Page 36 of Songbird
I lick my lips and look around the yard to disguise my disorientation. WhydoI feel guilty for writing? “I feel bad about the way I’ve behaved. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
Finn’s smile is small, a little crooked, and a lot sexy. “I appreciate it, Rosie, but I don’t need it. My ego isn’t so fragile that I can’t handle a couple days of distracted silence or a few extra dirty dishes. And even if it were, you’re not responsible for managing my emotions. That’s up to me, and I guarantee you, I can handle it.”
His words float in the air like dandelion fluff, ethereal until they stick to my skin with the sharp pangs of understanding.
“Chip liked it when I said sorry,” I say. “He was always pointing out my selfish behaviors and making me feel guilty for things I didn’t mean to do. I apologized to keep him happy and so I could feel safe. You know… emotionally.”
Finn’s jaw hardens and his fingers tighten around the handle of his shovel, heaving it out of the ground before he closes the distance between us.
“You don’t need to worry about being safe with me,” he says, towering over me with eyes that burn with ferocity. “Emotionally or otherwise. Okay?”
I hold my head back to meet his stare, breathing deeply at his proximity. He smells real, like earth and hard work, and his eyes are fevered as they trace the lines of my face. He’s so big and so close, and it sets heat thrumming everywhere.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He holds my gaze a heartbeat longer, hand flexing on the shovel handle like he wants to toss it away, before he breaks the tension with a sharp nod and a step backward. “Good.”
My heart flutters unevenly, and I attempt to regain a little control with a casual thumb toward the house. “So… I just put some food in the oven and wanted to offer you my help with the, um…” I gesture at the mud. “Gardening.”
He cocks an eyebrow, caramel eyes glinting with amusement. “You want to help me dig?”
As soon as he says it, I hear how ridiculous it sounds, but the suggestion that I can’t do something only makes me more determined to try. It’s digging. How hard can it be?
Finn swipes at his eyes, apparently to wipe away dust and sweat, but his large hand hides a smile, and what I catch of it makes my pulse flicker. It also makes me lift my chin.
“Where do I start?”
Finn shakes his head as if to sayyou’re the bossas he hands me his shovel. “We’re excavating to a depth of around five inches,” he says. “You shovel out the loose dirt here, and I’ll cut the last few feet of this section.”
“No problem.”
I accept the shovel and pretend to know what I’m doing while Finn retrieves another shovel from a collection of supplies stacked neatly against the cabin.
Turns out scooping dirt and transferring it from one spot to another isn’t exactly easy.
The first load is too heavy, and I struggle to balance it. The next is lighter than I realize, so when I misjudge the strength needed to throw it back, my toss sends clods of earth careening through the air. I dart a few sheepish looks at Finn to see if he notices, but he’s concentrating on his own stretch of the path.
Even though I get the hang of things after a dozen or so practices and I’m no weakling—I do forty-five minutes ofweight training four times a week—within twenty minutes I feel the strain in my shoulders and thighs, my hands sting with the threat of blisters, and I’m covered in a light sheen of perspiration. Okay, so digging is hard.
I’m hefting up another loaded shovel when Dakota pads around from the rear of the wraparound porch and plants her butt at the top of the steps. After she calls to him with a series of woeful little whines, Finn tosses aside his shovel and strides over to meet her.
He stops at the bottom of the steps and sets his fists on his hips. “You can come down on one condition,” he tells her.
Dakota wags her tail, tongue lolling.
“Stay out of the mud.” Finn points to the pile of dirt, then shakes his finger under her nose. “No. Mud. You got that?”
Dakota barks once, her head jerking in what strikes me as an agreeable nod, and I decide in an instant that I love her.
“I mean it,” he warns again, like he doesn’t believe her. “No dirt diving.”
Dakota barks again, squirming and wiggling with excitement.
“All right, then.” Finn climbs the steps and lifts her heavy body into his arms. “As long as we understand each other.”
The second Finn sets the dog on her paws, she takes off at full speed, throws her ungainly bulk into the air, and plows into the mound of dirt. I don’t know what’s funnier: Dakota deliberately disobeying orders or Finn’s fatigued moan, like he knew this was going to happen. Either way, I laugh. Loudly.
“You think this is funny, do you?” Finn asks, his eyes flitting once to me and away again as he stalks Dakota, his steps low and stealthy.
