He was out there, in the world. He hadn’t just vanished completely.
I wish I could say I didn’t go off the deep end a little, but I’m only human. I must have googled every last piece of information I could find, reading his interviews with music blogs and streaming his grainy live performances online. Whoever was playing his music that day in the café must have been ahead of the trend, because soon Finn was everywhere. A genuine smash hit, climbing the charts and covering every magazine with those blue eyes and soulful, almost bashful smile. In person, he could be infuriatingly arrogant, but in interviews he always seemed kind of uncomfortable, looking away from the camera and drumming his fingers restlessly. Which, of course, only added to his appeal. The press speculated about his love life, gossiped like crazy about the latest cool singer or hot actress on his arm. Even here in town I would hear the rumors, traded over the checkout counter and morning cups of coffee. He was our claim to fame now, the wayward son made good, and even though it would have been easier if he’d just stayed gone, there’s a part of me that knew this was inevitable.
One day, Finn would be coming home.
I’m finishing up my laundry when there’s a knock at the door. “It’s open!” I yell, expecting Lottie and Kit to help make cookies, but instead, a male voice clears his throat behind me.
“Cute panties.”
I whirl around, clutching an armful of pink lace.
He’s here. Finn. Standing in my kitchen, smirking at my underwear like the past three hours haven’t happened at all.
“What are you doing here?” I flush, sweeping my clean laundry into the hamper. And worst of all, I realize too late that his album is still playing on loud.
Finn pauses as the music slips out, unmistakable, and gives me a knowing grin.
“It’s the radio,” I say, flushing, just as the song ends – and it moves to the next track on the album.
“Uh huh.” The smile doesn’t shift.
I glare. “Well? What do you want?”
“You said the door was open.” Finn grins.
I open my mouth to argue, then stop, registering the bouquet of roses in his hand. Not store-bought, but the sweet-scented white ones that grow wild in the mansion gardens. I look back up at Finn. There’s something different about him. His hair is back in a neat man-bun, he’s wearing a button-down shirt, and are those…?
“Slacks.” I say in disbelief. “You’re wearing slacks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grins.
“But why?”
He shrugs. “I’m wooing you.”
“You’re what?” The words sound so bizarre, I laugh out loud in shock.
“Wooing,” he repeats, strolling closer and setting the roses on the kitchen counter. “In certain cultures, it’s tradition for a man to pursue a woman with romantic gestures and gifts. You know, flowers, candy, teddy bears from the county fair.”
“I know what wooing is,” I tell him briskly, gathering up the rest of my clothes and walking past him into the hall. “But I don’t know why you’re trying it with me. Didn’t we just have a conversation about you quitting with all these games?”
“This isn’t a game,” he says, following me to the stairs. He waits until I’ve put down the hamper, then pulls something from his back pocket. It’s a box of candy, chocolates. “Your favorites,” he adds, presenting them to me ceremoniously. “I even ate all the nutty ones you hate.”
I stare at him, at his infuriatingly handsome face, and those smiling blue eyes, and the candy he’s handing out like he disappeared without a word.
Five years, and he suddenly brings me a Whitman’s sampler. Is he for real?
Yes, my heart tells me. Say yes.
“I guess I should be flattered.” I try to joke it away. “Used to be all it took was a smile and a wink to get the girls in the backseat of your car.”
“I’m a changed man.” Finn’s smile gets wider.
“Sure you are.”
“I drive a Mustang now.” He laughs. “The backseat’s heated. Not that we ever needed the help,” he adds, giving me a slow burn grin.
No, we didn’t. God, we steamed up the windows of that old car any chance we got. The memories play like a movie in my mind, how we would sneak away and park in the shade of the cypress trees. Some nights, we just talked, my head on his chest, so close I could hear his heart beat. It was the steadiest lullaby I’ve ever known.
But other nights… I couldn’t have slept if you drugged me, the heady mix of desire ricocheting through my system. I drove my parents crazy, breaking curfew every other night to see him that summer until they pretty much gave up trying to keep me in my own bed. It was one of the perks of being a good girl, good student, great grades. I’d never misbehaved in my life, so I guess they trusted me enough to think I’d make the right call.
Now, Finn smiles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
He turns and saunters out the front door before I have a chance to realize what he’s just said.