“You were supposed to take a day off.”

“I told Finley to put me to work,” her father argues.

“Doesn’t it look good?” Finley asks, her hazel eyes pleading.

My gaze moves over the newly stained legs of the table we built yesterday. “It looks better than good.”

“Really?” She presses, beaming a smile at me since she already knows.

I duck my head in assent.

“My mom wanted to check out that second hand store we got the benches and chairs at. Want to come with or stay here and hang out with my dad?”

I press the keys to my truck into her hand and kiss her temple. “Take it in case you find something that won’t fit in your car. I’ll keep your dad company.”

“Are you sure?” She asks and I nod again.

“We won’t be gone long.”

“Go,” I laugh, and then turn to her dad. “Has she shown you the shed?”

His eyebrows go up into his hairline. “Shed?”

Finley giggles as she leads her mother away.

“Come on,” I reply. “I’ll show you.”

He follows me in to the backyard from the driveway. They had moved the table out to where we built it to stain it.

“This is where Finley found the door we used to make the table,” I explain once we reach it.

His eyes move over the structure. “Do you think there’s anything valuable in there?”

“It’s hard to tell. If there is, it’s buried under a mountain of junk.”

He looks over at the dumpster that still sits at the end of her driveway. We’ve had it emptied once already so it’s pretty empty at the moment.

“Want to clear out some of the junk while the womenfolk shop?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

It’s not long before the questions start.

“How old are you Noah?” He asks as we carry out a rotted armchair.

“I’m thirty-eight, sir.”

“Thirty-eight and never married, why is that?”

I have to respect him for not pulling any punches. “I never met the right girl.”

“Are you a playboy?”

I think he means player but instead of correcting him I answer his question. “No, sir.”

He looks me up and down. “Call me Tom.”

Then we get back to work.

“One, two, three,” he counts and we toss the chair into the dumpster.

When we get back to the shed he drags a box to the door and motions for me to help him lift it and carry it to the driveway. He kneels next to it, opening it.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

“Looks like utility bills from ten years ago.”

As soon as he’s done confirming there’s nothing of value in the box we toss it in the dumpster as well. Box by box, we go through five before we find something interesting.

Her dad falls back onto his ass, laughing, “Finley is going to be pissed we were the ones who found this.”

One thing Finley loved about this house was discovering things about it. She’ll be annoyed that she wasn’t here when we found it. It’s an old binder full of stamps. Neither of us are stamp collectors so it could be worth nothing. But, it’s better than old utility bills.

“Yeah she will,” I smile. “I’ll bring out the next box.”

The stamps are our only find. Another four boxes of crap get thrown into the dumpster by the time Finley and her mom return.

“What are you guys doing?” She asks after parking.

Mr. Thompson gets to his feet. “Noah showed me your shed. We started clearing out some of the junk in it.”

She comes closer. “Did you find anything?”

He bends down to pick up the binder and passes it to her. “Maybe yes, maybe no. You’ll have to look them up on your computer to see if they’re worth anything.”

“No way,” she yells, flipping through the pages.

“Did you ask them to help carry the hutch?” Her mom asks.

“What hutch?” Her dad asks, looking at Finley.

“Oh,” she replies, closing the binder and hugging it to her chest. “Mom bought me a hutch for the dining room.”

“She did?” Tom asks, his voice rising at the end.

“It’s an early birthday present,” Mrs. Reeves explains.

“That’s what I thought the kitchen appliances were,” he mutters to no one in particular.

Still holding the binder to her chest, Finley leads us to the back of my truck. There, resting with its back to the bed is a vintage hutch. It’s simple in construction, if I had to guess it’s shaker or Amish. It’s going to weigh a ton.

“How did you get it into the truck?” I ask.

Finley cringes. “Four men from the shop loaded it.”

“Four?” Her dad groans.

“Grab the dolly.”

When she comes back out, she isn’t carrying the binder anymore.

“We’ll need to make a ramp and cover the floor from the front door to where you want the hutch in the room,” I tell her.

“I’ll grab the plywood,” Finley replies.

I smile after her before looking at Tom. “Spot me?”

He does better than that after we pull out the drawers, he helps me unload it and get it onto the dolly. Finley has the ramp set for us and with her mom, is laying newspaper sheets down to protect the floor.

Tom, stays beside me, his strength helping me from dropping the hutch as we push it up the ramp.

Once we have it in place, Finley and I carefully lower the legs to the ground.

“I hope you like it here because we are never moving this thing again,” her dad groans.

“I love it and love it right where it is. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she replies, hugging him.

His arms circle her, his face gentling as he kisses the top of her head. “You’re welcome honey.”

Mrs. Thompson and I pick up the sheets of newspaper while they hug. I take them all out to set in her recycling bin. Finley meets me at the front door.

“Is this taking today easy?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at her.

She manages to look adorable and guilty at the same time. I can already picture the crap she’ll be talking me into in ten years. One thing I know for sure is that life will never be boring with her by my side. My chest tightens as my pulse starts to race at the realization I want it. I want forever with her.

“Are you going to try and relax for the rest of the day?” I ask.

She nods and grins up at me. I use it as an excuse to kiss her.

“Finley. I think your father pulled something. Do you have any pain killers?” Her mom asks, sticking her head out the kitchen door.

“Oh crap,” Finley mutters before hurrying to her. “I have some upstairs.”

I walk around the house to collect the wood we used for the ramp. By the time I have it and the dolly put away, they have her dad settled on the sofa with an ice pack.

“I’d rather have a beer.” Mrs. Reeves hands him a glass of sweet tea.

“You shouldn’t drink alcohol when you’re on pain killers Tom,” she replies.

“I’m so sorry about your back dad.”

He waves his hand to shoo her. “I’ll be fine as long as you put a shoot em up on the boob tube for me.”

She finds a Western for him and motions for me to follow her mother and her out of the room.

Once we get to the room she’s using as an office, she looks back toward her den. “I’m regretting not putting a door at the end of that hall now.”

Her mother nods and then says, “We might have to leave.”

I look from Finley to her mother and then back to Finley. “Am I missing something?”

That’s when I hear a shouted, “Get him! Shoot him right between the eyes!” from her den.

Mrs. Reeves looks up at the ceiling.

“My dad gets loud when he watches Westerns,” Finley explains unnecessarily.

“Do you need anything else for the house?” Her mom has to raise her voice for us to hear her over her father’s shouts.

Finley grabs my hand and her mother’s hand and pulls us to the front door.

Once we’re outside she says, “I don’t want you spending any more money on me.”

“Not even for a couple light fixtures?” Her mom counters.

I bite back a smile as I watch Finley consider this, after a beat she answers, “Not even for some new light fixtures. Christine and Keith, the couple who live next door, said there were some good walking trails in the woods that border the neighborhood. The leaves are so pretty, Mom, people come from all over to see New England in the fall. Want to go for a walk?”

In a few years, Fin will start calling people who come to see the fall leaves, leaf peepers, like a true Yankee.

Her mom grimaces. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go shopping?”

“I’m sure Mom.”

“There aren’t any bears in those woods are there?”

Finley looks at me.

When I shrug, she takes a step closer to her mother and hugs her. “Are there bears in my woods?”

I frown and gesture towards the trees. “That’s a decent sized forest, I don’t know the exact acreage but if I had to guess I’d say there’s a chance there’re bears in there.”

Finley looks at her mom. “I changed my mind about the light fixtures.”

With wide eyes, her mom nods her head. “I’ll go get my purse.”

When her mom leaves, I ask, “Want to bring your table back in first? The legs should be dry.”

“Okay,” she agrees, stepping close to me and looking over her shoulder at the woods that surround her house on two sides.

“Hey,” I say. “Don’t get all scared about bears now. Sightings are rare in the city.”

“How rare?”

“I’m not Google,” I reply, taking her hand.

“Do they break into houses?”

I stop in my tracks and bend forward, my hand braced on my knee to laugh. She tries to shake her hand free but I hold tight.

“You don’t have to laugh at me,” she snaps.

Dropping her hand, I straighten and cup her face as I kiss her.

Lifting my head I start to laugh again. She smacks me in my stomach and storms away.

“I was just picturing a bear trying to pick a lock,” I explain.

“It’s not funny,” she grumbles.

“It’s a little funny,” I argue.

She smirks and moves to one end of the table. I head to the other end and together we move it back into her dining room. From the moment we walk back into her house, her father’s shouts become audible again.

“Has he always done that?” I ask when we get to my truck.

“He’s been like this when it comes to Westerns for as long as I’ve known him,” her mom, who Finley made sit up front, answers.

“My mom isn’t allowed to watch the Patriots play,” I reply.

“Why?” Finley and her mom ask in unison.

“She’s bad luck for football,” I reply.

“That’s crazy,” Finley snorts from the backseat.

“It’s the truth,” I reply. “My brother played football and he and my dad banned her from coming to his games. I played hockey so it pissed him off she came to my games.”

“What does your mom do when they’re watching football?” Finley asks.

I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. “She won’t tell us.”

“She probably watches the game from somewhere else.”

“She might,” I reply with a grin. “But, if she does she’d never admit to it.”

When we get to the store, Finley lets her mom talk her into a simple chandelier for the dining room, and two matching ceiling fixtures to go in the kitchen and the room she uses as her office.

“You should leave your desk in there and make that room a library,” her mom suggests, as we walk out of the store.

“A library?” Finley repeats, surprise evident in her tone. “The only books I collect these days are cook books and I store those in my kitchen. When I read, I use an app on my phone.”

“That’s a travesty,” her mother replies. “There is nothing,” she looks over at me and repeats, “nothing better than holding an actual book in your hands.”

“Until you have to travel and your carry on bag weighs a ton because of all the books you packed.”

“Your argument would hold more weight if you traveled sweetie,” she teases.

Finley and I spent hours getting to know each other as we worked on her house. In all the topics we covered, travel never came up.

“Do you like to travel?” I ask.

She shoves one of the light fixtures onto the bed of my truck. “Yes and no.”

I unload the other fixture. “You’re going to need to elaborate.”

Her mouth twists. “I don’t enjoy the getting from point A to point B part but once I’m in point B, I like it.”

I shut the tailgate. “Any places you’d like to see someday?”

She waits until we’re in the truck to reply, “Greece. I’d like to go to Greece someday.”

“I’ve been to Crete. It was—“

She cuts me off. “You’ve been to Crete?”

I meet her eyes in the rear view mirror and nod while her mother chuckles from the passenger seat.

“What was it like?” Finley asks.

“It’s almost as beautiful as New Hampshire in the fall,” I reply.

“Come on,” she groans. “Leaves changing colors can’t compare to the history of Crete.”

“But the leaves are so stunning,” her mother argues.

“Crete is the birthplace of Zeus,” Finley shouts.

“Which light fixture do you want to install first?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

“Why did you go to Greece?” Finley asks, ignoring my question.

“I spent a summer backpacking through Europe.”

“Where else did you go?” She asks.

“I hit all the major cites; London, Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Lisbon, Venice and Crete.”

“That sounds amazing,” she breathes.

I laugh. “There was a whole lot of that getting from point A to point B part that you don’t like.”

“He’s got you there,” her mom jokes.

“Were you all by yourself?” Finley asks, undeterred.

“I was not,” I admit and leave it at that.

“A woman?” She guesses.

“Yes,” I reply.

Unbidden, my thoughts are flooded with memories of Candace.

“What happened?” Her mom asks.

“She stayed in Crete,” I reply.

“She… why would she do that?” Finley asks.

I park. “To be with her new boyfriend I suppose.”

Finley’s face is illuminated by the interior light when I open my door. I do not miss her lips parting.

She moves to my side the moment she’s out. “I’m sorry I asked.”

I silence her with a kiss. “We didn’t date that long and it was years ago.”

“Sure?” She asks.

I nod. “Which light do you want to put up first?”

She grins. “The dining room one.”

Mrs. Reeves opens and then holds the door open for us as we carry the boxes in.

“It’s quiet,” Finley whispers, looking at her mom.

Mrs. Reeves presses her index finger to her lips and then silently walks back to the den. Finley and I set the boxes down.

“He’s asleep,” her mom whispers once she returns.

“We should hold off on installing the light,” Finley says in a hushed tone.

I nod in agreement. “What do you want to do instead?”

“Georgie? Finley? Where are you?” Her father shouts from the den.

I cringe. “Did I wake him?”

Mrs. Reeves shakes her head. “Coming.”

I tip my head towards the boxes. “Install back on?”

“I’ll grab my toolbox.”

Nothing sexier than a woman who knows how to use tools. Since I taught Finley myself, her toolbox a gift from me, she knows more than most.

This install will be easier than most. When Finley had the entire house rewired, she was smart enough to have each room prepped for ceiling fixtures.

When we replaced the drywall, we put in ceiling boxes to brace any future light fixtures or ceiling fans Finley got. We marked each spot with a gold star sticker. Normally, I would have used painter’s tape. The gold stars were Finley’s idea. She didn’t want blue painters tape on her ceilings while she saved up for fixtures and, she thought the gold stars were funny.

Since we’re alone, I say, “Your parents are cool.”

Her face softens and she looks toward the den. “They’re the best.”

We move the furniture out of the way and set up ladders under the gold star.

“Do you mind an audience?” Tom asks from the doorway.

“Not at all sir. How’s your back feeling?”

He shrugs. “It’s been better.”

“Dad, you should try out my bath. It’s amazing.”

“You wanna give me a sponge bath?” He asks Mrs. Reeves, wagging his eyebrows.

Finley’s nose wrinkles.

She turns to me with wide eyes. “Can I drill?”

I point up. “We’ll need to cut a hole first.”

“Oh right,” she laughs.

I get my saw and make a hole to expose the ceiling box we installed and the wiring the electrician put in.

Without walking her through it, I let Finley take the lead on the install. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to showcase all she’s learned for her parents. She has a couple of questions along the way but other than holding the fixture up for her, she does all the work.

After her mom gives her a light bulb, Finley asks, “Want to flip the switch and see if it works?”

“Let there be light!” Tom cheers when the bulb lights up.

The look on Finley’s face is one I’ll never forget. She blossoms under his praise. “She’s incredible,” I say and watch her smile grow wider.

“She takes after her mother,” Mrs. Reeves puts in.

It takes even less time to put in the fixture in the kitchen. Once they’re in, and the mess we made putting them in is cleaned up, we all move to the den.

“Is it time to make the fire yet?” Her mom asks as soon as we sit down.