me he was relaxing, and his entire focus was on me. He helped himself to a generous sip of his wine, licking his lips clean after he pulled it from his mouth. It took effort to keep focus while I answered.

“Not even close. I work for FBI Designs.”

He flinched as he replaced his glass on the table. “What, so you’re a top-end cop or something? Like an investigator?”

I chuckled. “No, nothing as interesting as that. FBI. Far Beyond Imagination. It’s an architectural design company. I’m one of their lead architects.”

Finnley thought about that for a few minutes as he narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Well, wow, I think that sounds way cooler than a cop, actually. So, you design all those new-age buildings that go up that are all artsy and stuff?”

“I’ve been involved in many new project designs around the world, yes, but we are also involved in the restoration of older buildings, too.”

“That’s really neat. So you do travel the world for work. Is that how you learned French? Or is your family French?”

I topped off both our wine glasses while I answered. “No French in my blood. My father is Spanish, my mother’s roots are all English. I picked up a few languages from traveling mostly. I’ve been a lot of places. A little French, Spanish, German, Italian. It’s all rough, and I couldn’t really carry on a conversation, to be honest. Mostly, I know how to ask where the bathroom is.”

“And I’m guessing all the curse words and ways to ask a guy back to your room?”

“Mostly.” I lifted my wine glass to my mouth with a raised brow and a smile I couldn’t contain. “Are you calling me a slut, Mr. Hollins?”

Finnley’s mouth dropped open, and his cheeks instantly blazed red. “Oh my God, no… I just… It was a joke.”

I nudged his foot under the table and leaned in to force him to look at me since he’d made every effort to disappear into his wine glass.

“I know. Relax. I’m teasing you back.”

Downing half his wine, he then replaced his glass on the table with a sigh. “I really suck at this dating thing. I’m so sorry. I don’t ‘people’ all that well. At least not with ones who talk back.” He grimaced and shook his head. “And that sounded really stupid.”

“You’re doing fine. Relax. Tell me about your work.”

He scrunched his nose and darted his gaze to my face. “Really?”

“Well, maybe not all the details since we are about to eat, but how did you end up where you are? You said it was a family business?”

As he silently pondered my question, our meals arrived, and we became distracted by our food briefly until the waiter slipped away again.

Finnley used his fork to deconstruct his Hachis Parmentier, undoubtedly searching for any unwelcomed vegetables. When he found a few peas and carrots, he tactfully moved them aside.

“Yeah, it is. My great-grandfather opened Hollins Funeral Home in forty-five when he was only thirty-one. My dad was the oldest son and the one who was trained in the field, so he took it over from him when my grandfather finally stepped down in ninety-five. Being an only child, it was my duty to learn the trade. When my father died in January, it was passed to me.”

“So, it was more or less an expectation, not necessarily your desire?”

Finnley squirmed and dodged my question by shoving a few forkfuls of food into his mouth. When he swallowed, he dabbed his lips with a napkin and shrugged. “I guess. Growing up it was kinda imprinted in my brain that’s what I was to do with my future, so there was never a dream for anything else because I knew it would be nothing more than that, a dream. Why torture myself?”

“Do you like your job?”

Another shrug. “It’s quiet. I’m not a huge social butterfly, so I don’t mind that part. I’m always busy. It’s not exactly a business that will ever go out of style.”

“So, do you mostly oversee the running, or do you have a lot of staff?”

Finnley peeked up with a weary smile that looked more sad than anything. He put his fork down and rubbed at his eyes before reaching for his wine.

“I do it all, actually. I have one lady, Margret, who has the same training I do. My father hired her years ago, and she steps up if I need a break or an extra pair of hands. Otherwise, I have a few staff who work services and a handful of elderly volunteers I can call on.” He shrugged and went back to pushing his fork around his plate, nudging the stray veggies aside.

I could tell his work was not a topic of conversation he wanted to focus on. Finnley had tensed up and wouldn’t look at me anymore as he went to great lengths to examine and eat his food. I couldn’t imagine working with the dead and it not having some kind of effect on you mentally. It took a special person, but in my opinion, that special person would choose that life, not be cast into it because it was his responsibility. I got the feeling Finnley was the honorable son but didn’t hold much love for his job.

Deciding to ease us into a less stressful direction, I pulled up some random questions to get to know him better and hopefully find that innocent, gorgeous smile again.

“What is your favorite color?” I asked after I swallowed my next bite.

His gaze darted from his food, and a hint of a smile turned the corner of his lips. “What?”

“Your favorite color.”

He blinked at me a minute as though trying to sort out what I was doing. “Umm…okay…” He searched his mind as the smile monopolized his face. I was glad I was able to bring it back so easily. “Orange. But not pumpkin orange. Not that bright, more like a rusty brown orange, you know?”

“I like that color. How about your favorite subject in school?”

He rested his fork beside his plate before leaning back in his seat and reaching for his wine. “Drama.”

I flinched. “Really? I didn’t expect that.”

“Mostly because my dad hated it. I was able to tap into that artsy side of me, you know? Loved taking on roles and becoming someone else. I was the only guy in the class who wasn’t afraid to dress up in whatever they threw at me. Wigs, dresses, heels, you name it. I didn’t flinch. And because of what I was learning with the family business, I could apply makeup better than all the girls.” He chuckled, tipped his wine glass in my direction, and winked. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a thing for wearing women’s clothing or panties or anything like that. I was making a statement at the time.”

“To your father.”

He nodded with a smug smile before draining the last of his wine.

“How about you?”

That was a no-brainer. “Physics. I loved the challenge. So many of my friends couldn’t wrap their minds around the complexity, but it came to me naturally.”

“You sound like a smarty pants.”

“Not really. I liked learning. I wasn’t top of the class or anything.”

The waiter came and cleared our plates. We declined dessert, and I emptied the last of the wine into our glasses. I considered ordering more, but when Finnley discreetly rubbed his eyes again seeming tired, I decided it was best not to.

“Favorite TV show,” I asked.

He laughed, his cheeks seeming permanently tinted thanks to the wine. I was glad he was having a good time.

“That’s frighteningly easy to answer. Friends hands down. You could trivia me to death, and I swear to you I wouldn’t fail.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“You’ll lose.”

I couldn’t help laughing at his certainty. “Undoubtedly. I watched the whole thing when it aired years ago, but I can’t say I’ve seen it since. I’m rusty.”

“How about you? Favorite show?”

“Criminal Minds.”

His nose crinkled again in the most endearing way. “I get enough death at work, I don’t need more. That show would give me nightmares.”

We spent the following hour or so tossing random questions back and forth. The longer we sat, the more weighted Finnley’s eyes became and the more sluggish he was when responding to questions. Three times he stifled a yawn, and the whites of his eyes had turned red and appeared sore. Especially the more he rubbed them. He’d seemed tired when I’d picked him up earlier, but with the wine taking effect, exhaustion was definitely pulling at him.

It was almost nine-thirty when we left the restaurant. We’d chatted for hours, eventually ordering a couple of specialty coffees on Finnley’s suggestion. I guessed he was probably trying to give himself a little pick-me-up.

We left the restaurant into the cold night. The wind blowing off the water was frigid, and we walked fast to where I’d parked. Although I’d considered inviting him back to my house for a nightcap and more conversation, the poor guy had been barely hanging on over the past hour. Perhaps, if he said yes, we could do that another night.

I drove the quiet streets back to his place. A few times, I felt the warmth of Finnley’s eyes on me, but neither of us spoke. Once I’d parked in behind the home, we sat for a moment in silence. He hesitated before taking his time undoing his seatbelt and turning to me.

“I had a good time tonight. Thank you.”

His warm bedroom eyes were partially hidden in the darkness. The only illumination came from a backdoor light he’d left on, but it barely reached us where we sat.

“Me, too. Can I walk you to your door?”

The corner of his mouth turned into one of the soft smiles I adored. “It is a violent neighborhood. That would probably be wise.”

We laughed together, and I unbuckled and followed him out of the car. It was as though neither of us were quite ready to end the night as we wandered languidly to the stairs and up to his balcony and door.

Finnley turned to me as he fished his keys from his pocket and bounced them in his hand. The air was thick with unspoken desire, and the heat in his eyes was undeniable. I hovered a few feet away, holding his gaze and wondering what he’d think if I kissed him goodnight. His full pouty lips had called to me all evening, and I couldn’t ignore my growing desires. One taste.

“Would you like to come in?” The tentative question was asked so softly, his words almost disappeared into the night.

Taking a chance, I stepped closer and reached out, tracing my fingers along the opening of his jacket. Nothing could have broken the intensity of our focus on one another.

“I’d really like to, except, I think you look pretty tired.”

His fingers caught my own jacket and nudged me closer still until our bodies were almost flush. “I’m okay, really. Nothing a coffee won’t fix.”

I heard his words, but my focus was elsewhere. His face was only inches away, and the only thing I could think about was leaning in and having a small sample taste of Finnley Hollins.

“Can I kiss you?” I whispered, bringing my hand to his cheek and gliding a knuckle along his jaw.

His answer came on his next exhale. A simple “yeah” that had our mouths pressed together before it had fully been expressed. The lush lips I’d been admiring all evening were as soft as they appeared, and I melted against them as I slid my hand to his nape, preventing him from pulling away too soon. It was simple and sweet. With effort, I maintained enough control to keep it relatively chaste. Only once did I glide my tongue along the seam of his mouth, and I was met by his own. We shared a small taste of one another without it becoming too heated; a delicate sample that I knew would leave me longing for more all night.

Reluctantly, I pulled back, pecking a final kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Wow,” Finnley breathed.

I agreed. There wasn’t any other way to describe it. His invitation was so tempting, but when I opened my eyes again and looked at him, I was reminded how bone-weary the man had been over the past few hours. Enough he couldn’t hide it any longer.

“I’m not going to come in tonight, but it’s not because I don’t want to. Believe me, I do.” I couldn’t help running a finger over his bottom lip as I studied him. “You look so tired. I know you have a service tomorrow, and I don’t want to be responsible for keeping you up half the night.”

When he opened his mouth to argue, I kissed him again, unable to help myself. It was no less sweet than the first, and when I pulled back, I lingered near his lips. “Can I see you again?”

“I’d like that.”

“Me, too.”

His fingers grazed against my side under my coat and sent shivers over my skin. Ones that had nothing to do with the cold.

“My schedule is really unpredictable,” he explained. “Provided I don’t have a service in the evening, I can make myself free. Margret will jump in if I give her a heads up.”

“Friday? My work week is mostly brutal. And I have three late-night meetings this week alone.”

Finnley rested his forehead against mine and sighed. It was a contented sigh, and when it came out, his body relaxed more against me. God, I loved him in my arms.

“I’ll make it work,” he breathed.

“I’ll text you.” I brought his face closer again for a final kiss, savoring the taste of him, knowing it would have to last me all week. Our tongues were braver and tangled together longer, testing and toying with each other, becoming familiar. “Get some sleep,” I breathed against his mouth.

He frowned as we parted and ducked his attention to the door briefly. “I’m sorry. I had a rough night last night. Didn’t sleep well. I really didn’t want it to ruin our date.”

“It didn’t ruin anything.” I squeezed his hand and smiled. “Have a good night, Finn. Sweet dreams.”

It took a minute before he eventually found the right key and let himself inside. I took my time descending the stairs from his balcony and returning to my car. The cold night air couldn’t touch me. I was warm from the inside out with the lingering taste of Finnley on my lips. There wasn’t a single thing about that man that didn’t sing through my body. I was floating on air.

It was going to be a long week.