He watches me as he lets out a low hum that I feel below my waistline. I tense my thighs together on instinct, but it does nothing to ease my growing anticipation.
He shakes his head and snaps out of whatever daze he put himself in, but I still feel the heat in his gaze. His eyes remain even darker than usual, and he bites his lip in a way that keeps drawing my attention.
“I believe I owe you a slice of pie,” he says, moving toward the kitchen. He gestures to my living room. “Relax. Take a seat. I’ll bring it over.”
I’m turned halfway toward the living room, when a strong hand spins me, turning me until I’m flush against a hard chest. The laughter that bubbles out of me is halted by Finn’s lips against mine. This kiss isn’t like his usual ones—it’s sweet and slow and intimate. I love the way he usually kisses me—rough and demanding—but this is just as mind-bending. It still captures my attention, but this time Finn is kindly letting me know he needs it. Other times, he lets me know that it’s not something up for debate.
When he pulls away, we’re not left breathless, but speechless. He goes in for a final soft touch of our lips before using the same hand to spin me back round.
I finally manage to compose myself, but when I see what he’s done with the room, I’m a mess all over again.
More candles than I know what to do with are dotted about—on the coffee table, on the shelves, and in big dishes on the floor. Two big blankets are spread out over the couch, the L-shaped sofa now a large rectangle thanks to the hidden part underneath that pulls out to turn it into a bed. The lighting is low, the atmosphere cozy, and the effort undeniable. It’s one big fire hazard, but a romantic one.
“Finley,” I breathe.
I feel him behind me, his warmth coating my back in a way that comforts and reassures. A hand swings around me holding a glass of wine, which I take, my mouth wide in shock.
“You didn’t really think we weren’t going to celebrate your accomplishments, did you?” He breathes the words against my ears sending shivers down my spine and lifting goosebumps from my skin.
He lightly nudges me toward the couch and I follow his lead, only stopping to slip my shoes off. I fall onto the sofa, grateful for the comfort of my own home and the added blanket to put around my legs. It may be summer but Finn for some reason has my AC on high.
He must see me watching the machine above the door because he chuckles lightly. “I needed to create a reason for us to snuggle together under the blankets.”
He really does think of everything.
I’m still frozen in shock, so when he clinks his glass against mine in a toast, all I can do is watch it happen and forget to take a sip of my wine.
All I expected to find was a slice of pie, nothing more. I didn’t think he’d do all this for me. I certainly didn’t think it would be because of what I’ve been able to achieve as of late. But I shouldn’t be surprised, so far Finn hasn’t let anything slip. He makes me feel important, like I matter, and like I’m capable of anything.
“Finley.” I breathe out his name again, but this time I try and put everything I’m feeling into it, because what else am I supposed to say?
A blush creeps up his neck and he tries to rub it away. “Are you happy?”
I don’t think I mean for my smile to be as sad as it is. “I am.”
It’s sad because of the two words I know that neither of us are adding onto the end of each sentence.
For now.
I know that this entire thing is temporary, and I know that my body and my heart hates everything about it. I know that my mind wants to think about Finn in every aspect, but after next week, I can’t let it. Finn said a month, and I’m not going to force him to continue after that. If he wants to extend it, then he’ll tell me.
He lets his arm drape itself over the back of the couch and I feel his thumb start to trace small circles over my bare shoulder. My top has two straps on either side—one spaghetti strap going over my shoulders and another strap with draping fabric going across the top of my arm. It leaves a patch of open skin that I may or may not have chosen this top for that exact reason.
Finn breathes out a relaxed sigh. “I love it when you say my name.”
“What?”
“My name.” He turns to me. “I love it when you say it.”
“You love when I say Finn?”
“No, I love when you say Finley.” His smile turns shy. “I never told anyone, but I hated my name. It never felt like it suited me. But then you started calling me Finley instead of Finn whenever you were mad at me, and I just found myself wanting to tick you off that much more. I craved it; the sound of it. It only ever sounds like mine when you say it.”
I place a hand on his chest. “Then Finley it is.”
“I don’t mind when you use Finn, though. I like when you call me anything.”
“You’re sure?”
