Page 22 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
Normally I get to do this in silence—curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around me, a candle flickering on the counter. At least I have the blanket and the candle.
Now I’m sitting in the dark, across from a man who despises me and who would much rather be anywhere else.
I flip the page, trying to ignore him and sink back into the story. It’s getting to the good part—the part where the enemies finally become lovers.
My eyes burn as I try to focus on the words. I’m so damn tired it takes effort just to keep the sentences from blurring together. The cider isn’t helping, the alcohol—it’s making me drowsy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finley glance up, like he’s about to say something. But then he doesn’t. He just looks back at his phone, his knee bouncing under the table, making it tremble with every bounce.
It’s annoying the hell out of me. But still… I’m grateful he’s here. The storm howling outside feels a little less loud with someone else here. Even if the company is wishing they were with anyone else.
I realize I probably look like shit—no makeup, dark circles, hair thrown up in the messiest bun imaginable. The last few days have completely drained me, and sitting here across from the hottest man on the planet only makes me more aware of it.
Finley finally breaks the silence, and I nearly drop my can of cider from shock. “Are you okay?” He asks.
I blink at him. “Why?” I ask sharper than I intended.
His cheeks flush, and he looks down at the table, rubbing the back of his neck. Great. He’s definitely noticed how rough I look.
He hesitates before speaking again. “You just… seem different. Not like yourself.”
I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. “You mean… not pretty? Not what society expects us women to look like day in day out? You know Finley, sometimes people just have bad days.”
The words come out sharper than I mean them to, and the instant I see his expression shift, guilt twists in my stomach.
He clears his throat, looking at his hands. “No, no, I didn’t mean that.” He sighs, shoulders sinking. “I was genuinely asking if you’re okay. You just… seem like something’s bothering you. Ever since…”
I cut in, my tone softer now. “Ever since what, Finley?”
He lets out a slow breath. “Ever since the fall event. That man came up to you, and it just… killed your mood. I’ve never seen you so upset.”
My stomach drops. I stare down at my hands, twisting the edge of the blanket between my fingers. “Oh… you saw that,” I whisper.
He nods slowly. “Yeah, I saw it. And I didn’t like it.”
I freeze, my head snapping up.Didn’t like it?What does that even mean?
“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His jaw tightens, eyes darting away. “Never mind that,” he mutters. “Just… tell me what happened. Who is he?”
I let out a long breath and shake my head. “Why do you even care, Finley? You don’t even like me.”
He looks down, his fingers tracing the edges of his cider. The can looks so tiny in his huge hands. For a moment, the storm is the only sound between us.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” he says quietly. His voice is rough, hesitant. “I know I haven’t been very nice.”
Something in his tone catches me off guard—it isn’t defensive or sarcastic like I expected. It almost sounds…genuine.
“I have my own problems, and I have been taking it out on you, Alex. You never deserved the way I treated you.” He says quietly.
When he looks up, there’s a small awkward smile tugging at his mouth and I’m stunned.He smiled at me.
I let out a shaky sigh. “It was my ex,” I finally say. “Chase.”
Finley doesn’t say anything, just watches me, waiting.
“He was… awful. Mean. Sometimes worse than that. Sometimes he would…” my throat tightens.
