Page 11 of A Hard Fit

Rory was careful—Finn was brash.

Rory was elegant, graceful, delicate. Finn was a blunt edge, smashing his way through life, saying dumb things about dogs when he wasn’t tripping over his own tongue. Breakpoint discouraged employees dating anyway, thanks to an ugly situation a few years back, but even if they didn’t, the two of them could clearly never happen.

“Hey,” Finn mumbled when he had to stop at Rory’s office Tuesday morning. It was cool, sleek and tidy, all screens and hidden wires, dim lighting and the scent of lemongrass and sandalwood. Finn’s office had more of a post-apocalyptic aesthetic—sketch pads, mock-ups, storyboards, color swatches, fabric samples, splayed throughout in piles of chaos, although Finn knew where everything was…roughly.

Rory looked up from their biggest screen, a dizzying array of numbers, and smiled when they saw Finn.

“I just got a call from Ilona,” Finn said. “She asked to see us in her office when we had a moment. Is now good?”

“Oh, sure. Give me one second…” Rory’s fingers flew over the keyboard in a satisfying hum, then they locked their screens and stood to follow Finn. “Do you know what she wants?” they asked as they began to make their way to Ilona's office.

Finn shook his head, a whiff of sandalwood following him down the hall. “She said something about a new client.”

Ilona’s assistant, Sabrina, waved them through when they arrived.

“Finn, Rory, please come in,” Ilona said from behind her ruthlessly tidy desk. “How are things, Rory? Feeling settled in?”

“They’re great, thanks,” Rory said. “Everyone has made me feel really welcome.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Now, the reason I called you in… Have you been to Thrill Island lately?”

Finn blinked. Not the direction he was expecting this conversation to take. “Never.”

Ilona looked surprised. “You’veneverbeen to Thrill Island?”

“Nope. I didn’t grow up here.” He’d never been anywhere as a kid, and his mom certainly couldn’t afford a trip to Thrill Island for the family. The old amusement park sat on an actual island near the Oakport harbor, but its best days were behind it. It looked faded and sad to Finn now. He’d thought about checking it out a couple times since arriving, but ultimately the promise of creaky roller coasters and stale popcorn didn’t appeal to him.

“How about you, Rory?” Ilona asked.

“Not since I was a teenager,” they replied.

“Well, I have a new project that I’d like the two of you to head.” She looked at Finn’s expression. “I know, I know, you’re busy, Sartini is ramping up, but Thomas will be here soon to help with the load, and I think this one will actually be a lot of fun. Thrill Island is rebranding. Admissions have been way down, their website launch failed and they’ve reached out to us. They want a new look, new app, better online experience for customers. They’ve really fallen behind and are paying for it. So”—she smiled brightly—“I would like the two of you to spend the day there. Tomorrow, if you can. Take it all in, get inspired, see what’s missing and find the spark that’s going to get families to show up. Yeah?”

Finn pictured the teetering stack of files on his desk…then imagined working closely with Rory, beginning with a paid day at an amusement park. “You bet. Sounds fun.”

Rory nodded too. “Of course.”

“Terrific. Connect with Sabrina, and she’ll give you your tickets and a credit card for expenses. We’ll talk when you get back. Can’t wait to hear your ideas!”

* * * *

Finn met Rory at the central station downtown Wednesday morning to hop onto the line that would take them to Thrill Island. It was a warm day, another gasp of late summer, so Finn wore a forest-green tank top and long gray shorts, paired with slip-on running shoes. Rory was—as expected—all in black. A low-cut V-neck tee, black jeans, black boots and the same glimmer of silver piercings in their ears and nose. A tattoo curled over Rory’s delicate collarbone, feathers or a wing of some sort. The vines wound down their left arm. The other arm had a sword peeking out from under their sleeve, and script along their inner forearm that read ‘You feel it, don’t you?’

“You look hot,” was the first thing Finn said. “I mean, nothot—shit. You look like you’llbehot. Not that you’re not hot. Fuck.”

Rory laughed. “Hi. You look hot, slash not hot, too.” Their eyes crinkled. “Nice and cool in that shirt, I mean.”

“Oh.” Finn looked down at this tank top. It was the fourth shirt he had tried on that morning. Luka said he looked good in that shade of green. “Thanks.”God, why did I say ‘thanks—’that was not actually a compliment.He resisted the urge to facepalm.

They made their way through the tail end of the morning commute crowd to their gate. Their ride wouldn’t be long, but the train was fairly busy, as office buildings stretched all the way from the downtown core along to the eastern side of the harbor before giving way to industrial buildings.

“So, four years at Breakpoint,” Rory said once they settled, knee only an inch away from Finn’s. “And you’re happy there?”

“Yeah.” The train lurched into motion. Finn tried to ignore the jolt when their knees bumped. “Mostly. I mean, I love the design part of it. The art. Sometimes the clients not so much.”

Rory chuckled. “I’ll bet.”

“You know, when you recommendthisfont, but they insist they wantthatfont, then once they see it, they want the one you suggested in the first place? Or they get mad cause you didn’t read their mind or they didn’t actually know what fucking color ‘cyan’ is?”

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