Page 3 of The Reaper
“I didn’t realize I was required to.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You just always do.”
I sighed and set the glass down. “I’m fine.”
“You always say that, too.”
He wasn’t wrong. Finn had been with me since day one—back when Promenade was just a paper sketch and a bad loan. He knew more than most, though less than he thought. Still, I let him stay. That meant something.
He dropped his jacket on a stool and surveyed the kitchen. “Everything’s spotless. I’m shocked.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
“Neither does burnout,” he said lightly, then paused. “You’ve been chewing your cheek again.”
I stilled. “Have I?”
“You get this look on your face. Like you’re five seconds from setting something on fire but too polite to say it out loud.”
I turned away. “Maybe I should start.”
He chuckled, but his gaze stayed on me, sharp and steady. “You’re wound tighter than usual.”
“There’s a lot going on.”
“The review?” he asked.
I gave a tight nod.
A national publication had hinted at a feature—one of the big ones. A piece that could put us on the map in ways even I hadn’t dared to chase. Charleston wasn’t a Michelin city, but I’d been building an argument, anyway. Promenade was a manifesto. If the stars wouldn’t come here on their own, maybe I could make enough noise to bring them to me.
Or leave. Start over. Take the fire elsewhere.
I didn’t want to leave.
But I also didn’t know how to stay if staying meant this hollow pressure forever.
“Think they’ll come in this week?” Finn asked, softer now.
“I don’t know.”
He gave me a long look, then shifted gears. “Charlotte told me about the caller.”
I bristled. “She shouldn’t have.”
“She tells me everything,” he said. “I’m irresistible.”
“Your hair is still wet from the humidity.”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the pass. “There’s no reason to think he’s anything.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t believe in gut feelings,” I said. “I believe in facts. In patterns. In the things I can control.”
“Which is … nothing?”
