Page 47 of Finn

There’s only one pile left.

As I stare at it reverently, I explain in a hushed tone, “Those are my signed books. There are a few special editions in there too.Theyget their own space.”

Since the only shelf left is on the top left, Finn points to it and says, “I’m assuming you mean right there.”

I nod. “Uh-huh.”

“I can put them up there for you,” he offers.

I accept right away. He’s taller, so it’ll be easier for him to reach up and place the titles nice and neatly.

I was planning on using a step stool, but with Finn here, that’s unnecessary.

I tell him I’ll hand each one to him, so he’ll be able to place them on the shelf in the order I’d like.

“You got it,” he replies.

We get to work, and we’re like a finely tuned machine.

We have fun too.

I love that Finn checks out who signed each book before placing it on the shelf. He’s not overly interested in the signed romances; they just get a glance. But he does think a few of my special editions are cool, especially the foil cover ones.

But it’s when I hand him my one lone signed Stephen King novel that his interest is sparked.

Holding it aloft, he asks, “Did you get to meet him, or did you order this already signed?”

“I actually got to meet him,” I say excitedly. “I went through a big horror phase when I was about thirteen. He was doing a signing at a local bookstore here in Atlanta, so my mom took me. We waited in a big-ass line for so long, but it was totally worth it.”

“For sure,” he says as he places the book on the shelf with care. Then, turning back to me, he shares, “I went through my own horror phase when I was about eleven. I was really into it. Looking back, I probably read books I shouldn’t have at that age.”

I laugh. “I think we’ve all been there. It’s like a rite of passage or something.”

“It is,” he agrees, chuckling.

I’m always amazed at how so many people have the same experiences growing up. Alaska and Atlanta, a hockey kid and a book nerd, a boy and a girl, but we’re not all that different after all.

Since we’re done with the bookshelf, but I don’t want my time with Finn to end, I throw out, “Are you hungry? Would you want to order a pizza or something?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says right away. “Pizza sounds great.”

Man, I feel happy, like really freaking good. Spending time with Finn has a sort of healing effect on me. I find I’m not beating myself up all the time anymore over things in the past.

Sure, what happened all those years ago weighs on me—it always will—but I’m thinking maybe I do deserve a tiny bit of happiness.

Yeah, Sammie, maybe you do.

Finn

Isn’t it wild how sometimes the simplest of days ends up being one of your best?

That’s what today is.

Who knew hanging out at Sammie’s townhouse, helping her move a bookshelf and organize her books, then chowing down on some damn good pizza would make for one of the most fun times I’ve had with her yet?

But it has.

I think part of it has to do with how she is today. She’s unbothered, carefree, and lighthearted. Whatever sometimes haunts her isn’t in play.

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