Eventually, I’m gently placed onto the thick grass.
“What the fuck, Finley!” I’m about to kick off even more, but Finn’s expression cuts me off. He looks furious, all red cheeks and slitted eyes and clenched fists. I take a step back.
“Do you remember what I did after we kissed last year?” he asks, his voice dangerously low. I stare at him, completely perplexed. “Do you?” he pushes.
“You told me to go into the house and lock the door,” I say quietly.
“And why do you think I told you that?”
“I—I don’t know, I just assumed you regretted it.”
He laughs, but there’s not an ounce of humor in his tone. All the while, he looks around like he’s trying to find someone who can talk some sense into me.
“Oakleigh, I sent you inside because I didn’t want to know that you regretted it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle that, so I told you to go inside so I didn’t have to see that look in your eyes.”
I blink up at him while he aggressively rubs the back of his neck. My chest warms but my brain is having to play catch up.
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t kiss you earlier for the exact same reason, but also because I knew that if I started, I wasn’t stopping, so please never say that I didn’t want to kiss you because all you have to do is say the word and my lips will be against yours.”
I’m still frozen in place when he blows out a breath and looks off to the festival. He must see something he doesn’t want to because he sighs and lowers his head, his eyes closing.
“I can see my mom.”
He holds out a hand for me to take, but I’m still lagging about thirty seconds behind. He sees this and takes my hand, silently leading me back toward the festival and toward his mother.
Finn didn’t want me to regret that kiss, or our almost kiss earlier today.
My mind spins and whirrs and offers up a slideshow of emotions. I have no idea what to think, what to feel, all of my thoughts and feelings are jumbled and illegible. All I know is that my heart is racing and my chest tightening, but I have no idea why.
“Oakleigh!” I take a second to plaster on a smile before looking up at Wanda. She barrels into me as she wraps me up in her arms.
I just wish I could look as young as Wanda does when I’m her age. She looks so effortlessly beautiful—not an ounce of makeup on her skin and not a single visible pore. I keep asking for her skincare routine and all she ever says is, “Oh, my routine is for old people, dear. It’s called soap and water. Very old-fashioned.”
I think that if Finn and Wanda were biologically related, hers would be the explanation for Finn’s and Wren’s amazing skin.
“Hey, Mama.” I’ve always called Wanda “Mama,” mostly because she’s always been one to me. When we were in college, she gave me a spare key to the house, and I always used to stop by to see her whether Wren was home or not. My mom and I are close, sure, but I barely see her since she and my sister both moved to Australia four years ago. “How are you?”
“Better now that I’m seeing you and my son again,” she says with a wide grin. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me!”
“As if I could.”
“Thankfully, Finn invited me to this, and I was just so glad I got the chance to spend some time with you both.”
Finn sends his mother a look. “You and I both know that’s not what happened.”
She puts a playful slap on Finn’s chest. “Oh, pish posh, whatever. Come! Let’s see what they have!”
The festival is everything I imagined it would be. How I love cherries as much as I do, but never knew this festival existed, I have no idea. Then again, Merton is not really somewhere I’ve been many times. The majority of it is just open fields so there’s nothing to really visit, but had I known that there was a cherry farm here, I would have come every summer.
Cherry trees stand in roughly ten-yard increments behind the stalls, creating a walkway that would be here even if the stalls weren’t lined up neatly on either side of us. They’re selling everything here—cherry-scented candles and bath bombs; cherry jewelry; cherry jams and sauces. I worry for my paycheck because it came in yesterday and appears to be going out today.
Wanda points out all of the things that she thinks I’d like. She pays particular attention to the two of us at times, watching how close we stand to one another, looking out for any public displays of affection. The more she looks, the more forlorn she seems to be.
I link my arm in hers.
“You seem lost in thought,” I tell her.
