The moment I open the door, the smell of marinara and meat hits my nose. My stomach immediately growls in response, which doesn’t surprise me. It must have been at least twenty-four hours since I last ate anything.
A heavenly site welcomes me as I step into the kitchen. A shirtless Finn is in my kitchen, pots on the stove, stirring food and moving about the room as if he lives here. He rips up some basil (that I know for a fact I did not have in my house) and drops it into the pot.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, stepping further inside.
He looks up and smiles at me, and even in the low lighting that he’s chosen to have in here, his smile is still dazzling.
“Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. In the meantime, there’s a bath that I literally just finished running for you in the bathroom with some candles and music. I want you to lie in there and relax while I finish dinner, okay?”
My heart stutters as I watch him. He’s still moving about the kitchen as he talks, but his attention is on me. His smile is warm and even though he’s talking as if everything he’s done is some bare-minimum shit, it’s still so much that I can’t help but fall just a little bit.
I walk over to him, but he doesn’t still. Not until I wrap my arms around his waist and turn him toward me.
“Hey, what’s u?—”
I cut him off with a kiss, deep and longing and wanting. I want him to know how grateful I am, how much I appreciate everything that he’s done for me since this whole thing started. I find myself unable to put it into words, and so I put it all into this kiss. This kiss says everything that I am too scared to say out loud.
My lips move against his, slow and careful. His arms slips around me and he pulls me closer. He deepens the kiss and I relish the way he sets every part of me on fire.
I pull away slowly.
“What was that for?” Finn asks, breathless.
I give a tiny shrug. “Just my way of saying thanks.”
I walk back toward my bedroom so I can grab some fresh underwear and clothes before heading into the bathroom.
Just as he described, my bath is filled with water and bubbles; candles provide the only light in the room, making it warm and comforting. A towel is already hanging on the towel rail and my slippers are waiting for me on the floor. But none of that is even the best part. On the built-in shelf that joins the bath with the wall, there’s a glass of wine big enough to make me feel well and truly fuzzy.
I strip out of my clothes, excitement overriding the tiredness that remains in my bones. When I sink into the water, it’s warmth coats my skin and settles deep within me. Any stress from this past week flows into the soapy water and I can pretty much feel the tension in my muscles dissipate.
As I lay there, staring at the ceiling and sipping on wine, my mind drifts to everything going on in my life.
Nerves prickle my skin like the hot water when I first sunk into it. I wish I knew what progress was being made on the part of my manuscript that I sent to that agent. I took one look at Janelle’s other clients and read through her portfolio and something in my soul lit up like a light bulb. There was this voice in the back of my head telling me that something about her was right and so ever since I’ve been writing and re-writing my query letter to her and until two weeks ago, I never once had the confidence to send it off.
I always knew I was meant to be a writer. The moment I understood the way my brain worked and knew that seeing everything in my mind like a movie could be nothing other than a positive for me, I just gave it a try and instantly fell in love with it. Every time I read a romance novel, fresh ideas would pop into my mind, and I’d find myself glued to my desk, writing until my mom told me off for missing dinner or failing to do my homework.
I’ve been thinking a lot about quitting my job. Whenever I think about it, excitement and relief fill my chest and make it swell like a balloon about to pop. I love my job, really, but I am not in love with my job. I am in love with writing. When it comes to my career, I seem to be too monogamous to keep cheating on being an author.
My wine is almost finished, so I slow down, limiting myself to one sip per thought in my mind.
Before my thoughts can drift to Finn, there’s a soft knock at the door. I make sure bubbles are covering my body before saying, “Come in.”
Finn sheepishly pokes his head in through the small gap in the door. “Dinner is ready.”
“God it’s been half an hour already?”
“Yep.” He steps inside, closing the door behind him. He takes a seat at the edge if the bath and starts stroking my hair. “You been lost in thought?”
“A little,” I admit.
“Want to run anything by me?”
A warning bell sets off in my head and I know it’s my walls just itching to come back up. I refuse to let them.
“Just thinking about my career. As much as I like being a nurse, it’s just not…me.”
“Then what is you? Being an author?”
