-13-
When Finn heard Emma's footfalls on the porch on Monday morning, he was deeply relieved, but he didn't go down to meet her. He knew she was upset with him, and he didn't blame her at all. He couldn't believe how clumsily he'd handled himself the other night. Every time he thought about it, his shame was just as fresh as it had been in the moment. First, he'd completely forgotten that women really don't like it when people creep up on them in the dark, especially a woman with bogeymen in her recent past, and thus good reason to fear. He'd gotten off on the wrong foot by scaring her, and then while he'd been making tea, hoping to help her calm down, he'd... well, he'd let things get out of control. He'd just been so surprised when she hugged him, and then, when she got that close, all of the inappropriate feelings and urges he'd been suppressing for weeks slipped their leash... and he was lost. He hadn't meant for that to happen, but she'd been so close, so hot, and she smelled so good and tasted even better, and her skin was so soft and her mouth so sweet and her thighs so strong around his hips... Even now, just the thought of those few unguarded moments were enough to make his body ache and his breath come unevenly.
He'd been so close to giving in to those impulses. Every caution, every doubt, every sane thought had fled his brain, leaving only the taste and feel of her and the need to follow her into mindless carnal bliss. -But when she'd pulled her blouse off, his mind had almost short-circuited with absolute lust, and the briefest glimpse of the soft, sweet curves of her breasts nearly spilling from the cups of her pink satin bra, the obvious thrust of her hard little nipples straining against the slinky fabric, the delicate arch of her rib cage and the gentle sweep of her hips narrowing to the slim, flat expanse of her stomach, her tightly furled belly button beckoning for the exploration of his thumb, his tongue.... It had very nearly been enough to make him come like an inexperienced kid with his first skin magazine. He'd closed his eyes and held his breath to wrestle his body back into control, and in that instant, he remembered (far, far too late) how dangerous it would be to give in to temptation.
Finn's sexual partners always fell into two categories: the kind that he met on the road and went to bed with right away, because they both knew he was just passing through and neither expected anything more from the relationship; and the kind he dated locally, taking out to dinner out of town, getting to know slowly, building trust and intimacy before he brought them to bed or, even later, before he brought them home to Catie.
Emma did not fit in either category. He could not jump in bed with her because she was his neighbor and employee, and he couldn't blow out of town and leave her behind if things didn't work out. And even if he tried to take things slowly, she already knew Catie: Catie loved her, and Finn knew that if Emma became his lover, her relationship with his daughter would be at risk.
In that one terrible, awkward moment, Finn remembered all of the good, necessary reasons why he'd been resisting his attraction to Emma, and he'd known he had to stop. Unfortunately, the force of that attraction, once unleashed, proved too much for him. He'd managed (just barely and with acute pain and considerable regret) to put her down and step away, but the effort had left him too shaken to do so with any finesse. He knew Emma hadn't understood-the almost feral frustration in her growl as he'd unlatched her legs from his hips had almost undone him, and the hot flush of wounded shame when he'd said "This is bad" had stung like a pinprick to the heart-but he couldn't change his mind. He'd tried to apologize, but she'd been hurt and angry and unreceptive.
Finn hadn't been sure she'd come to work today. He'd hoped she would, as he craved her forgiveness more than was healthy, but he also knew that it might be better, easier, if she hadn't. He knew, from weeks of fighting a hard-on almost at the mere sight of her, that it would be even harder to resist the attraction now that he knew the heat of her sweet mouth, now that his thumbs had traced the delicate ridge of her spine and his hands had cupped the lush curves of her ass, now that he'd felt her strong thighs wrapped around his hips and her fingers in his hair and her full, perfect breasts pressed to her chest, now that he knew his lust was reciprocated. Having her around might very well drive him crazy, and yet the thought of not seeing her was every bit as painful.
He heard the door open downstairs, and the muted lilt of female conversation through the floor. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone seemed normal enough. Catie didn't know what had happened, and he hoped that her innocence would help smooth things over with Emma. They could talk and run errands and bake and do whatever it was they did together, and Finn would do his best to stay out of the way until things went back to normal.
He stayed in his office, but he was too consumed with curiosity about Emma and Catie to get much done. He heard footfalls on the stairs and the hum of the vacuum in the hall and bedrooms, and he braced himself (and tried to look busy) in case Emma knocked on his door... but she didn't. Later, he didn't join them downstairs when lunch time rolled around, though his stomach was growling. When the knock came, it was Catie, bringing him a sandwich.
"Can I borrow your camera?" Catie asked. "Emma says she'll show me how to take pictures."
"Sure," he agreed readily, relieved that Emma's anger with him hadn't seemed to affect her relationship with Catie. He opened a desk drawer and removed his digital camera. He changed the battery and checked the memory card, and then handed it over. "Are you going out?"
She nodded. "We're going to take Ludo and go for a little hike on the nature trails."
Finn patted his daughter's shoulder. "Have fun."
"Thanks, Dad."
He thought he might get more work done when they'd gone, but not so. Ultimately, he gave up the effort and brought his lunch dishes downstairs. He brought a book out onto the porch. He chatted with Gina when she delivered the mail. He waved to Andrea Greene when she drove by in the cruiser, patrolling the roads. He got out the mower and trimmed the front lawn. He waited for Catie and Emma to get back, and tried to pretend he wasn't waiting.
When they finally did get home, Emma parked in her driveway and sent Catie into the house with a pizza they'd picked up in town, while she and Ludo disappeared into her house. She was avoiding him, too, apparently. Finn understood. He even appreciated Emma's subtlety, and he certainly recognized the need to steer clear... but he missed her.
The next day, Finn left Catie's school supply list and his credit card on the hall stand, with a note suggesting that Emma take Catie school shopping, and maybe to a movie, since it was raining. As he'd planned, that kept them both away all day, and for once he had a productive day of writing. The day after that, he went to Waterbury to do some research at the state police headquarters, and the day after that, Emma left early for a job interview.
Friday afternoon at precisely 3:30, Emma knocked on Finn's office door. He knew it was her, and not Catie, because he'd seen Catie ride off on her bike an hour ago, and ever since he'd been driving himself crazy with the delicious, nefarious possibilities of the fact that he and Emma were alone under the same roof. He opened the door and tried to smile casually, as if the distance they'd been keeping might have been a coincidence rather than a carefully charted avoidance course.
She didn't return his smile. She handed him a thermos of coffee and then shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She fixed her gaze at something beyond his left shoulder, so that Finn had the uncomfortable sense that she was looking though him. "I got a job," she announced without preamble. "I start Monday after next, so it's up to you: I can work next week or not, whatever you'd prefer."
Finn's throat closed with remorse. She was still angry, and he couldn't stand it. They'd been developing a real friendship, and his ham-handed bluntness had ruined everything. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
She narrowed her eyes but still wouldn't look at him. "I told you to stop apologizing."
"What's the job?" he asked.
She shrugged. "-A camera shop in West Lebanon."
He smiled, thinking of the camera she seemed to always have with her lately. "Ah, that will be good for you."
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. "You think?" she asked acidly. "I used to have my own studio. My prints sold for hundreds of dollars in galleries all over Georgia. People paid me thousands to shoot their weddings... but I guess it's not as big a step down as scrubbing your toilets."
Finn swallowed hard. He remembered asking her, when she'd first come to work here, what she'd done with her life that working for him wasn't a humiliating step down. Now, he guessed he knew... and it was a step down. It was exactly the insult he'd intended it to be. He didn't know what to say.
"What'll it be? Is this my last day?" she asked impatiently.
"Have you talked to Catie?" he asked, knowing his daughter would be the one most upset to lose Emma. -Or so he preferred to tell himself.
Emma winced. She nodded stiffly and admitted, "She's mad at me. That's why she tore out of here on her bike."
Finn sighed. "She knew this was temporary," he said. She may not have liked it, but she'd always understood.
Emma shrugged her slim shoulders, her gaze still focused on the opposite wall. Suddenly, Finn was desperate for eye contact. He stepped sideways into her line of sight, hoping against unreasonable hope that surprise would make Emma lift those stormy, purple eyes to his face. Instead, her eyes narrowed to angry slits. Now, rather than staring blankly at the wall, she glared at the button of his collar. Finn did not consider this an improvement.
"Look at me, Emma," he pleaded, his voice a gravelly whisper.
Her lips twisted with annoyance, but she tilted her clenched jaw up and finally aimed that icy glare directly at him. "Yes or no?" she demanded. "Should I work next week?"
"Is this how it will be? -You, so mad you won't even look at me?" he asked miserably.
She scoffed. "Oh, sorry. Heaven forbid that I should be mad. You've been mad at me since I got to town. You've spent the whole summer finding pleasure in my humiliation. Then, silly, silly me, I thought maybe we'd finally move past all of that, but no: You just found a new way to put me in my place!"
To Finn's horror, tears glittered in her eyes as she hurled this accusation. Her cheeks flushed pink and she reached up to dash the moisture away. The sight of her tears made his guts roil with shame and guilt. "Emma," he whispered, pained.
She wouldn't look at him. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and shook her head decisively. "Forget it. I don't need this. I quit."
She turned to go, and in a heartbeat, Finn knew he couldn't let her walk away. Without thinking, he reached out and caught her around the waist and shoulders, pulling her back into his arms. Rather than yielding to the embrace, Emma's body stiffened, but at first Finn barely noticed. He lowered his head, his nose finding the sweet-smelling hollow below her ear (oh, how he was coming to love the scent of vanilla), and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to savor the sweetness.
"What the hell are you doing?" Emma demanded, her tone razor sharp. "Let go of me!"
Dimly, through a haze of longing, Finn heard the order and knew he must obey. He'd never forced himself on a woman, and he had no intention of starting now, but she was so soft, so warm and delicate and feminine. He truly meant to let her go, but before he could make his body submit to his brain, shed grabbed his hands and thrust them away, wrenching free.
"You bastard! You had your chance."
"And I blew it," he acknowledged grimly.
She scoffed dismissively and venomously retorted, "You didn't blow it. You humiliated me, which has been your goal all along, right? Well, congratulations: it worked. -But if you think you can fool me again, you're crazy."
He blinked, startled that she could think he'd embarrassed her on purpose. They'd bumped heads in the beginning, sure, but he'd thought they'd put that behind them. She should know he wouldn't hurt her on purpose. Then again, hadn't he told her exactly that, when he hired her? -That it might make him feel better to see her demeaned by doing his housework? He couldn't let that misguided assumption stand. "I wasn't trying to humiliate you," he insisted.
Before he could explain further, she interrupted. "Oh? Then what kind of game are you playing?"
He shook his head, stunned. "No game, Emma. I -" He swallowed thickly, ashamed to go on, unready and possibly unable to put his complicated, conflicted emotions into words. He knew he had to speak, though: Emma was glaring at him with rank contempt, and any second she would remember that she'd been in the process of storming out.
He took a deep breath, met her beautiful, furious gaze, and stepped into the void. "I want you," he confessed baldly, "so much it's making me crazy."
She watched him impassively, unmoved. Her gaze was cool, assessing, and still very, very angry. "But...?" she prompted, her eyes widening in a silent challenge.
"I don't want to want you," he blurted out, wincing when her gaze narrowed and her lips pursed with pain and resentment. He tried to soften the blow by explaining. "You work for me, Emma," he argued rationally, "and I have to protect Catie...."
"Right, because I'm such a bad influence," she interjected acidly.
"No! But she likes you, and I don't want her getting hurt if things go badly between us."
Emma shook her head. "Do you think I'm that petty, that I would punish a little girl just because her father turns out to be a worm? I'm perfectly capable of separating my feelings for you both. I like Catie," she snapped. The implication that she didn't like Finn-at least not at this moment-was all too clear.
He sighed, knowing it wasn't that simple. Catie could get hurt no matter how decent Emma was. She'd been hurt already, hadn't she? -And just because Emma wouldn't be working for them anymore. It would be so much worse if he and Emma dated, and then things went sour between them.
"You know what? Never mind," Emma announced, before he could share any of these thoughts. "It played out just like you expected, didn't it? Things went badly. I quit, we're done, and if that makes you right, well, I hope you enjoy it."
He grimaced. "I was trying to avoid this," he protested. "We still have to be neighbors."
She cut her eyes at him. "I'm a grown-up, Finn. I promise to wave politely when we pass on the street. Go ahead and call me if you ever need to borrow an egg or some sugar. Tell Catie she's always welcome to stop by and visit." She turned to go, tossing over her shoulder, "Have a nice life."
Finn watched helplessly as she hurried down the stairs. He winced when the front door slammed behind her, shaking the whole house with the force of her displeasure. In the silence that followed, he leaned against the doorjamb and swore. Yes, indeed: things went badly.
-14-
Catie barely spoke to Finn all weekend. When she learned that Emma had not only gotten another job, but that she would not finish out her last week at this one, Catie was furious. She knew it was her father's fault, because when Emma told her about the job at the photo shop, she'd made a point of saying that it didn't start right away, so Catie would have some time to get used to the idea.
"What did you do to her?" Catie demanded accusingly.
Her dad shook his head in denial. "It was her choice," he insisted, but he wouldn't meet Catie's gaze, so she didn't believe him.
"Because of you," she retorted, feeling very certain. "You're never nice to her. You didn't want her to work for us in the first place, but she's good. I like her!"
Finn sighed heavily. "I know you do. I like her, too."
Catie didn't believe that at all. He'd made no secret of how much he disliked Emma, and Catie knew he'd only let her come to work for them because he was so bad at telling Catie 'no.' She looked up at him with undisguised disbelief. "Don't lie, Dad."
His eyes flashed with annoyance. "You're on thin ice, kid," he warned, and Catie flushed, belatedly realizing that telling him not to lie was not much different from calling him a liar, which she would never have dared to do.
His tone gentled as he tried to explain. "Look, we talked about this when Emma first started this job, right? We agreed-we all agreed, including Emma-that she would work here only as long as it worked out. Now she's got a better job, so she's moving on. We should be happy for her."
Catie was too upset to be reasoned with. "Yeah, you're happy. Happy to be rid of her!," she snapped.
Finn shook his head in exasperation. "We're not 'rid of her,' Catie. She lives next door," he reminded her. "She wanted me to tell you that you are welcome to visit her whenever you like."
"It's not the same," Catie wailed, stomping out of the kitchen. She pounded up the stairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. Downstairs in the kitchen, unbeknownst to her, Finn cringed with déjà vu as the house shuddered again.
Catie didn't go downstairs for dinner. She curled up on her bed and cried until she fell asleep, and when she woke it was pitch dark outside. A glance at her alarm clock revealed that it was 3:17. She couldn't remember if she'd ever been up so late, but she didn't think so. At Kristie Lamphere's slumber party last winter they'd tried to stay up all night watching movies, but Catie had fallen asleep in the middle of the third one. She'd been the first girl to drift off, before midnight, even: so embarrassing. They'd all teased her in the morning, but at least they hadn't played any mean pranks on her while she slept, like draw on her face with magic marker or dunk her hand in warm water.
On that thought, she realized that she needed to pee, so she got up and headed for the bathroom. The house was eerily still and quiet, and Catie shivered. She hurried in the bathroom, and then crossed the hall to peer into the dimness of her father's room. She tiptoed a few steps into the room, squinting among the shadows until her eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape of him in the bed. She paused to listen to him breathing, a low, steady rhythm that was somehow familiar, though she couldn't recall the last time she'd seen him sleeping. Even though she'd been so mad at him, it was a reassuring sound.
She shuffled back across the hall, noticing for the first time that there was a bottle and a plate waiting on the bookshelf outside her bedroom door, in the circle of light from a small lamp they used as a nightlight. "In case you wake hungry. Love, Dad," read a hastily scrawled note on a post-it note stuck to the bottle, which contained lemonade. The plate offered a peanut butter and honey sandwich, a bunch of grapes, and a small bag of potato chips.
Catie smiled, her anger fading. Sometimes her dad could be pretty great. She was hungry, and despite the lateness of the hour, she wasn't tired at all. She'd already been asleep for eight hours.
She brought the food into her room, closed the door, and turned on her desk lamp so she could read The Witch of Blackbird Pond while she ate. Unfortunately, the book reminded her of Emma, who seemed a little like Kit, because Emma was a stranger in town and everyone was suspicious of her. -And thinking about Emma made Catie sad all over again.
Being sad in the middle of the night wasn't like feeling sad during the day, Catie discovered. It was worse: quieter, deeper, lonelier. It felt like it would last forever, like there was nothing else going on except the sadness, nothing for distraction, nothing to do, and no one to talk to. She started to cry, but she was tired of crying, and crying was less satisfying when no one knew you were doing it. She thought about waking up her father, but he was always so tired lately, and she knew he needed his sleep. Plus, she remembered miserably, it wasn't as if he'd made her feel better that afternoon. He didn't care about Emma: he was glad she'd quit. Waking him wouldn't help at all.
If it weren't so late, she might have called one of her friends, but as she thought about who she might call, she began to doubt that any of them would understand. Everyone she knew had Moms at home, cooking real meals and folding clean laundry and teaching their kids how to do things like braid hair and use tampons. Even her friend Kyle, whose parents were divorced and who lived with his dad, went to Boston one weekend a month to visit his mother and big sister. No, all of Catie's friends took for granted that kind of womanly, motherly attention, and they wouldn't even be able to imagine the lack of it in order to understand why Catie cared so much that Emma wouldn't work for them anymore. No one would understand why it didn't matter how often she visited Emma and Ludo, because visiting wouldn't be the same.
Worse, Catie realized that, apart from her dad, no one here knew Emma. People in town had met her, but they didn't know her: if they did, they wouldn't be so mean to her. Aunt Julie had finally come home from her camping vacation, and though she was beyond curious about Emma, always interrogating Catie and Finn about her, the two women had never met. There was no one who knew how much Emma meant to Catie, not even Emma herself, for if she'd known, she would never have quit so suddenly.
This thought made Catie so lonely that her eyes heated and began to prick with tears yet again... until she remembered something she'd overlooked. There was one other person who knew Emma.
In a flurry of excited energy, Catie turned on her computer and drummed her fingers on the desk impatiently while it slowly booted up. She'd never been so excited about e-mailing Phoebe: usually, writing to her absent mother was a chore she did only when her father harangued her about it. Even then, she could never think of anything to say, and so her messages were always short, stilted, boring recitations of things she'd learned at school or books she'd read. Now, though, her mind was busily planning all of the things she wanted to say long before the aging desktop (a cast-off of her Dad's, stripped of all but the most basic programs and slogged-down by the memory-consuming, child protection internet monitoring software that blocked the weirdest things) woke up enough to connect to the web so she could log into her e-mail account. The delay was infuriating, but finally the familiar home screen popped up. Catie typed in her password. She scrolled through her messages, ignoring new ones. When she found Phoebe's most recent message, she hit 'reply' without bothering to re-read it.
Then the story poured out, almost faster than she could type.
Dear Phoebe,
We have a new neighbor, and you know her: Emma Wyatt. She says you were friends, and that she went with you when you left Vermont. Dad was really mad about that, but Emma says you were just friends, and I believe her. You should tell Dad it's true, because even though he says he's not mad anymore, he is, and I think he'd believe it if it came from you.
Emma moved back here this summer because her house where she used to live burned down and she lost everything. She needed a job, and no one wanted to hire her because everyone hates her because they think it's her fault you left-which is totally stupid, of course-so I had the idea that she should work for us. It was a good idea for us, too, because Dad's working on a book and he doesn't have time to shop or cook or take me to swimming lessons. Only Dad didn't want to hire Emma at first, but he did because I begged him, and it worked out GREAT, even if he won't admit it.
But then she quit today. She says she got another job, but I think she quit because of Dad. At first he was really mean to her, but after she helped me when I got my period for the first time, things got a little better for awhile. It didn't last. Lately things got bad again, and all this last week Dad wouldn't talk to her at all, and then today she quit. See? -Totally his fault, obviously.
You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all of this when I never tell you anything. The thing is, I'm kind of hoping you can help: I really like Emma. She's pretty and funny and nice, and she talks to me like she cares about me, not like the ladies who only act nice to me because they want Dad to like them. I can talk to her about all the stuff that Dad doesn't get, girly stuff like clothes and Twilight and why boys I've known all my life suddenly act like total weirdos lately. She's got this sweet, wrinkly dog, Ludo, that Dad says is ugly but which is really super-cute, and we take him on hikes. Only he walks really slow, because he's got short legs, and Emma has to carry him up the steep parts. Before she quit, she was showing me how to take pictures. She's a really good photographer, and she said you were the one who got her started and gave her her first camera.
So here's the thing: if there's anything you can say to Dad to make him forgive Emma and start being nice to her, please do it. Maybe you think this is a weird thing for me to ask, but I need Emma, and I think you can help: if you wanted to. I've never asked you for anything before, and this is really, really, really, really, really, REALLY important to me, so PLEASE.
Thanks,
Catie
-15-
Emma spent much of the next week trying to keep busy. She knew she'd been absolutely right to walk out on Finn, especially if he was going to act all schizophrenic like that, but the timing was terrible. This was the week she should have married Gary. She didn't truly miss Gary-how could she, after he'd nearly gotten her killed?-but it was hard not to think longingly about the life they might have had (that is, if Gary had been the man she'd thought he was instead of the lying, gambling thief he turned out to be). She'd spent much of the past year planning what would have been a gorgeous wedding, poring through bridal magazines, meeting caterers and florists and stationers and officiators. Time-consuming and trivial as those details and appointments had been, she'd enjoyed planning the perfect ceremony, and she'd spent countless hours envisioning the perfect life they would build together afterwards. When everything fell apart, she'd spent a heart-breaking several days undoing those carefully-laid plans-calling every vender, canceling every order, deleting their online registry-and then she'd tried to put it all out of mind. Working for Finn and Catie had helped: the work had kept her busy, and her misguided attraction to Finn had distracted her mind and heart. Now, just when she most needed help forgetting her broken engagement, that diversion was gone.
Every day that week, she forced herself to get out of bed and move forward. She walked all over town with Ludo, taking pictures of everything, learning her surroundings in the hopes that familiarity would make her feel less lonely and depressed. She spent a lot of time hanging out with George, developing film in his basement and enjoying his excellent cooking whenever he invited her to share a meal, which was often. George was a balm for her unhappiness: he was so enthusiastic in his praise of her art, and his joviality was, if not infectious, at least refreshing (especially after months of tolerating Finn's moodiness). The only drawback to George's company-and it was a major one-was his tendency to tease Emma about Finn. He had heard through several sources about Finn defending her to Mrs. Cooper at the craft festival, and according to George, the whole town was speculating wildly about what could have motivated his change of heart.
Emma politely insisted that she and Finn were just neighbors, but George didn't believe her, and kept needling her for gossip until finally she put her hands on her hips and flatly refused to talk about Finn at all. Unfortunately, her vehemence backfired, because it convinced George he'd touched a nerve, and that there must be more going on than Emma would admit.
Emma would have preferred not to even think about Finn, but her head wouldn't cooperate. Without wanting to, she noticed each time he pulled in or out of the driveway next door. At night, she tracked his movements through the house by the lights in his windows, and could not help but imagine what went on in those familiar rooms: the brightly illuminated kitchen where Finn and Catie would have dinner and talk about the events of the day, the flickering light of the television from the living room windows where she imagined them watching baseball together, the shuttered light in Finn's bedroom upstairs, glowing late into the night behind closed blinds. This hyper awareness embarrassed her and made her feel like a stalker, but she couldn't help herself. Some nights (though she'd never have admitted it), she and Ludo sat in the dark on her porch, listening to chirping crickets in the grass and mosquitoes buzzing against the screen, waiting for that dim light to blink out and leave the McCaffrey house in darkness.
Catie came over to visit, and Emma was so relieved to see her that her throat swelled with emotion as they hugged in greeting. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that things were not back to normal between them. Catie was prickly and ill at ease. For the first time since Emma had known her, the girl didn't have anything to say. Emma tried to apologize for her abrupt departure, but Catie shrugged and said it didn't matter, and then sat down and put her arms around Ludo, looking so sad Emma knew that of course it mattered a great deal.
"You can visit us any time you want to," Emma promised her.
"It's not the same," Catie said mournfully, and it wasn't. She didn't stay long, and her departure left Emma feeling bluer than ever.
It was a relief to start her new job, since it got her out of the house, out of town, and out of her head, though the work itself was mind-deadening. Most of the customers who came into the camera shop were so uninformed they didn't even know what kind of questions they should ask to guide their purchases, and though Emma tried to be helpful, even the simplest explanations often made peoples' eyes glaze over. Most of them just wanted easy-to-use digital cameras so they could photograph their kids and grandkids with a minimum of fuss and bother. Their questions were boring, their pictures were boring, and before the end of her first day, Emma knew she wouldn't last long at this job: she could practically feel her brain cells atrophying by the hour.
When she got home that evening, she could tell there was something different as soon as she pulled into the driveway, but it took a few seconds to realize what it was. For days her lawn had been looking ragged, desperately in need of mowing since she no longer had access to the McCaffrey's push mower. (When she'd worked for Finn, she'd cut her own lawn whenever she cut his, using her own money to buy extra gas.) She hadn't decided what she'd do about her grass now, since she didn't have money to buy her own mower or to pay a lawn service.
But now, somehow, her lawn was as neatly trimmed as those on either side of her lot, and though she couldn't imagine why, it was clear that Finn had cut it. The stripes of the mower's path crossed the property boundary without interruption. She got out of the car and heard the buzz of the mower in the backyard, so she knew Finn was still working. Sure enough, he came into view as she walked between their houses, pushing the mower along the edge of Aunt Olive's overgrown back garden.
Emma hadn't seen him since she'd quit his employ, and the sight of him now stole her breath. He was shirtless and sun-bronzed, his broad shoulders glistening with the sweat of his exertions. His physique was more toned than she'd expected, since he worked at a computer all day, but she knew he often took a few hours from his writing to kayak on the river, and she could see the proof in the muscles of his arms, the definition of his shoulders, and the firm ridges of his abdomen. She took a shallow breath and felt a bit light-headed. It wasn't fair that he should look so good, when he'd been such a jerk. Why couldn't he have been pasty and paunchy and pale, so that she wouldn't want him so much?
Finn hadn't noticed her arrival: his ears were covered with industrial-strength headphones, and his gaze was on the grass in front of him. He turned to walk along the other edge of the garden, and Emma's mouth went dry at the view from behind: his solid shoulders and strong back tapering to narrow hips and a firm, magnificent-
Inside the house, Ludo's increasingly frantic barking pulled her attention back out of Finn's jeans. Poor baby, it had been a long day, and Ludo surely needed to go out. Emma shook herself and headed inside, though she couldn't help but take one more glance over her shoulder before she went inside. Oh, Lord, but it was pure pleasure to watch that man walk away.
She greeted Ludo, stopped in the kitchen to pour a large glass of iced tea, and brought it, and Ludo, to the back door. She clipped Ludo's leash to his collar so he wouldn't get too close to the mower. The poor, desperate beast barely cleared the back steps before he lifted his leg in the grass. Emma was standing there, glass of tea in one hand and leash-attached-to-urinating-dog in the other, when Finn finally noticed her arrival. When he looked at her, she smiled and tried to wave with the leash-hand, but it was an awkward, clumsy gesture. She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment, and then she felt stupid for being embarrassed. He couldn't know what lustful thoughts had crossed her mind, and she didn't have to tell him. -And yes, Ludo was not at his most charming caught in the act of doing his business, but what could you do? That's what dogs did.
Finn turned off the mower and hung the headphones over the handle. He pulled a red bandana out of his pocket and wiped his face as he walked toward her, and Emma's cheeks grew warmer.
Don't stare, she thought desperately. Eyes up. Up!
"Hi," he said when he'd reached her, stuffing the rag back into his hip pocket. "-Hot out here."
Emma nodded and handed him the tea. "Here, this may help."
He thanked her, then tipped his head back and drained the glass in one long pull. Emma fought the urge to fan herself as she watched the tendons in his throat working with each swallow. He finished, wiped his mouth with back of his hand, and fished an ice cube out of the glass. As he rubbed the ice across his forehead and along his hairline, Emma sat down on the porch steps, so lightheaded now she wasn't sure her knees would hold her. She was sure her cheeks must be blazing. So much for him not knowing what she was thinking: surely her every dirty thought was emblazoned upon her blushing face. Was this an act?, she wondered. Was he doing this, turning her on, on purpose?
Ludo finished relieving himself and came to snuffle around Finn's legs. Finn leaned over to pat the dog before handing the glass back to Emma.
"Thanks," he said again. "That was great."
Emma shook her head dismissively. "Thanks for mowing my lawn. You didn't have to."
He shrugged. "Just being neighborly."
Her lips thinned at the reminder of their last conversation. "Right. Because we're neighbors, and that's all," she said grimly, scowling. If he was pushing her buttons on purpose, he was the biggest fuck-wit she'd ever met.
Finn sighed warily. "Emma," he protested, drawing out the syllables with what might have been exasperation or regret, or something else entirely. She didn't know him well enough to guess.
She looked out at the newly tidy lawn and feared she was being unfair. He'd done her a favor, and perhaps it wasn't right to question his motives. She forced a smile, and said, "Sorry. 'Neighbors' is good, I guess, especially if it comes with cut grass. Thank you."
"You're welcome." He smiled back and seemed to relax. He leaned his hip against the stair rail as if settling in for a longer conversation, and asked companionably, "Today was the first day at your new job, right? How did it go?"
"It's a paycheck," she replied, because there wasn't much else going for it.
"You don't like it?" he asked, surprised.
Emma didn't want to talk about the job, so she turned the tables by countering, "How's the book coming?"
Finn scowled and shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I've got all of the chapters written, but it's not coming together," he complained. "I don't understand it. I'm missing something, something central to the narrative, something that will tie the whole thing up ... but I can't see it. I've gone over it and over it, and I can't figure out what's wrong. I just know that it is wrong. I've never had a book give me this much trouble, and this one should have been so simple. I've known this story my whole god-damn life!"
"Maybe that's the problem: you're too close to it," she suggested. "Maybe you need a fresh pair of eyes. I don't know anything about the Cartwright murders, apart from what you and Catie have told me. Perhaps I might be able to see something you've missed. I'd be happy to read your draft."
Finn's brows lowered, and once again, Emma couldn't tell whether he was thinking over the offer or if it had somehow offended him. Suddenly, she worried her suggestion was somehow inappropriate.
"Of course, I'm sure you have an editor for that," she added hastily.
"No," Finn said, his expression clearing. "I mean, yes, I do, but... Yes, if you're willing to read it, your fresh perspective might help. I'd appreciate it."
She blushed again, this time with pleasure that he thought her input might be valuable. Almost immediately, though, doubt crept back to dim her pleasure, and honesty compelled her to add, "I don't know how much help I could be. I don't know anything about writing...."
"You've already helped," he interrupted. "You told me to tell the story from a variety of points of view, not just Tyson's, and that got me out of a rut I'd been stuck in for weeks."
Her pleasure glowed again, and she beamed up at him. It was the first time in a long, long time that anyone had appreciated her intellect, and the compliment was especially welcome today, since her new job had proven so unchallenging. "Thank you," she said earnestly.
"Don't thank me: you'd be doing me a favor," Finn insisted. "I'll print off a clean draft for you tonight."
Emma nodded eagerly, but then she couldn't think of anything else to say. Finn seemed similarly tongue-tied. He pulled out the handkerchief and mopped his face again.
"More tea?" she offered, to end the lengthening silence.
Finn shook his head. "I should finish," he said, gesturing toward the last bit of uncut grass.
"Well, again, thank you. Can I pay you for your trouble?" she offered.
He shook his head again. "No, please. Like I said, I'm just being neighborly."
Emma was too relieved to argue with him: she'd made the offer because it was the right thing to do, but if she'd had money to pay someone to cut the lawn, she'd have hired someone. Still, it deserved some reward, and she was making up her mind to bake cookies or perhaps a pie, when he invited her to dinner.
"What?" she asked, startled, half-certain she'd misheard. Dinner, like a date, dinner?
"Come have dinner with us," he repeated. "Catie's missed you."
Ah, so definitely not a date. Still, she wanted to say yes-in fact, she wanted to jump at the chance-but not if Finn was having another schizophrenic episode. The potential for heartbreak was huge.
"I've missed you," he added softly, his gaze falling to her lips. He reached out to caress her face, the pad of his thumb tracing lightly over her lower lip.
Oh, yes, this was that Finn, the incredibly sexy, appealing bastard who liked to lead her on before he yanked the rug out from under her. Fighting base impulses that urged her to lean into his touch, she backed away instead, nearly tripping on a step in her haste to escape. Finn froze, looking bewildered and hurt by her rejection, but she had no intention of letting him put the blame on her.
"Finn, don't do this to me," she begged. "You said-!"
He groaned and stepped back. "I know what I said. I meant it, too."
That stung. See?, she told her still-clamoring hormones, I was right not to trust him. Summoning her bruised dignity, she turned and took another, more graceful, step up to the door stoop. "Then no, thank you, I don't think dinner would be a good idea," she said stiffly.
"Emma," Finn called as she closed her hand over the doorknob. She paused to listen, but didn't turn around. "I did mean it. I do. But... You got under my skin somehow. -Into my head. I have missed you, so much it's making me crazy."
Emma leaned her forehead against the door and gritted her teeth. Her hand tightened on the doorknob, but she didn't turn it. Not yet. She knew what he meant because he was in her head, too, but she was willing to see where this attraction led them, and he very plainly wasn't.
"Say something," he urged, when she didn't speak or move, and the silence became oppressive.
She took a deep break and looked back over her shoulder, fixing her gaze at a point just beyond him. She didn't trust herself to give him any more. Her hand on the doorknob felt like a lifeline. She knew if he'd give her the opening, she'd fly into his arms, but if he was this conflicted about it, about her, then it was better to stay where she was. "I was supposed to get married last Saturday," she said slowly.
"Oh, Christ," Finn swore, looking mortified. He raked his fingers through his hair, which only looked better for being so disheveled. "I'm so sorry."
She shrugged that broken dream aside, unwilling to share that pain with Finn. "I only mention it because I think I've more than met my quota of romantic disappointment this summer, so you need to decide. I've made my interest clear, but I'm not going to settle for scraps of affection while you try to figure out if you really want me. You need to decide.
"Ludo! Come on, boy!" she called, tugging his leash, and the dog lumbered up the steps and through the door, which shut decisively behind them.
Why did women have to make everything so damn complicated?, Finn wondered irritably as he yanked the starter cord on the mower. It was just a dinner invitation, for Pete's sake! He was trying to be nice, God damn it! Wasn't he here, mowing her freaking lawn?!
Righteous indignation helped to get the recalcitrant lawnmower started, but it didn't last as Finn got back to work. As he fell into the rhythm of the work-the noise and vibration of the mower, the occasional percussive chinks and clunks whenever the blades caught on a stone or twig, the pace of his steps as he pushed the mower in even rows over the ever-shrinking patch of overgrown grass-his annoyance faded. Emma was not being complicated; he was. Her parting speech rang in his ears, shaming him. She had made her interest clear, and he'd rebuffed her, and then lured her back, only to do it again. This time, she'd been the one to reject him, and she'd been right to do it. He wasn't being fair. He needed to get his impulses under control, or he needed to stay far away from Emma.
The problem was that he'd already tried both options, and he'd had no success with either one. He'd been resisting this attraction for weeks, but ever since that night in Emma's kitchen, he couldn't stop thinking about the sweet heat of her mouth or her lithe, eager little body wrapped around his waist. Now, no matter how he knew that getting involved with Emma would be a bad idea, no matter how determined he was to hold his libido in check, every time he saw her, good intentions flew out the window, and he found himself trying to get back to that moment. Since he couldn't trust himself to behave, the only sure way to resist temptation was to keep his distance, but that was proving impossible, too.
It should have been easier, now that she'd quit and he saw less of her, but if anything her departure had only made his obsession worse. He caught himself looking out windows whenever he passed them, noticing whether her car was in the driveway and what time she turned her lights out at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He missed being able to take breaks from writing to eat lunch with her and Catie. He missed the coffee she brought him every afternoon, and more than that, the conversations they'd have while he drank it. He missed her, and the less he saw of her, the more she occupied his thoughts.
He finished the lawn and pushed the mower back into the garage. It was time to get started on dinner. Catie had spent the day at a friend's house, but she would be home soon, and he should get ready. He checked the refrigerator but was not inspired, and this, too, made him miss Emma. What to do about dinner was generally the toughest choice he faced each day, and Emma had taken care of it. Even on weekends and days when she hadn't worked, there had been leftovers or sandwich fixings or frozen pizza: things he hadn't had to think about. He supposed he could hire someone else to keep house, but he didn't want anyone else. Plus, hiring help-even Emma-felt like such a cop-out. Scribbling on legal pads and staring at a computer screen were not so taxing that he shouldn't also have been able to keep the house clean and his daughter fed.
Still, he'd been staring blankly into the refrigerator for so long all the cold air was getting out, so he gave up and decided to mull over dinner options while he went upstairs to get cleaned up. In his room, the sight of a printout of his most recent chapter, spread out on the bed where he'd been proofreading it the night before, reminded him of his promise to copy the manuscript for Emma. He wondered if her offer to read it still stood in light of the way she'd just dismissed him. Probably not, but then again, she'd seemed so excited about the prospect of reading it, honored even, as if he were doing her a favor and not the other way around. It couldn't hurt to deliver a copy. He wouldn't have to get in her way or even see her: he could just leave a copy on her porch. Then there would be no pressure: she could read it or not, as she liked. He turned on the computer and opened the file that held his most-edited draft (not yet a 'final' draft, far, far from it), loaded the printer, and hit the 'print' button. The draft was several hundred pages long, and the printer was still churning out pages when he got out of the shower fifteen minutes later.
Catie was not yet home, either, and Finn had expected her by now. He checked his voice mail to see if she'd called, and sure enough, there was a message left two hours before, in which she'd asked to spend the night at Jenny's. Well, 'asked' was not quite the right word: she'd closed the message by saying, "Since you're not home, I'm going to assume it's okay, unless I hear from you. Please, don't call. Okay, bye!"
Yeah, of course he had to call. -Not that she'd left the number or anything. He had to look it up, first pulling out her class picture to remind himself of Jenny's last name, and then looking that up in the phone book. If the number had been unlisted, he'd have been very annoyed, but there was a listing for 'Osbourne, H.' on State Street.
-Osbourne. Finn tried to recall if he'd met Mr. or Mrs. Osbourne, but he drew a blank. Because he attended all of Catie's games, he knew most of her sports teammates and their parents, but the rest of her classmates were less familiar.
"Is this Jenny Osbourne's mother?" he asked the woman who answered the phone.
She chuckled, evidently amused by his rather terse phone etiquette. "You must be Catie's dad. Yes, I'm Jenny's mom, Heather."
"Finn McCaffrey," he introduced himself.
"Yes, we met at the school talent night last spring, when Jenny and Catie were in that dance skit together," Heather reminded him. "I made the girls' costumes."
This description jogged his memory slightly: he vaguely recalled meeting another parent when he'd taken Catie backstage to get ready for the show, a somewhat frumpy blonde woman. He couldn't remember her features at all. At the time, he hadn't paid much attention to Heather and the other adult volunteers behind the scenes, except to be grateful that they were there, so that he did not have to be. Artsy-crafty projects like that were not his forte, and he always dreaded when Catie came home from school needing costumes or dioramas or posters for one event or assignment or another.
"Right, I remember," he said.
"Do you need to talk to Catie?" Heather offered.
"In a minute. She says she's been invited to stay the night?"
"Yup. She and my girls are having a ball, and it's no trouble to keep her for the night, if that's okay with you."
Finn considered. If he agreed, this would be her fourth overnight visit in a week, when usually she averaged about that many in a whole summer. He knew she was avoiding him because she was still angry about Emma quitting. She'd never stayed angry with him for so long, and it broke Finn's heart. He wanted to insist she come home, but that would only make her angrier. Worse, she'd be angry here, slamming doors, stopping around, rolling her eyes and tossing her hair, and heaving her newly-affected, much-practiced, dramatic teenage sighs. Much as he missed her, there were definite advantages to letting her work through that anger somewhere where he didn't have to hear it.
Still undecided, he pointed out, "It's a weekday. What happens in the morning at your house, supervision-wise? Do you work, or...?"
"I work from home. 'A Stitch in Time,' on State Street? That's me: I do alterations, custom clothing design, and some upholstery work. I'm here all the time," Heather explained brightly.
Finn had noticed the hand-painted sign, hanging from the mailbox in front of an old brick house on the edge of Wellsboro's main drag. He felt a little better, knowing where the Osbournes lived, especially since it was within walking distance. "May I speak with Catie, please?"
Heather readily agreed, and a moment later, his daughter came on the line. Without offering any greeting, she said sullenly, "Why are you calling? I left you a message."
"I know. That's how I know where you are," he replied crisply. "I think you'd better come home tonight."
"No-o! Why-y?" Catie's whine drew out the syllables of both words, and was all the more grating because she was not typically a whiny child.
"You know I don't like you to stay over with people I don't know," he reminded her reasonably.
"But you do know Heather. You met her at Talent Night, and probably at about a gazillion concerts and parent conferences and other stuff. You just don't remember, because you never pay attention to people," she protested.
Finn grimaced, because Catie was probably right. He tried another tack. "This would be your fourth sleepover this week. You need to sleep here, sometimes, too."
Catie ignored him and asked shrewdly, "What are we having for dinner, if I come home?"
He blinked, caught off-guard by the non sequitur. Belatedly, he remembered that he'd intended to come up with a dinner plan while he showered, but then he'd gotten distracted printing the manuscript for Emma, so now he didn't have a ready answer. "Uh..."
"You know what the Osbournes are having?" Catie went on, as he floundered. "Eggplant parmesan. They're vegetarians, and the eggplant and the tomatoes came right out of their garden. We made fresh tomato sauce this afternoon."
"So what are you telling me, that you won't come home unless I get eggplant parm?" he asked warily.
"Not 'get' it, Dad, make it," she corrected.
"You know I don't have any idea how to make it. What is this about?"
"I bet Emma does."
Finn sighed in exasperation. Of course it was about Emma. Everything came back to Emma. "Emma doesn't work here anymore. We've talked about this. I know you're mad at me, but you have to get over it. She quit, and there's nothing I can do about it."
Catie lowered her voice, as if she didn't want the people on her end of the line to hear. "The thing is I'm not mad at you anymore. I'm sad. I don't like being home because everything reminds me of Emma, and it's too sad."
Finn closed his eyes and rubbed the middle of his forehead, where a headache had begun to throb painfully. "Emma hasn't gone anywhere. She's next door, for Christ's sake!" he objected, only to quickly regret cursing at her. More calmly, he said, "We just need time for things to get back to normal."
"That's just it, Dad. You don't get it: Emma made us 'normal.' Eating cereal and take out all the time isn't normal. Never doing laundry isn't normal. Me, getting to eighth grade without knowing how to braid my hair, isn't normal. This is normal, here with the Osbournes, and their refrigerator which has actual food in it, and their counters which aren't covered in dirty dishes, and their mom, who taught Jenny and Abby how to braid hair when they were practically babies!" By the end of her speech, Catie wasn't whispering anymore. She was almost yelling, and she sounded on the verge of tears.
Finn felt like a jerk. He didn't fully understand why these little things suddenly meant so much to her now, when they hadn't before, but he heard her distress and knew it was his job to fix it. "Katydid, I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. "I know I let the housework get away from me. When the book is fin-"
"It's not about the housework!" Catie interrupted shrilly. "You don't get it! You think I miss Emma because she did the laundry? No, I miss her because when she was there, it felt like having a mom." She took a deep, hitching breath. Finn sank into his desk chair as his knees buckled with the force of his realization of his utter failure as a parent, as his daughter sobbed, "I want a Mom, okay?!"
To his horror, she was definitely crying now, and he didn't know where to begin to make this right. "A Mom?" he gulped. The word stuck in his throat. "Honey, it's not like they sell those down at Cooper's Store."
"Don't joke, Daddy. I'm serious," she said reproachfully, sniffling a little. If she'd been there, Finn would have pulled her into his lap and handed her a tissue. Surely, a tomato sauce-making, costume-sewing, work-at-home domestic doyenne like Heather would have tissues on hand, he hoped.
"I hear that, kid, but...," he sighed deeply. "I can't fix this one for you, sweetheart. -Certainly not overnight."
"I know," Catie replied, each word heavy with sadness.
"Please come home so we can talk about this?" he urged.
"No. Please don't make me come home," she begged. "You can't fix it, so there's nothing to talk about. I want to stay here with Jenny and Abby and Heather, and eat our tomato sauce, and feel normal, just for tonight. Please?"
In that context, Finn couldn't refuse her request now. Defeated, he apologized once again. "I'm so sorry, baby. You have fun, and I'll see you tomorrow. I love you, kid, do you hear me?"
"I love you, too, Dad. Good night."
The phone disconnected, leaving Finn alone in a silent house that suddenly felt emptier than it ever had before.
-16-
Long after dark, Emma sat out on her front porch listening to a light rain falling on the metal roof. It was getting late, but she didn't have any immediate plans to head to bed. She'd had so much trouble sleeping since her house had been burned that now she didn't bother trying to lie down until she was practically tired enough to fall down.
As had become habit (albeit a bad, self-destructive habit from which no good could possibly come), she watched the lights in the McCaffreys' windows and tried to imagine what was happening inside. Tonight, there was less activity there than usual: the downstairs windows had been dark all night, and the only light on upstairs was the one in Finn's office at the front of the house. She imagined him clicking away at his keyboard, writing now that Catie was (probably) asleep.
It seemed like such a stupid waste, that they should both be up so late, night after night, alone and lonely. If Finn were not such a coward, they could keep each other company, or even better, perhaps wear each other out enough that they could sleep. -But Finn was a coward, and Emma didn't have any regrets about turning down his dinner invitation, though it had been hard to say no to him. It gave her a perverse satisfaction to know that, as lonely and as unhappy as she was, she still had enough self-respect not to be content with Finn's here-today-gone-tomorrow flashes of interest.
Across the yard, the light in Finn's office blinked out suddenly. Emma watched, expecting his bedroom light to switch on next, but those windows remained dark. Instead, light streamed through the stained glass window on the stair landing seconds before a shadow passed behind the colored glass: Finn descending the stairs, in a hurry, it appeared. The porch light blinked on next: not the front porch, where guests would arrive from the street, but the kitchen porch, which faced Emma's house.
She didn't know what to think when the back door opened and Finn stepped outside, but her heart took flight in hopeful anticipation. Perhaps he was not such a coward after all.
She held her breath as he crossed the space between their houses. Raindrops beaded on his hair and sparkled in the yellow glow of his porch light. He was dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt and carried some kind of small box in front of him. With the light behind him, Emma could not read his expression.
When he was almost to her steps, she rose and opened the screen door to greet him. He yelped, the sudden sound sharp and loud in the darkness. He stifled it quickly, but too late: Emma's dawning hopes were dashed. He hadn't even known she was here, so whatever his purpose, it wasn't the one she wanted.
"Emma!" he gasped. "You scared me, sitting out here in the dark."
"Turnabout is fair play, then," she said crisply, recalling that a few nights ago he'd been the one to scare her, in this very spot. "What are you doing here, if you're not here to see me?"
"No, I..." he began, but he didn't finish. Instead, he held up the box he was carrying, which she now saw was made of brown paperboard, about the size and shape of a cereal box on its side, with no cover. "The manuscript. I was dropping it off. Your lights were out, so I thought you'd gone to bed."
She pursed her lips. He was a bigger coward than she thought, if he was going to such lengths to avoid her. "Well, gee, I'm sorry to disappoint," she said acidly.
Finn sighed heavily. He raked one hand through his rain-dampened hair. "No, I -" he said again, this time in protest, but Emma interrupted.
"Or how about this?" she taunted. "I'll just go inside, and you can creep around my yard all you like."
"That's not-!" he sputtered. "I didn't mean to creep. See? I turned my porch light on, so you could see me coming. I'm not being sneaky. It's just that it's after midnight, and how was I supposed to know you'd be sitting out here in the dark?" He shook his head and gave up. "Aw, hell, never mind. I'll just drop this off and go, okay?"
He thrust the box into her hands and stalked back toward his house without another word.
Emma let the screen door slam in irritation. The noise woke Ludo, who leapt to his feet (in his sleep, he often forgot he was an ungainly mutt) and barked loudly. Oooh, but that man made her crazy! He'd just refreshed all the irritation she'd had from their earlier conversation, plus added another layer of fury, only to storm off before she could light into him. He was such a coward!
Fuming, she called Ludo (still barking madly at Finn's retreating back) and headed inside. She turned on the kitchen light and put the manuscript down on the counter, thinking that if she didn't put it down she might likely throw it, and as mad as she was, she knew at the back of her mind that she'd want to read it later. She had no intention of looking at it now-at that moment, she wanted nothing to do with that insufferable man-but something about it caught her attention as she set it down.
Scrawled in red marker across the top page, the ink a bit splotched by raindrops, were two words, all in capital letters: "I'VE DECIDED."
Emma's breath caught in her throat. Her mind raced. What the hell did that mean? Why write a note? Couldn't he have just told her his decision, whatever it was, when he was here just now? Wouldn't he have told her, if his decision were the one that she hoped for? Or had she been right to think he'd made the cowardly choice, and that's why he'd snuck over intending to leave a note when he thought she'd be sleeping? -But in that case, why even bother to leave the note, when doing nothing would have conveyed the same message? Or if he must leave a note, why be so vague?
Unable to live with this uncertainty, she ran back outside, flew down the steps and across the lawn toward the McCaffrey's, moving so fast the rain barely touched her. His back porch was dark now, but she pounded on the door, knowing he couldn't have gotten far. It opened almost immediately.
"You got it," he said quietly.
"No, I don't get it," she snapped. "Why leave a note to tell me no, when that's what you've been saying all along? Are you trying to mess with me? Because -"
Finn clapped his hand over her mouth, stopping her torrent of words, and pulled her into the house. Ludo was still barking frantically on Emma's porch, but the closing door silenced him as effectively as Finn had silenced her.
"That's not what I was telling you."
Emma had been struggling to escape his hand, but this soft-spoken announcement stilled her. Her eyes widened, and she searched his face for anything to help her understand: a hint that she'd misheard him, or some tip in his expression that he was leading her on, or if not, some explanation for his sudden change of heart. There wasn't much light, just what little illumination reached them from the light on in the stairs at the other end of the house, but there was enough to see his face. Finn was usually so impassive, but tonight his features wore more emotions then Emma could sort out. He looked intense, and anxious, and so, so very tired, but when she met his gaze, he offered a small, tremulous smile.
She reached up and peeled his fingers from her mouth. "Yes? You decided yes?" she whispered, afraid to believe it until he told her unequivocally.
"Yes," he echoed, taking her hand.
Emma felt a broad grin overtake her face. She hadn't expected this. She'd been so sure that their past and Finn's hang-ups would be too much for their relationship to overcome. Questions bloomed in her mind, but they all boiled down to one: "What happened?"
Finn brought her hand to his lips, unfurled her fingers, and kissed her palm, an old-fashioned gesture that made her weak in the knees, an effect only amplified by what he said next. "I will tell you anything you want to know," he promised huskily, "but Catie is at a friend's house, and I've been dreaming about having you in my bed for... too long."
She wanted to leap into his arms and bid him to lead the way, but caution made her hesitate. He'd already made it clear that he wanted her, but in the past, lust hadn't been enough to keep him from jerking her around. She needed to know what had changed. "Don't mess with me, Finn. Please."
He shook his head and said earnestly, "I'm all in this time. No more running hot and cold on you."
Emma raised one eyebrow suggestively. "Just hot?" she asked, stepping close. She slipped her hands under the hem of his damp t-shirt and pressed her palms to his stomach, intentionally invading his space. If he was going to get spooked and leave her in the lurch, she'd rather he do it sooner than later.
He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes on a groan as her fingers trailed over his skin. "Very, very hot," he confirmed, lowering his mouth to hers.
Oh, he kissed like a man who knew what he was doing, who knew what he wanted and how to make her want it, too. He lifted her up onto the nearest counter and ran his fingers through her hair.
"Emma, Emma, Emma," he whispered her name prayerfully, nuzzling against the soft curve of her throat. "Come upstairs with me."
She was too tempted to hesitate this time, though her doubts were not entirely assuaged. She leaned back in his embrace and waited for him to meet her gaze, so she knew he was listening. "Just for the record, I need to you to know that I know we should talk first."
Finn grimaced and began to pull back, but she stopped him, catching his t-shirt in her fist and wrapping her legs around his hips before he could pull away.
"I said we should," she clarified, "not that we would."
His grimace cleared into a smirk, and he scooped her off the counter, cupped his hands around her backside, and carried her upstairs. Each step was a maddening spiral of building lust, pressing their bodies together where they each craved friction most. Emma twined her fingers in his hair and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, thrilling as his step faltered. "You're going to be so glad you changed your mind," she purred. "This is going to be so good..."
Her words didn't have quite the emboldening effect that she hoped. Finn coughed and asked, "No pressure though, right?"
She snorted and bit his shoulder. "Are you kidding?" she asked, amazed that he could have doubts. "We've been building up to this all summer. We're all about pressure!"
He reached the top of the stairs and set her on her feet rather than carry her further. The light was better here in the hallway, and Emma realized that he truly looked worried.
"Oh, baby," she assured him. "Not bad pressure. I meant that we've been looking forward to this for so long, it can't help but be great."
He didn't look comforted. His gaze shied away from hers as he admitted, "I should warn you, it's been a long time for me."
She smiled and reached up to stroke her fingers through his hair. "Sweetheart, I want you so much, you can't disappoint me."
Finn said nothing, but crossed the hall and opened the door to his room. He gestured her inside, closed the door, and then he walked by her to turn on a lamp on his nightstand. Emma glanced around uncertainly. It was strange to be in this room as an invited, romantic guest, rather than an employee. The last time she'd seen this bed, she'd been vacuuming around it.
Finn misinterpreted her pause. "No light?" he asked, reaching for the switch again but not flipping it. "I'd like to look at you," he admitted with a shy, beguiling smile.
Emma's doubts warned that he hadn't been able to get away fast enough, the last time she'd undressed in front of him. This time, he'd promised he was all in, and she wanted to believe him. Ignoring the skittish inner voice of her fears, she undressed without preamble, tugging her tank top off and letting it fall behind her, then pushing her yoga pants and underwear to the floor. She stood with her hands at her sides, letting Finn look his fill.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, flatteringly slack-jawed. "Oh," he breathed, "you're perfect." He lifted his gaze to her face and grinned. "Even better than I imagined."
"Oh ho!" she crowed. "So you've imagined!"
He didn't deny it. "Oh, yes," he said, nodding fervently.
Emma climbed up onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, her bare behind on his denim-clad thighs. As she hoped, his hands rose to her skin. "Good, then I don't feel so bad about how much I enjoyed watching you mow the lawn this afternoon."
Finn's dark chuckle rose from where he'd tucked his face between her breasts. Emma tried to recall if she'd ever heard him laugh before. Probably, while talking with Catie, but she didn't think he'd ever laughed with her. It was a good sound, and she hoped to hear it more often in the future.
She tipped her head back and enjoyed Finn's attentions as long as she could stand to be so passive. As she'd guessed, he knew what he was doing. He knew how to touch her to wake her nerve endings and make her body sing for joy, the sensations building and building until she couldn't be still, until she thrashed and whimpered and cried out for more.
He'd warned her that he hadn't had a lover recently, but she was the one who was so impatient, she couldn't hold off her orgasm. When she gasped an apology, though, Finn wouldn't hear it. He shook his head and vowed, "I could watch you come all day, and never feel left out, you gorgeous, amazing..."
He might have continued but, embarrassed by the undeserved praise, Emma stopped it by putting his mouth to better use. "I don't want you to watch," she told him, breaking the kiss to tug off the last of his clothes. "I need you."
Finn did not make her ask again. He reached into his nightstand and brought out a tasteful wooden box. He turned it in his hands, and somehow it clicked and twisted open on tiny hinges, though Emma couldn't see a handle or lever. He brought two foil-wrapped condoms from the box, closed it, and slid it back into the nightstand drawer.
"Very discreet," she observed, impressed with the ceremony.
He shrugged apologetically. "It's time consuming, I know, but I can't leave them out where Catie might find them."
Emma's brow arched doubtfully. "Catie doesn't strike me as the snooping-in-drawers type."
He paused in the middle of unwrapping the first rubber to kiss her. "I love that you know that. -That you like my kid."
"She's a great kid," she replied. "But I thought that was the problem: I thought the fact that Catie and I get along so well was the hang up that kept us from doing this earlier."
Finn flopped back against the pillows with a heavy sigh. "So we are going to talk first," he groaned.
Emma propped her head up on her elbow to better see his face. She hadn't really meant to start that conversation, though she was dying to know what had precipitated Finn's sudden change of heart. Right now, though, he looked like any delay would cause him acute pain, and she knew it wasn't fair to switch gears on him now that he'd taken the edge off of her need, but not his own. Plus, neither of them was really in the right frame of mind to have a serious conversation. She stretched out along his side, pressing close, enjoying the contrast between his hot skin and the cool sheets. "I'm sorry. No, we can talk later," she agreed, taking the half-unwrapped condom from where it lay forgotten in his hand and finishing the job.
It took a bit of extra attention to recapture Finn's undivided interest, but Emma was happy to pay it. It had been a long time since she'd been with a new partner, and she loved the novelty of it, the opportunity to explore her lover's body, to learn what pushed his buttons and made him wild.
When they finally joined, it was better than either of them could have imagined: breathless, hot, pulse-pumping, heart-pounding, mind-bending, crazy good. Emma had never known sex like that. She'd never felt a need so big it left no room for thought or speech or reflection; nothing but sensation, crashing over them like floodwaters released from a dam.
After the flood receded, it took Emma a long time to come back to herself. She felt as disoriented as a swimmer just escaped from an underwater current: breathless, a bit battered, but exhilarated and with a new, healthy respect for the water's strength. She took stock as her heart rate slowed, filling her lungs first, then wiggling her fingers and toes experimentally, then her arms, stroking up and down Finn's long back. He had been with her through the deluge, reaching climax almost simultaneously, but he wasn't with her any more. His breathing had slowed to the deep, quiet rhythm of sleep, and his body lay heavy and unresponsive across hers. Carefully, she shifted from beneath his weight, and he grunted but didn't otherwise stir.
Emma sat up and studied him in the lamplight. Broadly muscled shoulders crowned a strong, straight, lightly-tanned back that tapered to narrow, manly hips. She fought a foolish urge to press the pads of her thumbs to the base of his spine, just above the pale hemispheres of his rear, which were as firm and as invitingly shaped as apples.
She bit her lower lip and gave in to the temptation to skate her open palm down his back, measuring the ridges of his spine, the slight valley at the small of his back. She allowed herself the luxury of cupping the sweet curve of his ass for a moment, before continuing the stroke down over his strong, lightly-furred thigh. Finn made a feral sound deep in his throat, a growl of encouragement that made Emma look up, hopeful that he might be waking, but he didn't. -So much for their Talk.
She could have tried harder to wake him, but he looked so relaxed and peaceful in his sleep, she couldn't bring herself to disturb him. Besides, she recognized this pattern from previous relationships, and she should have predicted it: sex made men tired, but it energized her. Indeed, though she'd reached an incredible orgasm, her body still hummed with awareness, as if every nerve she had was awake and paying attention. Even if she managed to wake Finn, so long as she felt this way, she doubted they'd do much talking.
She didn't lie back down for the same reason. Finn needed his sleep, and she didn't trust herself not to disturb it. Instead, she found a pen on the nightstand and tore a piece of paper from one of Finn's ever-present legal pads, and she wrote a quick note. She slipped from the bed, gathered her clothes, and dressed. She left the note on his pillow, pressed a soft kiss to his forehead (he only sighed and smiled in his sleep), clicked off the light, and made her way downstairs in the dark.
The rain had stopped, she noticed as she stepped outside. The neighborhood was dark and quiet, though as Emma checked to see that Finn's door locked behind her, she heard a car approaching. She stepped off the porch as a police cruiser slowly passed by on patrol. Though she couldn't see the driver, she waved, signaling to the officer that all was well, despite the lateness of the hour. The officer either didn't notice her or wasn't suspicious, because the cruiser continued down the street without stopping.
Because this street was one of several that connected Wellsboro's main thoroughfare to the County Road, which led to the hospital and the local jail, police cruisers from several different agencies passed by on a regular basis. There was a time when police had made Emma nervous, but not anymore. In the aftermath of her encounter with the mobsters in Savannah, she was grateful for the police presence here. It gave her some peace of mind.
She went inside and greeted Ludo, who, despite his frantic barking when she'd run out after Finn, clearly hadn't stayed up worrying: he was lolled across Aunt Olive's braided rag welcome mat, asleep and snoring loudly. She made herself a cup of chamomile tea, aware that she had to at least try to sleep before getting up for work in three hours. She brought the tea, the sleepy dog, and Finn's manuscript to bed with her, but she didn't read any further than those two red, rain-splattered words on the first page. "I'VE DECIDED."
Emma still had no idea why he'd changed his mind, but right now, with her body still buzzing with satisfaction and Finn still lingering in all of her senses, she found she didn't care about his reasons. She was just grateful he had.