Page 87 of When The Rain Falls

"This is perfect." I smile up at him. "Boysenberry font. That’s one of my favorites.” My approval causes some of the tension in his shoulders to ease.

"You have a favorite font?" His eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

"I'm a graphic designer," I remind him.

"Oh. Right.” He nods. “So, you want to try it?” he asks nervously. “Or, you know. You can just take it home. Try it there. Whatever.”

“You picked it out,” I explain. “It only makes sense that I try it with you.” He nods again. He walks to a corner cabinet and reaches for the top shelf.

"How was your day?" he asks.

How was my day?

No one asks me that.

“It was fine,” I say quickly. It’s what I always say. Because it’s easier to say things are fine than to dwell on them. But then I reconsider. I feel like I owe him more. “Actually, it kind of sucked.”

He pats the counter, gesturing for me to sit. I obey, hopping onto the smooth surface as he sets a wine glass down.

"Sucked how?" he asks as he pulls a corkscrew out of a drawer. He twists the metal into the top of the cork.

“You know what I did for three-quarters of the day?” I cross my arms angrily. “I photoshopped camel toes out of a swimsuit catalog. It was awful.”

Finn’s mouth twitches and he raises an eyebrow.

“Not all heroes wear capes,” he deadpans. I jab him with a playful elbow.

"Also, I'm designing an ad for a client.” I pick at the corner of the black and white marbled granite counter. “It’s this new outdoor clothing retailer. They may actually become big someday. They have great stuff. Anyway, I came up with something I thought was a pretty great design. Hikers in a hidden lake, dipping their toe into a new adventure. The clients just stared at it disapprovingly." As Finn presses the arms of the wine opener down, his biceps flare for the briefest of moments, pushing against his sleeves. I watch the fabric go taught and then relax again. Damn. Where was I? He bites his lip in concentration and when he pops the cork free his pecs dance across his chest.

"I asked them what they thought." I lean my weight back against an arm. "They kept telling me to make it pop. But they wouldn’t tell me what they meant by that.”

He pushes a wine glass towards me. "I could make something pop for them. But I don't think they'd like it." With his serious imposing frame and his deadpan face, I can’t help but laugh.

"Well, when I'm ready to get fired, I'll let you know. And you can pop away." I take the wine glass he just offered and cup it between my hands.

"Sometimes I feel like I should just go out on my own. You know? Be my own boss.”

"Why don't you?"

"It's too much work. Too intimidating. I wouldn't know where to start."

Finn slides his hand beneath mine, cupping the glass. I watch him bring the rim between his full lips.

"I thought you didn't drink?" I ask, as his throat bobs gently.

He lowers the glass and a muscle in his cheek twitches. "I don't.”

“How is it?” I ask, staring at the way his tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

"Not, uh, bad?" he says it like it's a question.

I take my own sip. It tastes like sweet vinegar and coats my throat like syrup. "Oh God." I make a face. Something about my face must be amusing. Finn's eyebrows raise and his lip quivers. Suddenly, not one, but both ends of his mouth shoot upward. His eyes crinkling at the corners, like tiny little bird prints in the sand. His cheeks form half globes around deep, grooved dimples.

He has dimples?

He has fucking dimples.

For a moment, I recognize him as Finn from the family portrait. And I’m completely mesmerized. The entire world falling away in fuzzy shapes as I take in the giant curve of his smile.

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