Page 45 of Finn

I’ll ask her when I see her.

And so that I can indeed see her as soon as possible, and add in the fact she needs my assistance, we wrap up our call.

After I get dressed, I’m out the door and on my way to help my favorite person in the world—Sammie.

Sammie

Finn is truly a lifesaver. And I mean that literally. What I didn’t tell him when I talked to him on the phone a few minutes ago is that when I tried to scoot the bookshelf over to between the windows and it wouldn’t budge, I turned to my side and, using my hip and all of my strength, pushed against it as hard as I could.

Bad idea.

The stupid thing actually lifted up some. But due to how heavy it is, it began to tip over.

I quickly let go, and it then almost fell back on me.

Crushed by my own bookshelf.

I shake my head as I adjust my ponytail.

God, that’d be awful.

And so embarrassing.

That is if I even lived to tell the tale.

Anyway, that was when I decided to call Finn.

As I wait for him to arrive, I pace around the piles of books in the middle of my living room floor while straightening my running shorts and smoothing down my light pink tee.

Don’t want to look too much of a mess when Finn arrives.

He’s just a friend, so it shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

It always does.

Every time we see each other, I want to look nice.

I don’t have time to stress about it, though. The doorbell just rang.

Stepping over a pile of books, I head over and let him in.

“Wow,” he says as he steps inside and scans the floor. “You sure have been busy.”

“I have,” I confirm. “But I think I overestimated my strength. Taking all the books off the shelves was a snap, but moving that thing”—I jerk my thumb to the bookshelf and growl—“is damn near impossible.”

Chuckling, he says, “Don’t worry. I got it.”

He sure does.

After verifying with me exactly where I want the bookshelf, he lifts it from the front and just freaking moves it down with ease to in between the two long windows, exactly where I want it.

He adjusts the bookshelf a little to straighten it out.

Clapping my hands, I exclaim, “Perfect! That looks so good.”

Glancing over his shoulder, hands still on the sides of the bookshelf, he asks, “You sure?”

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