Page 105 of Twist of Fate
I ignore that last comment because he’s not wrong. Also, I’m fairly certain her Instagram page is private, but whatever…Rian can get into anything.
“One of the first things I said to her was that bit of bullshit I made up about how you’re never really lost—just searching for something.”
“Still planning on stealing that.”
“Anyway,” I continue, “I said it in jest, but the more I think about it, the more I realize just how right I might have been because I found her. Not once, but twice. What are the chances of that happening? Every minute I spend with her, I’m wishing for another. I don’t know how I’m going to say goodbye to this girl.”
“Then don’t,” he says simply.
“But she lives?—”
He interrupts me. “You’re overthinking this. That’s a problem for another day, Finn. You said you just wanted more time. Start there. I know it’s tough for a guy whose life literally runs on a schedule, but not everything requires one.”
“Says the guy whose life also operates on a schedule.”
“Hey, do you want my advice or not? ’Cause, I’m wasting sleepy time here.”
“Right, I forgot. Sorry, Gran. It must be late in Seattle, yeah? Close to almost ten-thirty? My apologies.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait!” I call out, grinning. “So you’re saying I should chill on the proposal planning and delete this list of baby names I started on my phone?”
“Look, after your starry-eyed speech, I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking. But, yeah, maybe hold off on the baby names and start by getting her number, you psycho.”
I grin. “Good night, Grans.”
“Night arsehole.”
I stare up at the ceiling and mull over his words. I have one day left with Aisling.
Time to make it count.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Aisling
PAST
The thing about being in the hot seat is that one day you’re living the high life, enjoying the expansive view from the front seat while simultaneously flirting with your hot tour guide, and the next day you find yourself at the bottom of the heap.
That’s right, Mom and I are sitting in the back of the bus today. No amount of flirting is going to get me out of this one. Rules are rules, people.
Since there aren’t enough people to fill all the seats, we’re thankfully not way in the back next to the onboard bathroom—which is designated for emergency use only—but it’s still a serious downgrade.
What makes it worse, though? Clint and his group of bros decided early on in the tour to forgo their chance at the hot seats and take up a permanent residence in the back—because I guess some people never fully outgrow their high school years.
So, that’s how we find ourselves seated right in front of “Mr. Chuckles,” as Finn likes to call him, for the two-and-a-half-hour drive from County Clare to Blarney Castle.
I thought he had gotten over his little crush, but I was mistaken. The moment Mom and I walk down the aisle and he realizes exactly where we’re headed, his eyes light up like a Fourth of July fireworks display.
Fuck my life.
I don’t have the energy for this today.
Last night, after Finn challenged me to hop on stage and dance in front of a packed pub, I can’t lie—I was riding one hell of a high. I didn’t expect to love it as much as I did. When I danced in high school, it was always in pursuit of a goal—to win.
Last night was just…fun.
