Chapter 5
She lost herself in him for hours. It seemed hard to believe that they'd been nestled into a corner niche on the study floor of the library for the entire afternoon. However, as evidenced by growing darkness outside through the large panels of slanting glass to the left of their cubicle, night was quickly approaching. The long summer evenings had retreated into slightly cooler autumn nights where darkness fell before dinner.
They were wedged into an individual study cube since the library had been so full when they'd arrived, but Delaney certainly wasn't complaining about the close proximity to Fin. She'd learned that he smelled quite wonderful, a combination of worn leather and clean, simple after-shave. And she also learned that if perfection was a possibility that this was probably as close as she'd ever get to it.
She was intrigued to learn that his name was actually Finlay, which had been his mother's maiden name and most probably confirmed her suspicions that he was Irish. She looked up at him through her lashes thinking how proud her Nana would be that she'd found herself a good ole Irish boy, and was unable to keep her lips from turning up into a smile.
"What?" he asked, breaking into her daydream.
She felt heat rise up her neck, settling in her cheeks. Not for the first time she was glad he wasn't a mind reader. "Are you Irish?"
"Yeah, on both sides, actually." He watched her quizzically. "A couple of generations ago, our family name was Gaibrial—it was Americanized by customs."
"Hmm, I thought you were."
He widened his eyes at her in question. "So, is that a good thing...or bad?"
She smiled. "Good. Very good. I'm Irish too, and I'm sure you know all about that Irish pride."
He smiled in return, but it didn't reach his eyes. She realized how much she loved it when his face lit up and the skin around his eyes crinkled with a full, genuine grin. "A little bit, from when I was really small, from my mom. My dad doesn't really care about that sort of thing, and my mom died when I was pretty young."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," she said, completely at a loss.
"It's okay, it was a really long time ago, and my parents had already split up at the time. I didn't know her very well. Family drama." He paused; his normally bright eyes seemed to darken. "So who's Irish in your family?"
She could tell he didn't want to talk about his family anymore, and despite her curiosity she allowed him to change the subject. My mom is—and we even have a family crest," she added raising her eyebrows. "It's a big source of pride in my family. My dad is too, but we won't talk about him."
His eyes quickly met hers, the commonality of family drama bonding them even without shared details. "Well, we'll have to celebrate our heritage on St. Patty's Day." He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling.
She felt a soft flush of warmth spread from her stomach and through her extremities at the thought of making plans with Fin for several months away. "I would love that," she said before hushing her voice to a whisper. "It would be nice to celebrate with a real Irishman—none of these Irish-for-a-day types." She leaned in closer to him when she whispered.
He chuckled. "Green beer or regular?"
"None of that green beer, that's strictly for the posers. We have to have Guinness—a pint of Guinness."
He beamed. "Alright then. A pint of Guinness shared on March 15. It's a date. I'll put it in my calendar right now." He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the calendar to St. Patrick's Day. He selected the date and added an event. He proudly held up his phone to show her. "Guinness and a shot of Jameson Irish whiskey with Dee."
She didn't fully realize what it was about him that made her insides turn to mush, and was surprised to be able to speak in coherent sentences. "It's a date," she breathed. "But I'm not entirely sold on the whiskey."
He measured her with his eyes, and for a brief second she thought he might ask her on a real date. She held her breath as pregnant silence surrounded them in a haze of anticipation. "You'll never know until you try it." He winked. "I guess we should get back on topic. Do you like Wordsworth?"
"I've read some, but I'm not all that familiar with him in particular. I love English Literature. I know that probably makes me a dork."
"Well then, I guess I'm a dork too." He grinned. "Wordsworth is my favorite. Here..." He dug into his bag retrieving a well-worn hardback copy. "If you're interested you can borrow mine. The way he uses words, the fluidity of his verses—it's pure genius."
"Thanks." She was eager to be alone with his copy of the book, searching for particular passages that he'd underlined, hoping to learn more about him.
His stomach growled loudly causing the now familiar blush to creep across his cheeks. In one respect he seemed shy and in another he was one of the most direct people she had ever met. She greedily absorbed any details about him, filing them away for future evaluation. "Hungry?"
"Yeah. I guess we've been here a while." He motioned towards the thick blanket of darkness outside.
"It went by quickly. And we didn't even talk about the project."
"It's late, I need to get going soon." He sighed.
"Sure." She anxiously fidgeted with her things, starting to pack up. He must be bored after sitting all afternoon with her, especially since they'd accomplished absolutely nothing. "I won't keep you any longer."
"Keep me?" he laughed. "I have some studio time scheduled and...."
"Don't worry, you don't need to explain."
"But I want to. I have some studio time scheduled, and I'm feeling particularly inspired this evening."
"You are?" She hoped it was because of her. "Studio time for what? Are you an artist?"
"Well, yes, I try to be." His laugh was self-deprecating.
"What medium?"
"I paint, mostly. Some charcoal too, and sometimes I like to sketch."
"You're very intriguing," she said, realizing immediately that the words had come out even though they were meant to be a private thought.
"Am I?" He laughed, though his eyes were serious.
"You are, indeed." She smiled as she fitted his well-used copy of Wordsworth's works into her sunflower print backpack.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
"Yes," she answered a bit too quickly, without any care whatsoever for her schedule.
"I'll walk you out."
They walked side by side, her arm looped through his again as if they were partners in a square dance. The parking lot was dimly lit and Fin insisted on walking her to her car. He lingered for a moment before her and she wondered if he might try to kiss her. She held her breath as she stared up into his incredible eyes, made almost fluorescent by the glow of the street lamps.
"Until tomorrow, then." He fidgeted with his hair, tucking a long strand behind his ear.
"Happy painting," she said. She was surprised to hear the strangled sound of her own voice.
"Thanks. So, same time, same place?" he reaffirmed. She wondered if he were stalling for time.
She slung her backpack into the front seat of her car, freeing up her hands in anticipation of a kiss. His eyes squinted up at the corners, as he seemed to mull over the same prospects in his mind. He removed his hands from his pockets and took a small step forward.
"I'll be there." She leaned toward him.
He froze, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. "Okay. So see you tomorrow, then." He backed away hesitantly; his hands retreating back to his pockets.
Disappointment pooled in her. But as he strode away, he turned and gave her a little wave accompanied by a beaming grin and wink, warming her heart back up.
She drove home on autopilot, barely aware of how she'd made it to her driveway in one piece. She thought of nothing but Fin for the entire ride, now with fresh details to fill in the voids of her previous characterization of him. The one that she'd built from the little bits and pieces she'd gathered from seeing him at class. And that night as she closed her eyes, his face was the last thing she imagined before drifting off into sleep.
The next day, she found him immediately through the crowded hall. She'd become acutely aware of his wardrobe these last two months as she'd examined him daily in class, and today he was wearing the moss green shirt, unbuttoned with a soft grey t-shirt underneath. She found herself imagining how the fabric would feel under her fingers as her hands trailed down his chest.
He looked up as though he sensed her presence, yanking the ear buds out of his ears as she approached. "Hi," he mouthed. He smiled as she walked toward him. She instantly became conscious of her posture, fixing her shoulders back to best display her assets. She began a bad habit early on of slumping after she developed breasts about two years sooner than the rest of the girls in her grade. Her mom had constantly reassured her that someday she'd be happy to be so well endowed, but for a self-conscious pre-teen the words meant nothing and she'd developed bad posture that had lasted a decade. But as she walked toward Fin, her chin held high, she suddenly didn't feel like that self-conscious girl anymore.
"What are you listening to?" She joined him at the doorway to class. Meanwhile, she did mental back flips that he waited outside class for her today instead of heading straight in to his normal seat. Today was the writing lab associated with their Literature class and Fin had been seated behind her from day one, meaning she had to wrench her neck around or swivel her entire body just to catch a glimpse.
"Trouble by Cage the Elephant." He smiled as he extended his arm to her. "Shall we?"
She looped her arm through his and followed him to a table by the window, positioning her backpack on the seat next to her so they would hopefully be left alone at the table. "I love that song," she said hoping it didn't sound like she was just trying to please him. "I'm an Indie Rock junkie," she admitted. "Have you heard the new Bon Iver yet?"
"I have, and I like it very much." He squinted slightly. "You're an enigma."
She bit her bottom lip. "I am not."
"To me you are. I would've figured you for more if a Meghan Trainor fan." He smirked.
She smacked him lightly on the arm. "That's just rude," she said.
Fin laughed a hearty, deep belly laugh. "Music, yet another commonality we share."
"Indeed." She smiled.
"Closet Goth-girl as well." His lips twitched as he studied her short, glossy black fingernails.
"Today were going to write a sonnet," the TA announced as he took his position at the front of the class. "I'd like you to work in pairs, three if need be. Find a topic you agree on and work together to fit the subject into sonnet form."
"Great, iambic pentameter," Fin said with a crooked smile, revealing a small chip on his left front tooth. She'd noticed that he guarded his smile, possibly hiding this imperfection that she adored. "I'm terrible at this, you may very soon regret your choice of partner."
"I seriously doubt that," she said before she had a chance to filter the words. "Anyway, we're writing a modern sonnet, so iambic pentameter is out the window."
"Thank goodness for that. Then I suppose I have the first four lines done already." He eyed her with a hint of amusement playing at his lips. "I once met a girl that was Goth, she had long wavy hair, loved her coffee with extra froth, and vowed all the men to ensnare." He finished with a flourish, his hand raised as if waiting for an accolade.
A loud chortle escaped her lips. "Did you just come up with that?"
"Give me a little credit," he said with mock reproach. "If I had time, I hope I could do better than that. Plus, remember I just learned you're a Goth girl at heart, a secret you seem to keep very well hidden." He'd leaned toward her as he whispered the last part with great exaggeration, his warm breath tickling her ear. As he leaned back away from her, his eyes locked with hers and it was as if everyone in the room disappeared, and she was frozen, locked in his gaze.
"So," he said breaking the silence. "Is it settled then? We'll write the sonnet about you?"
"Absolutely not!" she said through laughter. "Let's try to find something..."
"With a little less attention on you?"
She sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "Yes, something like that."
"You don't like the limelight either, I see."
"What are you doing, making a list?"
"Something like that," he said as his eyes trailed from her eyes to her lips, then back up.
"There's nothing to figure out." She leaned her head forward slightly allowing her long hair to cascade over the front of her shoulders, partially shielding her flushed cheeks.
"Aha, but you're wrong. I've learned many things about you already, like the way you lean forward hiding behind a curtain of hair when you're uncomfortable. Case and point." He gestured toward her.
Sheepishly she glanced up, meeting his gaze. Of course she knew he was right, but was surprised that she was so transparent or that he was so astute. "I'm not hiding anything," she said bravely. "Ask me anything you want."
"I will," he said with a glint of humor in his eye. "All in good time. But for now, we have a sonnet to write. Oh, and I need to add to my list that you rise to a challenge. Very impressive," he said pretending to write it down in his notepad.
Eager for the spotlight to be off her for a while, she attempted to change the subject. "I think we should write about Autumn. The weather is changing fast, the days are growing shorter, the...."
"Okay, you sold me. I'll leave you be, for a while anyhow."
And as she worked closely with Fin, she felt a shift occurring deep within her. She wanted to be forefront in Fin's attention. As a matter of fact she wanted nothing more than his undivided penetrating interest, something she was never fully comfortable with, with anyone.
Even though the library was almost empty today by the time they ambled over, they chose the same cramped study space in the corner they had occupied yesterday. They had taken their time after class today, stopping to get a muffin and coffee on the way at the campus café. They sat across from each other at a small bistro table, their heads inching closer together as they talked and laughed without a care to the project that lie ahead. And now, even at the library they were having a difficult time focusing on anything but each other.
"So, you know about my favorite author, who's yours?"
She was thoughtful for a minute, going over a catalog of her favorite writers in her head. "I read so much," she explained "this is really a hard call. But, I'd have to say if I could only choose one it'd be Jane Austen. She's amazing; as far as I'm concerned no one else is in her league."
"So you're a sucker for a happy ending?"
She was startled again by his intuition; she'd never met anyone who seemed to get her like he did. "Yeah," she confessed, "I am. But I love so much more about her writing, the way she breathes life into a whole cast of colorful characters, all of them so interesting yet inherently different. I feel like I'm living in the 1900's and the Bennett's are my next door neighbors—that's how well I feel I know them. I want to invite them to dinner."
He smiled. "Are you a writer?"
"Oh. Well, I wouldn't call myself a writer." She paused, her eyes shifting around before focusing back on his fixed gaze. "I like fiction. I have an idea book of all the stories that pop into my head, and some day I hope to finish a novel."
"Finish? Have you started writing one?"
"Yes."
"Then you're a writer. Own it. We artistic types tend to look for excuses for what we do, afraid to label ourselves as an artist or a writer. It's like we need a twelve step program for engaging in the arts, the first step being admission of our vice."
Her head was buzzing. "I don't know, it feels weird saying it out loud...and I'm always afraid it'll come with so many prying questions."
"I had an art teacher once that made us say, 'I'm an artist' out loud in class. He said telling other people what we did is the best way to fully realize our potential. Speaking of art, I have something for you." He reached into his worn leather bag pulling out a large sketchpad, handing it to her.
"Is this for me?" With a lump in her throat she took in the charcoal drawing of a field of sunflowers tilted all in the same direction, toward the sun.
"It will be, when I'm done. That is, if you want it," he said sounding unsure of himself for a moment.
"It's beautiful," she gasped. "What else could you possibly do to it?"
"This is just the plan, I already started sketching it out on canvas. I'm going to do it in watercolors, I think. The yellows and greens mottled together..." His eyes drifted off as he thought of his art.
"I can't wait to see it, I love sunflowers."
"I gathered," he said throwing a glance at her backpack. "Not exactly the standard issue college backpack."
"Oh, wow."
"I told you I felt inspired last night." His smile reached his eyes making them all crinkly in the corners.
"By my back pack?"
"Something like that," he responded as the lights in the library flickered. He looked up. "I guess that's our cue to leave, the library will be closing in ten minutes. Get your things, I'll walk you to your car." He began stuffing his unused notebooks back into his bag.
This time as her arm was looped through his again, she felt absurdly at home, like she'd been doing this her whole life—as if her and Fin fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. When they reached her car, she was sure that he'd kiss her tonight under the dimly lit street lamp.
"Take care," he said in a quieter than normal voice, stepping forward a smidge.
"Yeah, you too," she said breathlessly.
Their eyes locked as he leaned forward.
"Hey guys! Did you make any progress on the final project?" a shrill voice resonated from a few parking spaces over.
"Who's that?" Fin said quietly.
"I have no idea."
Disappointment flooded through her as the girl moved closer under the light. Delaney recognized the chic brunette from their class. She was the other girl that made a pastime of staring at Fin. Beth. That was her name.
"Yes, we've made tremendous progress," Fin lied. He didn't turn toward the voice, but instead remained fixed on Delaney.
She giggled despite her best attempts to stifle it. "Yes, yes. Almost finished," Delaney added in her most serious voice.
Fin was still watching her in a way that would normally make her uncomfortable. It was as if she was the only person in the world. "You know, we're probably going to have to pull an all-nighter at some point."
Delaney sighed, thinking that sounded like heaven. "Probably."
"Well then, I guess I'd better let you get your sleep now—build up your resistance, so to speak. Good night." He gently took her hand in his and lifted it slowly to his mouth, his lips grazing against her knuckles. Fin's eyes were fixed on her as his lips lingered, hinting that he felt the same paralyzing attraction that stole her breath. In slow motion he began to walk away, her hand still captive in his, almost as if he couldn't let go. His fingers trailed the length of hers before finally releasing—and she realized with a start that she never wanted to let him go.
After she regained her composure, she noticed Beth still lingering at the fringes of light, watching her interaction with Fin. Delaney smiled to herself as she realized she'd been the sole recipient of Fin's attention. She floated to her car and drove home in a daydream.
As she closed her bedroom door she checked her phone to see if Fin had called, she knew it was silly but she couldn't stop thinking about him. She had seven missed calls, but all from Shane. Realization hit her that she'd had plans with him for tonight, dinner and a movie. "Shit," she said aloud, guilt creeping in for standing him up. Even though they weren't serious, and certainly not exclusive, she didn't want to keep him on the hook, especially when she was so crazy about Fin.
She dialed him without thought for the consequences. He answered quickly. "Delaney, thank goodness. I was worried."
Guilt swept through her. "Shane, I'm so sorry. I have no excuse. I was swept up in something and lost track of time."
"Please, don't worry about it. I'm just glad everything is ok."
"Yes, I'm ok." She paused. She needed to end things with him, but she couldn't think of a single way to break the news kindly.
"Rain check?" he said.
"Oh. Well, it's kind of crazy right now. I have a really big project due."
"Well, you do have to eat so that you're prepared to study to the best of your abilities." She could hear the smile in his voice.
If he weren't so kind it would be so much easier to say what needed to be said. Maybe dinner was a better option, he deserved so much more than her ending things over the phone after a missed date. Shane had become a great friend since she'd moved to Florida. A friend she'd enjoyed kissing on a several occasions and genuinely liked very much.
"How about I make us dinner tomorrow at my place?"
"You cook?" she said incredulously.
"Of course I do. My mother insisted upon her son being fully self sufficient before he was to be sent out into the big, bad world.
She chuckled. Shane came from a wealthy and seemingly flawless family. Exactly the type of family Delaney had only ever read about in books of fiction. High school sweethearts had married straight out of college and quickly had Shane before a pair of twin girls. They enjoyed all of the perks of wealth as they raised their family, including all-inclusive family vacations, ability to play any sport or instrument their heart desired, but most importantly the luxury of a stable, loving family home. Shane's life was everything Delaney had always envied and hoped to create for her own children someday.
"Alright, I'll be there. But please don't go to any trouble. I'm perfectly accustomed to living off ramen noodles and mac and cheese."
"Delaney, you need protein and veggies. Perhaps this is the reason you've been unfocused. Don't worry, I've got your back."
She flinched. She genuinely hoped she'd be able to keep her friendship with Shane after tomorrow, just minus the kissing parts. She couldn't stand the thought of him being cut out of her life.
"Send me your address and I'll stop by after class tomorrow." She had been avoiding the step of visiting him at his apartment, though he'd invited her on several occasions. Delaney had never been prepared to take that next step with Shane, though she liked him very much.
"Good night, Delaney." He said.
"Again, I'm sorry for tonight, Shane. Bye." She pressed end, regret swelling within her. Though it soon faded as her phone rang, Fin's name flashing across the tiny screen.
"Hey, Enigma. I had some pressing English Lit stuff to talk to you about." A smile was plain in his voice.
"I'm so glad you called, I've thought of nothing but iambic pentameter since I left you..."
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Author note: I'm a sucker for a good old fashioned kiss to the hand. I guess it's my love of the classics like Pride and Prejudice. Sometimes I find subtlety the most endearing of all.