Page 66 of Where We Belong

He’sfiveminuteslate.

It’s not a big deal. I’m used to getting everywhere on time because being late for practice when I was part of a team meant everyone had to do extra conditioning and no one forgave you for it afterward, but most people don’t associate a ticking clock with physical pain. Still, I can’t help but feel it’s not like Finn to not be there on time. He’s texted me every day since New York, even with updates about tonight’s date. He’s kept the majority of it a secret, only giving me a few directions on how to get dressed.

The brisk January wind ruffles my hair as I look down at myself. After an embarrassing half hour of debate, I settled on dark jeans and my favorite burgundy cardigan. When I asked him if wearing a skirt would be a good idea, he told me, “Only if you’d like to freeze your ass off,” so I crossed that idea out.

The cabin’s porch is covered, so I am protected from the slow drift of fluffy snowflakes, which land on the tall trees covering the estate. The view is idyllic and peaceful, yet it doesn’t tame the anxiety bubbling inside me. It doesn’t make sense.

When an extra ten minutes pass, I go sit on the frigid swing that decorates the porch. Ice coats its surface, but I need to busy myself with something. I rest the cookies I baked in my lap and fidget with the red ribbon I tied the translucent bag with. I tried to recreate the recipe we tasted in Phoenix. It was on Finn’s last night in town, and I’d brought him over to my favorite bakery. He’d sworn they were the best cookies he’d ever had, and while I’m not a great baker, I could imagine him lying to my face later tonight and telling me mine were even better, just for the sake of making me smile.

My knee bounces as I wait to hear the sound of his truck’s engine. And wait.

Maybe he got into an accident? His place is less than five minutes away from the farm, but itissnowing. What if he’s hurt?

Feeling myself getting more and more antsy, I pull out my phone to make sure I haven’t received any texts, and when I see I haven’t, I dial his number. Fuck it. If I look like a control freak, then so be it. At least I’ll know where we stand.

After six rings, I realize he’s not going to pick up. I end the call and grab my mittens out of my purse. The sun has long since set, and the cute spring coat I decided to wear was a bad idea.

I’m not sure why I tried this hard tonight. Maybe because it’s my first actual date. I’ve never had a guy come pick me up and try to romance me away. Never wanted one to either. But when Finn asked, it didn’t even occur to me to say no. Not when my body felt featherlight. I could actually envision this night. Imagine him sliding closer in a restaurant booth or a movie theater, trying to steal my warmth or pass me some of his. And when I saw those images, it wasn’t dread that filled me, but excitement. Like this might actually be something I’d want.

Yet the longer I wait outside this porch, the stupider I feel. When have men ever proved me wrong? My father left. My siblings’ fathers didn’t last long either. Some of my mother’s exes are the definition of earth’s scum. My ownbrothertreats me like crap.

But then there was Finn. Caring, sun-warm Finn.

The bite of the cold on my cheeks and nose tells me maybe I was disillusioned about him. Maybe I only had to wait until he showed me his true colors. I can’t imagine him being disingenuous with me all those months, but the truth might sit somewhere in the middle.

This is painful, and I hate that it is. I hate that I got my expectations up, only to have them smashed under his fist. I shouldn’t have given him this kind of power over me. As a friend, he wouldn’t have been able to make me feel this small, I’m sure.

This is what I get for thinking things were starting to look up after all these years.

I try his phone another time, and when it goes to voicemail again, I end the call and turn my phone off, then walk back inside. The face I see in the mirror after locking the door behind me makes me angry. It looks pathetic. Made-up eyes, red lips, frostbit nose that ruins the look. After removing my coat, I open the cookie bag and go to grab one, but I realize I’m too nauseous to eat anything. I end up dropping the bag on the kitchen counter, then go lie in bed, clothes and all.

This is all my fault. If I hadn’t gotten my expectations up, I wouldn’t be feeling this crushed. Pressure builds in my chest, and while I know it would be relieved by a good cry, I don’t allow myself to.

Once again, I only have myself to rely on, and that’ll have to be enough.

Chapter 24

Finn

Iwaituntil7:00a.m. before knocking on the cabin’s door.

There was a chance when I showed up fifteen minutes ago that she could already have left for work, but her car is still in the driveway, so I guess the odds are in my favor. Minus that part where the only thing that could’ve kept me from our first date actually happened.

I almost jump at the sound of my own knocks against the door. Sniffling, I plunge my hands back into my coat and wait. Honestly, I’m not sure what I expect Lexie’s reaction to be, and I’m not even sure which one I’d rather receive. She might refuse to talk to me out of anger. She might be deeply hurt. I think the former would probably be better.

Ten seconds pass, and still nothing. I consider knocking again, but figure I’ll give her a little more time. I owe her that, after all.

Looking at the porch’s ceiling, I rub a hand over my face, wincing where I touch the fresh bruise on my right eyebrow. I don’t know how it’s possible for so much to have gone wrong in a twelve-hour period. I feel like a week has passed since I was standing in my room, figuring out what to wear on that date.

It’s been thirty seconds now. Not that I’m counting. Figuring she might not have heard me, I lift my hand and knock again.

When another period of thirty seconds has passed, I ball my hands into fists and turn around. Either she’s sleeping, she’s not here, or she doesn’t want to see me.

I wouldn’t blame her.

When I think back to last night, I know I should’ve done a lot of things differently, but when panic overtook me, I could barely think straight. I just wanted to get Francesca safe, and I didn’t even consider everything else that was at play. The thought of calling Lexie escaped my head, simple as that. I barely remember how I got to the address Fran sent me. The drive must’ve been close to an hour long, and I don’t have a fucking clue how it went.

And then I got there, and hell ensued.

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