Page 49 of Where We Belong

“Something like that, yeah.”

He still doesn’t move, but for a moment, I have the sense he’s going to lean forward and hug me. And not some soft one either, but a big bear hug, fingers digging into clothing and face pressed into the crook of my neck.

I have never particularly appreciated hugs. In my experience, they usually come from people I’d rather stay far, far away. Drunk men in clubs, high school acquaintances I did not keep in touch with for a reason, family members that have never been present for me, people who say they missed me but mean the opposite. And yet, I think I wouldn’t mind this one, especially after what he’s just said. Because even though he hasn’t uttered the word, I’m pretty sure it means he cares.

Only a small lamp is alight in the living room, accentuating every curve of his face, the slight downturn of his lips and the sharpness of his jaw. He really is good-looking. Too much, almost.

Jesus, what is happening to me?

Even when I move toward the door, he stays still. Like he’s not ready yet.

“It’ll be fine, Finn.” I don’t sayIwill be fine, because the likelihood of that is pretty slim, but I don’t think he’ll notice that.

His eyes lock with mine once more, the forest green almost midnight in the dimness of the room.

Finally, he exhales and says, “All right, then. Get in the truck before I change my mind and lock you in here.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to. The airport’s hours away.”

“I don’t care.”

“Finn, I won’t—”

“Don’t finish that sentence or I swear I’ll lose it. Let meat leastdo this one thing for you. Okay?”

A fist wraps around my heart, twisting it in a thousand directions. It’s painful, and fuzzy, and overwhelmingly thrilling.

“Let’s go, then.”

Chapter 17

Lexie

“What’supwithyou?”Josie asks from where she’s lying prone on my old pink bedspread. Most of the stuff in this room was inherited from me at one point or another. Dark hair spills onto the pillows from her long ponytail. We’ve been told a few times growing up how much we look alike. Personally, I don’t see it. She’s much prettier than I am. Her brown eyes are soft and warm, her face heart-shaped and sweet. She looks as nice as she is.

“Nothing,” I say, picking popcorn from the bowl sitting in my lap and dropping it in my mouth. The first thing I did after getting out of the airport yesterday was go to the grocery store for a haul. I didn’t need to see the empty cupboard and fridge to know how they likely looked. The way she’s been eating anything and everything since makes me certain I made the right decision. “Why?”

“You’ve been staring out that window for five minutes.”

As she says it, I steal yet another glance outside. We’re two days to Christmas, and yet there’s nothing that would indicate this when looking outside. The grass is rock-dry as if we were still mid-July, with neighbors playing outside with water hoses and torn-down bicycles.

It’s a view I’m used to. Except for the rare occasions when rain or even a few snowflakes came down over the winter, this is what I’ve grown up with. And yet, as I look at the bright sunshine and at people sitting out on patio sets, smoking cigarettes in mini skirts and sleeveless shirts, I feel a deep sense of longing for Vermont, and more specifically for Sonder Hill. I don’t know why I’d miss a place I was in for less than three months after only being gone for a week, but I do. I miss going outside and being hit with the fresh scent of pine trees and earth, and seeing snow drift over the trees and thicken the air, creating an almost soundproof space around my head. I miss running for miles through forest without meeting a single other soul. More than that, I miss the girls I’m used to teaching multiple days per week. I miss being able to practice as much and as long as I want in an empty gym. I miss living in a town where I’m not the daughter of Cynthia Tuffin. And, as crazy as it would’ve sounded a few months back, I think I miss Finn most of all.

This morning, as I waited to cool down from my heatstroke-inducing run, I scrolled through my Instagram notifications. I’d added a photo the day before of me throwing a front aerial on the balance beam, one I was proud of having taken by myself, using a makeshift tripod, and a comment caught my eye. I don’t usually go through the comments section—I’ve learned my lesson—but this time, I did, solely because Finn’s name was in there.

@bigboyy66: Do you think anyone thinks your hot? Loose the shoulders and than well talk

@FinnTheGreat: @bigboyyy66 If I were you, I’d spend less time online and more time learning how to spell. Now kindly fuck off.

If I were a better person, maybe I’d have felt bad that the guy had gotten severely humiliated on a public platform, but I’m not. Instead, I laughed out loud and liked Finn’s comment. I still can’t believe he did that. I can’t even find it in me to be embarrassed that he saw all the crappy comments people have left on all my posts. The fact that he thought it was necessary to defend me… It makes me feel warmer than the Arizonan heat.

“Josie!” a male voice shouts from the other side of the hallway. My mother’s mobile home is far from large, and the walls are paper-thin, so even if he’s not in the room with us, we can hear Kyle as if he were shouting straight into our ears. “Turn that shitty music down, or I swear I’ll come do it myself!”

In one swift move, Josie’s on her feet and turning Harry Styles’s voice off from her portable speaker.

“Jos, leave it,” I say.

“No, it’s fine.”

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