Page 42 of Where We Belong
I snicker as I bite into another nugget.
“So now that you know what my very adult diet looks like,” Finn starts, “imagine my picky ass when I was traveling to foreign countries and had to find something to eat.”
“Not a big culinary adventurer?”
“Nope.” He gets up to fill two glasses with water. “Didn’t stop me from traveling, though. I just got used to surviving off rice and bread.”
“Nutritious.”
“Absolutely,” he says as he hands me my glass and sits down.
“Thanks.” I take a sip. “So you traveled a lot?” I’d started to figure as much when I saw his office was filled with all kinds of items that looked like they came from foreign places, just like the ones by the window in the kitchen here.
“I did, yeah. Wanted to visit every continent by age twenty-five, and I did.”
Wow. I can’t imagine living that kind of life. The trip I made to Italy with my team—where I first met him—was the first time I’d left the country. Other than for major competitions, I never traveled abroad.
“You were gone for a long time, then,” I say.
“Seven years, on and off.”
My eyes bug out of my head. Seven years away from the place he’s always known? I’d never have been brave enough to do something like that.
My weight shifts back in the chair as I watch him. “Didn’t you miss being home?”
“Sure, a bit, but mostly I was happy to escape this place.”
“Escape,” I repeat.
“Yes, escape.”
He stares back for a second, our dinner forgotten.
“You haven’t grown up in a small town,” he says. “Everyone knows everything about everyone. It made me nuts. When I was in Bangkok or Brisbane or Helsinki, I was just a face in the crowd. It was amazing.”
“So why’d you come back if you liked it so much?”
He puffs his cheeks then blows out a breath. “My friend Aaron needed my help with the farm, and it was time, I guess.”
“Were you happy to be back?” I ask. I’m not sure why I’m being inquisitive—if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t want him to be—but I want to know more.
I freeze for a moment when I realize it’s the truth. I do find myself wanting to know more every time we speak and collecting all the little nuggets of information in some part of my mind. I don’t remember when was the last time that happened. Finding someone I didn’t want to see only as a distant acquaintance at best. Someone I could know, and who maybe could know me.
“Yeah,” Finn says, bringing me out of my thoughts. “I mean, I started traveling because I felt empty, but after a few years, I realized being in another country didn’t make me feel any fuller.”
I blink as I replay his words. This man has just said one of the most vulnerable sentences I have ever heard, over dino nuggets, not holding anything back. I’m so blown away I need a minute to find the appropriate words. I wish I could be more like him, open and trusting.
“I think we all feel a little empty sometimes,” I say, allowing as much honesty in my voice as I can. “But I do hope you’ll find what fills the void for you.”
“Me too,” he says with a smile that’s so different from the cocky, humorous one he wears on a daily basis. This one is soft, almost shy, and it makes my throat feel tight. I like this one best.
Except I have no place thinking about how much I like his different smiles.
I clear my throat, then stand and take my empty plate to the dishwasher, once again finding it neatly organized. “Well, thanks for dinner, but I have to get back to it if I want to make sure my next competition isn’t another shitshow.”
“Sure,” he says. “But you’ll be back to sleep, right?”
“Yes, I will.” For four hours, maybe, but that still counts.
