Page 16 of Unintentionally Yours

Layla remained silent, sensing he just needed time.

“And what would you know about it anyway?” he asked roughly, the words more weary than angry.

It stung the way he said that, but not for very long. How he stood away from her and spoke to her through gritted teeth was a sure sign of his discomfort. But more than that, it spoke to something deep and painful buried beneath the surface. Something she desperately wished she knew how to soothe.

“More than you might think,” Layla said softly. Carefully. “But that’s not...Finn, this isn’t about me. This is about you and the amazing things you can do. The incredible art you create.”

She took a step closer, hand raised as if to touch him before thinking better of it. She let it fall back to her side, fingers curling into an empty fist.

“I run a non-profit art gallery back in the city. Opening that gallery was one of the few times I stood up to my mother.”

Finn’s head snapped up, his eyes finding hers with laser focus. Something like surprise flickered across his face, chased by a wry sort of resignation. “Of course you do,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Of course, that’s what you...damn.”

Suddenly, he looked exhausted. Worn thin and wrung out, like a man at the end of his rope.

“Finn?” Layla’s brow furrowed, concern welling up to crowd out the sting of his dismissal. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

For a long moment, he just looked at her, something bleak and bruised swimming in the depths of his gaze. Then he shook his head, a harsh, humorless laugh escaping his throat.

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t...” He blew out a harsh breath, shoulders slumping as if the world’s weight rested upon them. “You’re so far out of my league, it’s not even funny. You know that, right?”

Layla blinked, nonplussed. “I...what?”

“Come on, Layla. Look at you. You’re...you’re champagne and cocktail parties. Fancy galleries and fancier clothes. And I’m...”

He gestured to himself, to the rough-hewn lines of his body, the calluses on his hands, and the scars on his skin. “I’m just a fucked-up ex-soldier playing mountain man in the middle of nowhere.”

Layla’s heart cracked, splintering along fault lines she hadn’t even realized existed. “Oh, Finn. No.”

She touched him then, unable to stop herself. Laid her palm against his cheek, fingers brushing the thin, scar at his temple.

“You are so much more than that,” she whispered fiercely. “So much more than your past, or your pain, or the demons that haunt you. You’re...you’re strong. Kind. Brave in ways I can only imagine.”

Her thumb stroked over the arch of his cheekbone, the dark fan of his lashes. “You see beauty everywhere, even in the broken places. Especially in the broken places.” She gave a small smile. “Like me.”

Finn’s face closed up as if what she said was too much for him to process.

“Layla,” he rasped. The way he said her name was like a prayer, a plea. An absolution and a benediction all in one. “Layla, I...”

“Shh.” She gentled him with a touch, her other hand coming up to frame his face. Cradled him between her palms like he was something precious. Cherished. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

They stood there for a moment, sharing the same space, the same heartbeat. Lost in the steady thrum of connection, the aching rightness of his skin against hers. Layla swallowed hard, her pulse wild and unsteady. “Thank you for allowing me to see your photographs, Finn, they’re a gift. Don’t hide them away. Don’t hide yourself.”

His lips quirked in acknowledgment. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll think about putting my work out there...if you promise to do the same.”

He tapped a finger against her sternum at her confused look, right over the rabbiting thunder of her pulse. “Your heart, Layla. Don’t throw it away. Don’t take the safe way or the way someone else chooses for you. Your heart is a precious gift. Make sure whoever gets it is worthy.”

Oh. Oh.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

“Deal,” she managed, the word emerging strangled and threadbare. “I...I promise to try if you will.”

Promise to open up. To let him in. To take a chance on the terrifying potential sparking between them with every glance, every touch.

Finn’s smile widened. Layla was struck by the sudden, soul-deep certainty that she would do anything to keep that look on his face. That sweet, boyish joy, so at odds with the shadows that clung to him.

“Deal,” he echoed softly and sealed it with a brush of lips against her knuckles. “How about I show you how to develop some film.”

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