Page 36 of Cabin Fever

I laugh and clutch my stomach. “Stop. My abs can’t take much more.”

“Mom was funny tonight.” A few steps. “She's been weird this week, right? Or is it just me?”

My pulse ticks. “Weird how?”

“I don't know. Like, hovering. She keeps looking at me like I'm about to fall off the edge of a cliff.” Dahlia shakes it away. “Whatever. Probably just a holdover from all the crap Dad put her through.”

“She’s probably terrified,” I say it out loud, and feel the truth of it. Especially because she has a legitimate reason, whether she knows it or not, to worry.

We reach Dahlia’s cabin door. She swipes her card and shoves it open. The smell of fresh flowers rolls out into the hallway, and the room is dim. There are rose petals on the bed and Theo⁠—

I laugh and retreat, letting Dahlia go ahead. His captain's hat still on, a bow tie the only visible clothing from this vantage point.

“There she is,” he says, his consonants a little sloppy. Dahlia gives me a slow wave, and I wink before pulling the door closed.

I walk down the long hallway to 6042, grinning to myself. And then I open the door, and everything gets complicated.

Finn is sprawled on his bed, still in his clothes from the party, hair wrecked, remote in hand. His cheeks are flushed, and the way his head turns. His smile when I come in . . .

“You’re back early.”

“Uh, yeah.” My voice comes out about a third too high. “Dahlia was ready to turn in.”

“Did she see⁠—?”

“Oh. We both saw.”

Theo laughs, pretending to straighten an imaginary bow tie. “C'mere, look.” He gestures at the TV with the remote. The image is black and white. Cary Grant, I think, being harassed by a woman in a good coat. “An Affair to Remember was just starting. That's a boat movie, Harper. We're on a boat.”

I laugh. His face is a picture of pure delight.

“Do you think all the movies are boat movies?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but we probably have to watch them all to find out.” He looks over at me as I slip off my heels. “You want room service? I want a grilled cheese. Do you—? Hey. Split a grilled cheese with me. I don’t think I can eat the whole thing.”

And just like that, I see the whole night ahead of us. We’d both need to change, and it was unlikely that Finn would put on a shirt. Then it would only make sense to push the beds together so we could both see the tiny screen, and after the sandwich, why not order dessert?

“I’m pretty tired. I think I'd better get ready for bed.”

“Sandwich will be here either way,” he says easily, eyes back on Cary Grant.

It makes it worse that he’s not pushing.

I grab my things and retreat into the bathroom, warring with my head and the rush of heat that’s been slowly moving south since he started texting me.

Damn it. Dahlia was right. About everything. And Finn was asking about me?

I brush my teeth aggressively at my own reflection, reciting my next moves like a mantra. Get into bed, don’t look at Finn, shut off the light, and⁠—

“Uh, hey, Harp?”

Finn’s voice has lost its cheery edge.

I spit and rinse, then re-enter the room. He’s not on the bed. I walk to the hall and find him standing there with the door open. On the other side of the threshold is, “Dahlia?”

Her mascara’s streaked, her eyes watery. “Hey.” Her arms wrap around herself. “Can I—can I stay with you guys tonight?”

Chapter Twelve