Page 74 of Seas the Dating Coach

Vivian

“I’m doing this all wrong,” Finn grumbles. “I should be picking you up at your door with an obscenely large bouquet of flowers and then driving you to the finest restaurant on the mainland.”

The way Finn pouts like a despondent puppy is thecutestthing. And my heart can’t help but do a happy little skip at his casual use of “the mainland” when referring to the city where he used to reside. Maybe Finn is a step closer to considering this small stretch of beach home?

“I don’t want any of that. I want this,” I say, squeezing our interlaced fingers as we walk to Bayside Table.

“You could have at least let me get you flowers,” he mutters under his breath.

I pull us across Sand Bend Road into Judith Abernathy’s front yard. Blue hydrangea bushes form a hedge around her white siding exterior.

“Just pinch one of those.”

His mouth drops open, but there’s a teasing flash in his gaze. “Vivian Hutchinson, town sweetheart, are you encouraging me to steal from one of your neighbors?”

“If it’ll keep you from whining on my first first date.” I place my free hand on my hip, firming my lips in a mock stern expression.

Finn instantly softens, using his other hand to tuck a curl behind my ear. “Sorry, gorgeous. No more complaining from me.” He brushes a quick kiss over my cheek before hovering his lips over my ear. “But next time, your flowers will be nothing short of opulent.”

I lean back with a teasing smirk. “I’d expect nothing less from someone as dramatic as you.”

Finn laughs, and I want to bottle that carefree sound and wear it in a locket around my neck.

“Come on.” I tug him toward the restaurant.

At Finn’s hesitation as I bypass the restaurant’s main door in favor of the expansive outdoor space, I send him a challenging glance. He rubs the back of his neck with an audible sigh, pulling a laugh from my belly. Before we can even make it around the corner to the green space, Finn’s hand is on my jaw, tilting my lips up to his. The kiss is inexplicably hot and sweet at the same time. A delectable sense of satiation corkscrews down my spine.

“I love when you do that,” he murmurs against my lips.

“What?” My answer is little more than a puff of breath.

“Laugh. Smile.” He tilts back so I can see the curve of his mouth. “Exist.”

My entire body feels awash with starlight, and for the first time in a long time in Finn’s presence, I’m speechless. Somethingchanges in his expression as my parted lips shudder on a halting exhale. His strong features become sharper, more reverent.

“Vivi—”

“Hey! Are you two here for the dance lessons?” Patricia and Gary step behind us on the path around to the patio space.

We separate a polite distance, but my chest soars when Finn doesn’t release our intertwined fingers.

“Dance lessons?” My brow wrinkles as I glance at Finn.

“Sorry. I forgot to mention it.” He winces slightly. “Letitia coordinated with Margot to give waltz lessons tonight since she’d been unable to host on Wednesday.”

Finn probably forgot because he’d been distracted by his terrifying fear of being immersed in water. It’d been profound to watch such a confident, capable man lay his vulnerability bare. I’d been flitting around the bathroom, filling the tub, making jokes to lighten the mood. The split second when Finn met my gaze, the panic plain in his eyes, before he stepped in the tub anyway, a concentric pulse thrummed through my body. I was proud of him for taking that risk, for being brave enough to do so with an audience. In the moment after, when Finn lowered himself with a held breath, all the while trying to distract me with his sculpted torso, I realized the emotion I hadn’t been sure about already thrived in every cell of my body.

Patricia pats Finn’s arm. “We’ve all been working like dogs this week. Time for a little revelry!”

“To be sure!” I beam, leaning into Finn’s arm.

His eyes catch mine, enjoying our shared joke over my fondness for Regency words and phrases.

The four of us turn the corner as an eight-piece 80s rock band, complete with neon clothes and big hair, begin their set. The keytar player is completely in her groove during the opening bars to Europe’s “The Final Countdown.”

“How are we going to waltz to a rock band?” I ask through a laugh. “Not that they aren’t incredible.”

I’ve only heard the immensely popular 80s groupThe Deloreans Bandplaying from my apartment window, since Brynn and I don’t venture out on Saturdays. One of the vocalists begins the lyrics as Patricia leans in to answer.

---