Emily
The Present…
I’M GOING CRAZY. NANNY LEAVES me at a crucial part in her story so we can have dinner. Mom and Dad were happily discussing a new barn she wants built for the horses, so I don’t interrupt to demand more of the story. But when Nanny excuses herself to go home and my parents are playfully bickering over whether or not barns are supposed to be red, I nearly scream in frustration.
“What’s going on?” Mom asks, her brows pulled together in concern.
“Boy problems.” Not a total lie.
“Something I can take care of?” Dad questions, flexing his bicep muscle and fisting his hand.
I let out a giggle and shake my head. “I can handle it myself.”
“That’s my girl,” he says with a grin. He flashes Mom a knowing look that I don’t interpret well. “I’m going to watch the game I DVR’d. Leave you two to your girl talk.”
He pulls Mom in for a hug and gives her a sweet kiss before ruffling my hair and leaving us alone in the dining room.
I want what they have. The way Dad’s eyes track my mother whenever she’s in a room. How her eyes light up and she always smiles for him. It’s as though they share a secret bond and I want one. They bicker and give each other hell a lot, but they always make up. Love is present in every argument.
Finn and I argue.
But he’s like the rich assholes from Mom and Nanny’s story. Further proof that I don’t belong with someone like him.
“I’ll get this cleaned up,” Mom says. “Why don’t you grab some Moscato and meet me on the porch swing?”
“Don’t tell Dad you’re letting me drink,” I tease.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
While she cleans up from supper, I grab a couple of glasses and the bottle of wine before heading outside. Tonight, the air is crisp. It’s a starless night with all the clouds out, so I can’t see far beyond the porch.
I set the wine and glasses down to check my phone.
Finn: It’s taking everything in me not to come to you. You’re not really sick, are you?
My heart aches that Porter hasn’t responded. Sometimes, he gets busy and doesn’t look at his phone. Not like Finn, who is clearly obsessed with his.
And me.
Me: Oh, I’m sick.
Sick of him.
Finn: Emily, I’m sorry.
I frown as I read his words over and over again.
Me: For what?
Finn: That I make you angry.
I let out a satisfied grunt. He’s right. He pisses me off all the time.
Well, not all the time…
Don’t think about how his intense stare burns you right to your core. Don’t think about the way you feel on fire and light up whenever he’s near—like you might blow off like a flaming ember whisking off from a bonfire. He’s your best friend and you’re not a good fit. Don’t think about the way his hand fits perfectly in yours. Don’t think about how when you’re down, he crawls into your bed, feeds you snacks, and tickles you until you cry. Don’t think about how he sometimes brushes your hair behind your ear and lingers his fingers there as though he can’t bear to stop touching you.
Don’t. Think. About. It.
Finn: But you make me crazy.
“The nerve!” I growl, furious that I was thinking nice things about him.
Finn: You’re the only girl who can make me crazy.
My stomach flutters at his words. His stupid words. That was not romantic or sweet. He called me crazy. Asshole.
Me: You’re the crazy one!
Possessive, beastly brat.
My mind drifts to the way my skin shivers when he lazily runs his fingers along my bare skin when we watch movies. How he sometimes buries his nose in my hair and inhales me as though I smell good to him. The way he signs his initials F.B. on everything he comes in contact with—notepads, my bare skin, any dust Mom misses when she cleans.
Finn: It sounds like we have more in common than you like to admit.
I hate when he’s right. He gets this dumb gorgeous smug grin that I want to wipe right off his face. Sometimes I wonder if it’d melt away if I kissed him. A shiver of delight ripples through me.
Me: I’m not crazy.
My thumping heart begs to differ.
Finn: You’re the craziest girl I know.
Me: Go find someone else to bug.
Finn: But you’re my favorite.
My heart does a dramatic flop in my chest.
But you’re my favorite.
Ignoring him and his stupidly sweet words, I text Porter again. He didn’t respond to my last text and I didn’t really expect him too. I text him what I know will get a reply.
Me: Want to pick me up and take that drive tonight?
He never comes to my house, aside from picking me up. Sometimes I wish he’d take the time to formally meet my family and hang out, maybe watch a movie or something here. Like Finn. Instead, Porter likes to get me alone. Which, I like too, but sometimes I want more than that. Until he gets on board and wants more too, I have to go with what works. And us going off together alone is what gets me his undivided attention.
Porter: Will you be wearing panties?
I let out a groan, my neck heating. Just once, I wish he were into me for more than a fun time. I keep holding out and it gets me nowhere. I stare at my phone and can’t bring myself to reply.
Do I really want to be someone’s backup plan? Someone who only becomes important when the other has time?
Finn always has time.
Again, I think about his crooked grin and strong, athletic body. The way he’ll chase me around the kitchen island with peanut butter on his hands, taunting me. How it feels when he pins me, swipes it on my cheek, and then dramatically licks it off, making me scream.
Me: Why do you like hanging out with me?
I send the text to Finn, rather than replying to Porter, before I can second-guess myself. With Porter, it’s because we fool around. He’s a guy and he makes his needs known. But why does Finn hang around? It’s not like I satisfy any of his needs.
Finn: I think you know the answer to that question, angel. You’re funny and crazy and beautiful. I like when you fall asleep during the movie and drool all over my shirt. I like when you wake up and your green eyes are soft as you stare at me wordlessly. It’s times like those, I want to show you how you make me feel. I’m not looking to cop a feel in the backseat of my car, Emily. With you, I’m looking for a lot more. You deserve a lot more.
My heart catches in my throat as I read his words over and over again. He’s right. I do deserve a lot more. A lot more than Porter gives me.
Mom comes out wearing an unusual smile and carrying a blanket. I’m dying to hear the rest of this story, but I’m also freaking out about Finn and his texts. I want to reply, but I need a minute to get a handle on my emotions. I toss my phone on the table and cuddle up beside Mom when she sits down on the swing with me.
But you’re my favorite.
Another tug at my heartstrings.
“Want to talk about the boy problems?” Mom asks as she pours us our wine and nods at my phone. She could always sense my mood. I’m guessing I’m that obvious.
I grab my glass and sit back, shaking my head. “No, I want you to tell me about your boy problems. It seemed like everything turned out like it was supposed to in the end. Everyone got their happily ever afters. I need hope.”
Hope that I can navigate my feelings. I want to be smart, but my heart is confused. It’s doing erratic little flops at the idea of Finn and me in an actual relationship. One that’s not just friendly flirting and arguing over silly things. But more. So much more.
And that scares me. Because in all the months I’ve been hanging out with Porter, my heart has never flip-flopped for him the way it is right now for Finn.
Mom chuckles. “Well, it didn’t come easy, that’s for sure.”
“I’m ready. Give it to me straight.”
“Where did Helen leave off?”
“Somewhere around the time when a deal was made with the devil and you had to go live at Windy Hills,” I say.
“Ah, it was just getting ugly then.”
My phone buzzes, and I ignore it despite the thundering inside my chest. “I can handle some ugly.”
It’s better than thinking of Finn and his stupid pretty smile and his stupid sweet words.
But you’re my favorite.