Page 18 of The Reaper
“No,” I said, too fast. “Not anymore.”
Finn didn’t say anything right away, just kept watching me like he always did—like I was a puzzle he already knew how to solve but was still trying to work out for fun.
I exhaled through my nose. “You know, all this watching me … checking up on me … it’s starting to feel a little creepy.”
He smirked. “It’s not creepy. It’s concerned.”
“Same thing, if you squint.”
“I’m not lurking outside your bedroom window, Meg.”
“No, but you always know when I’ve gone walking. When I haven’t eaten. When I’m one espresso shot away from detonating.”
“That’s not creepy,” he said, lifting his chin. “That’s competence.”
I turned toward him, one brow raised. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Look, if I were some random guy, sure. But I work with you. I’ve been here since day one. I know your tells.”
“Exactly. You know too much.”
“That’s on you for letting me stick around.”
I shook my head, but a smile tugged at my mouth, anyway. “You’re lucky I tolerate you.”
He grinned. “You love me.”
“I really don’t.”
“Sure you do.”
A deckhand brought over the sealed cooler and set it gently at our feet. I stepped forward, checking the label, the temp reading, the insulation. Everything had to be exact.
“You know I could do this without you,” Finn said casually.
I didn’t look up. “Do what?”
“The dock runs. Inventory. Invoices. Logistics. You don’t have to come down here yourself every time.”
He leaned against a piling, arms crossed, clipboard tucked under one elbow. The morning sun hit him just right—messy dark blond hair catching threads of gold, skin tanned, green eyes bright and unreadable beneath thick brows. He had that all-American, could-have-been-a-quarterback look, except he’d traded cleats for kitchen whites and ambition for loyalty. Hands big enough to carry crates two at a time, gentle enough to handle pâte à choux without bruising it.
Solid. Dependable. The kind of man who held a room without realizing it—and never demanded to be seen.
“I have to come.”
“You don’t.”
“But, I do.”
I finally met his eyes, and he shook his head like he’d walked into that one.
“You don’t trust me?” he teased.
“I trust you,” I said, standing straight. “But I don’t trust anyone to be me.”
“Which is the real problem.”
I shrugged. “This is how you get a star. Total immersion. Nothing gets filtered through someone else’s lens.”
