Page 148 of What About Us
It’s seven-thirty on a Sunday, and anyone who comes to the ranch regularly wouldn’t ring the bell or knock. No one else seems to have heard it. I set down my beer with a sigh and head down the hallway to the front door.
When I pull the door open, Finn is standing on the other side. My heart rate kicks up in anticipation and my knees wobble a bit. She looks so fucking beautiful, so peaceful, I almost don’t believe she’s real.
“Hey,” she says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Can we talk?”
I stare at her for a couple of beats before I push open the screen, step out on the porch, and close the door firmly behind me. “Yeah, of course,” I croak out, emotion thick in my throat. “Want to walk?” I ask, tipping my head to the yard. My palms immediately start to sweat and I have to rub them on my jeans.
“Sure.”
We leave the porch and fall into step with one another, walking side by side. The late August heat is still thick in the air, but we’re in the shadows between the barn and the main house, so it’s not too bad. From the corner of my eye, I can see her chewing on her lip and twisting her fingers in front of her as she walks. We make it as far as the barn, shoes crunching on gravel, and then she stops, turning to me.
“How are you?” she asks, her eyes dancing back and forth between mine.
I take a deep breath and let it out, eyebrows raised. “Honestly?” I shake my head lightly. “I’ve been better.”
She huffs a light laugh out through her nose and nods slightly. “Same.”
I reach up and run a palm over my neck, then stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans, not sure what else to do with them. All I really want to do is grab her so I can kiss some sense into her. I miss her so damn much.
My neck breaks out in a cold sweat, as uncertainty as to why she’s here courses through my veins. I’m running through a mental list of every objection she might use as to why we can’t be together. I’ve told myselfcountless times that it doesn’t matter if we don’t end up together, but that’s a lie. I don’t want to be just her best friend anymore.
“You look really beautiful,” I say, then bite the inside of my cheek to keep from verbal vomiting everything I want to say to her. My gut is a nervous wreck; I feel like I could puke.
She laughs lightly, looking down at her clothes. She’s in leggings and my NYU hoodie, with her hair undone and cascading in waves over her shoulders. She wrings her hands in front of her and bites her lip again, and when she looks back up at me, her expression is serious. She closes her eyes, like she isn’t sure she can look at me, before taking a calming breath and slowly letting it out.
When she opens her eyes, she pins me with a watery gaze, her brown eyes shimmering. “Thank you for the letter,” she says softly.
I try to read any sign on her face, something that will tell me what she’s feeling, but so far, all I see are nerves. I don’t know how to respond or what she came to say. So, I go with, “You’re welcome.”
She looks around as if thinking what to ask next, possibly stalling. “Did Tristen make her flight?”
I nod, surprised. “She did.”
“That’s good.” Her brow creases and she chews on the inside of her cheek before meeting my gaze head on. “Is Paige ok?”
I love that she thinks of Paige first. From the very beginning, Finnley has understood that my daughter and her happiness come first. It’s why I think she’ll be an amazing stepmom to Paige. If I can only convince her.
“She’s good. I think she finally understands that Tristen and I aren’t getting back together.”
Her eyes widen a fraction and she lets out a contented sigh, like, with this news, she can breathe easier.
“I talked to Paige about us, too,” I say, watching her face carefully.
Her eyes light up just a bit. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say with a small chuckle and kick the ground with the toe of my shoe. “When I told her I was hoping we could be a family, she said we already were. I mean, I think it’ll be kind of different seeing us together for a while, but…”
When I look back up at her, her chin quivers. She doesn’t cry. Instead, she clears her throat and looks away toward the road. My gut tightens up.
“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”
She’s quiet for a couple of seconds, chewing on her lip again. When she looks back at me, her eyes are full of longing and unshed tears. “You really hurt me.” She sniffles. “With the whole cremation thing.”
I swallow hard and look down at my shoes, nodding. “I know.”
She pulls in a deep breath. “You hurt me, but…I understand why you did it.”
My head snaps up. That was not what I was expecting her to say. “You do?”
