Page 19 of Blurred Lines

"Consider it market research," she shrugs, but there's a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. Interesting.

We fall into easy banter as we leave the café, the earlier tension dissipating. Something about her—the fire, the unexpected vulnerability—keeps me off-balance, and I secretly kind of like it.

Back at my place, I try to focus on rescheduling that damned hotel meeting. My mind, however, is a jumbled mess of Emily.

The show is in a converted barn on the outskirts of town—surprisingly chic for rural Emberton. As I take my seat, the lights dim, and there she is. Emily under the spotlight is a different creature entirely. Every inch the supermodel, she moves with liquid grace, her confidence radiating outwards. My stomach does a weird flip-flop thing I don't even want to analyze. This is so far out of my league, it's laughable, and not just because I'm way too old for her.

After the show, I linger near the makeshift backstage area, a knot of nerves twisting in my gut. When she emerges, flushed and radiant, I almost do a double-take.

"Well?" she asks, tilting her head. "Brutal honesty, please. Did I at least not embarrass myself?"

"You were … incredible," I admit, the words almost sticking in my throat. A decade melts away, leaving a man hopelessly smitten.

The one functioning corner of my brain screams at me to run, to forget Emily, forget this whole mess. Flushed with success, she's luminous. Before I can overthink it, I lean in, my lips brushing her cheek in a whisper of a kiss.

Her eyes widen in surprise, then soften. For a heart-stopping moment, it feels like everything might change. But then she steps back, a touch of confusion clouding her features.

"Finn, I … I don't think … this is a good idea," she stammers.

I wish I could undo all of this right now, but then she clarifies why. "It's not just because you guys were close to my dad. I also have something going on with Caeleb, although I'm not sure if?—"

Ah. I had my suspicions before, but I'm sure now.

I touch her arm gently. "Don't worry about it. I reacted too impulsively. Joke's on me. Can we not make an awkward thing out of this?"

She nods, a small smile gracing her full lips. I notice a flash of what looks a lot like regret in her eyes. The chemistry is there, but so are the complications.

"Okay," I say. "Let's take a time-out here. Tell me you're still going to help with the vineyards?"

"I am," she replies, with a laugh. "Don't worry about that."

"Thanks, Emily. What will you do now?"

She looks at the sky. I follow her gaze. The night is a bright, beautiful one, tearing through the expanse with a million burning stars.

"I'll go to the mansion," she says softly. "Have a lonesome dinner. Maybe Flora will visit."

"Did Verona and Alec get you into any more trouble?"

"Nah," she smirks. "Flora all but dragged them out of the place following the will reading. It was easy, considering Dad, for some reason, has entirely written them out of the will."

I nod. "Good, I guess we'll?—"

"Yeah," she says, finishing my words for me. "We'll catch up later. I had a really nice time, Finn."

So did I.

A final glance at Emily, her smile hesitant but warm, and I duck out. The night air is cool against my skin, a welcome contrast to the simmering nerves inside me. Hopping into my car, I cruise down Emberton's main street, then out into open country.

Vineyards roll by in the silvery moonlight, their rows etching the landscape. Overhead, the mountain range looms, a dark mass against the inky sky. It feels like I'm driving on the spine of some massive, sleeping giant. The vastness of it all presses down on me, a reminder of my own insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

Forty-something years old and I'm still stumbling around like a clueless teenager. Emily's face flashes in my mind, that brush of the kiss still tingling on my lips. A wave of guilt washes over me. Caeleb deserves to know, even though the thought of telling him makes my gut clench.

Fumbling for my phone, I dial Caeleb's number. His voice is a welcome anchor in my swirling thoughts. "Hey man, got a minute?"

"What's up? You sound … weird."

"I'm headed to The Tipsy Cow. Meet me?" My voice steadies, the decision made.

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