Page 10 of The Reaper
“You’re not exactly built for stealth.”
He shrugged and gave me that easy, half-smile that had charmed our pastry vendor and half our front-of-house staff. “I saw the unlocked gate. Figured you were out here brooding.”
“I wasn’t brooding.”
“You always brood when you walk the Battery at night.”
I turned back toward the water, letting the breeze push a strand of hair across my cheek. My body was still humming from the earlier moment, like it hadn’t realized the stranger was gone.
Finn didn’t match that charge. He didn’t ignite. He just steadied.
He came up beside me and leaned against the seawall railing. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t push. Finn never did. He was good at leaving space but staying close. Like a dog trained not to bark unless there was a real threat.
“I wasn’t following you, by the way,” he said after a moment. “Just saw the gate and wanted to make sure you were good.”
I nodded once. “I know.”
“You’re barefoot again.”
“I have sandals,” I said, holding up a hand. “See? Responsible.”
“Reckless.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He looked at me, really looked, and something flickered in his expression—concern, maybe. Or maybe just knowing. He knew me too well sometimes.
I broke the stare and started walking. “Come on. If you’re going to babysit me, we might as well get back inside.”
We walked in silence, our footsteps soft against the stone path. I kept my eyes forward, but I could feel Finn watching me. Not the way the stranger had. Not with intensity or heat. With care.
Inside, the kitchen was cool and still. The low light from the range hood gave everything a soft glow, familiar and almost too quiet. I moved automatically, pouring two glasses of water, sliding one toward him across the counter.
He didn’t sit. Just stood there, watching me fidget.
“So,” he said. “You want to tell me why you’re pacing the waterfront in sleepwear like some kind of moody heiress?”
I took a long drink before answering. “It’s the Guide.”
He raised a brow. “Michelin?”
I nodded.
“Still?”
I met his eyes. “I want it, Finn.”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t make a face. He just leaned back against the counter and gave me his full attention.
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Charleston’s not even eligible. Not yet. But it will be. It has to be. And when it is, I want to be the one who earns the first star here.”
“You don’t need a star to prove anything,” he said gently.
“I’m not trying to prove something,” I snapped. Then softer, “I’m trying to finish something.”
