Page 90 of Business or Pleasure

“I, uh, didn’t know how long you’d be here, or if you’d get hungry,” he says, following my gaze. “Those are okay, right? You like that flavor?”

Slowly, I nod, all words leaving my vocabulary.

No. I won’t do it. I will not allow myself to get weepy over applesauce.

The whole flight, I rehearsed what I was going to say. How I’d explain that I’ve grown to care about him and sure, this situation is a little messy, but I want to know if we could really be something. I’d put it all out there, calmly and rationally, and I’d wait to hear what he had to say.

Instead, when I open my mouth after an agonizing silence, what comes out is: “I think we should stop the lessons.”

Shit.

It comes out so abruptly that it startles Finn, who nearly chokes on a sip of grapefruit seltzer. “Oh... okay?” Then he steadies himself, as though remembering what we decided at the beginning. That either of us could end it whenever we wanted to. “Yeah. Of course. We can do that. Can I just... Is it okay to ask why?”

I can’t look at him. Because I like you too much and because sleeping with you is just making it worse and why did you have to get me that fucking applesauce.

“I think I’ve taught you all I can.” I will my voice not to shake. “So I don’t really see a point in continuing. You can go off and have fun with whoever else you want.”

“I haven’t been seeing anyone else,” he says, still sounding confused. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But you will eventually.”

He inches closer. Even with a couple feet of space between us, I can feel his body heat.

I try to summon all my courage. I’ll say it as fast as I can, go to my hotel, conduct the rest of this relationship with two screens between us as a buffer.

“I feel like there’s something else,” he says. “Something you’re not telling me.”

I whirl around, meeting his eyes, increasingly frustrated by how casual he sounds. If he knows I have feelings for him, he’s apparently going to make me spell them out. “You want to know what I’m not telling you? Fine. I hate thinking about you with someone else, even though that’s the whole point of this—so you can be good for the next person. And I just...” Want to be the next person so badly. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

He’s just looking at me, features inscrutable. “I agree. We should stop the lessons.”

I’m not expecting him to acquiesce so quickly. To just sever this connection between us. The shock of it is an instant gust of cold air, a painful clenching of my heart.

But then he steps closer, a hip pressing against mine. “Because those lessons imply that what’s happening between us isn’t real. That it’s just practice. And that’s not true.” A soft smile, his expression changing into one I’ve seen on TV but never directed at me. “It’s felt real to me for a while now.”

“It—has?”

His eyes crinkle at the edges. “Chandler. Were you not there when I was waxing poetic about all the different expressions your face makes? Haven’t you realized that I want to touch you... pretty much all the time? I’ve tried a hundred times to give you a hundred different hints.”

And he has, hasn’t he? I’ve been too stuck in my head to see them for what they are. “But you don’t date outside of Hollywood,” I say dumbly, as though this will negate everything he’s confessed so far.

“Yeah. Until now.” A slow shake of his head. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we left New York. You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, and I’m not sure you realize it. You’re driven and loyal and compassionate, and Jesus—you’re so beautiful, it makes my heart hurt to look at you sometimes.” He pauses, swallows hard, and even though I’m not the one talking, I’m left struggling to catch my breath. I want so badly to reach out and touch his face, to see if his reddened cheeks would be warm against my fingertips. “We could have spent this entire trip in bed, and it wouldn’t have been enough. We could have spent it just talking, twenty-four hours a day, and I’d still want to hear your voice,” he says. “I’ve felt this way for a while. At least since Memphis.” A laugh slips out as he mashes a fist on the countertop. “Hell, I told you I had a crush on you!”

“While you were high on DayQuil!” I say, and then more softly: “You remember that?”

He steps closer, a whisper of space between us. “I remember everything,” he says, rich hazel eyes never leaving mine. He is so open, so vulnerable, and it’s making me fall even harder. “I thought it would pass. I hoped it would, at first. But spending so much time with you only dug me deeper. Every night we were together, I only wanted you more. But even if we hadn’t been physical, I think I still would have developed feelings for you. Honestly, I could never touch you again—and let’s face it, I’d be devastated, and I’m obviously hoping it doesn’t come to that—and I’d still be utterly wrecked over you.”

There are no words in the English language lovelier than these.

Finn Walsh. Is utterly wrecked. Over me.

“I kept worrying I was being too obvious about it,” he continues, “and I was going to scare you off.”

I just stare at him, unable to process that we might want the exact same thing. Even if we hadn’t been physical. I’m not sure I knew how badly I needed to hear that.

“I’m not scared off.” My voice is a small, fragile thing. “Scared, maybe. But not scared off. Finn...” I have to take a few more moments to collect myself, wanting the words to come out exactly right. “I know it’s only been a few months, but you’ve become so important to me. Every time we’re not together, I miss you, and every time we are, I feel like I have to hold on tight to make it last as long as possible. I’ve been so uncertain about everything in my life, but the way I want you is crystal clear.” I place a hand on the right side of his chest, thumb stroking upward and then back down. As though I could hold his heartbeat right in my palm—and maybe I already do. “Because I do. Badly.”

His whole face changes, softens in a way I’ve never seen before. “Come here,” he says, bringing up a hand to clasp mine. “Come here, sweetheart.”

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