Page 39 of Cabin Fever

“That's easy to say when it's not your sister.”

“She's been my sister since she was seven,” he whispers. “You both—” Finn drags a hand down his face. “Sorry. I just—Larkspur meant a lot to me. And apparently I didn’t always show it, but . . .” His jaw works.

I tap my sandwich against his. “That makes sense.”

“What?”

“That you see us like your sisters.” As much as it stings, that made sense of everything. How he wanted to spend time together and why he never talked to me the same after our kiss. Why he immediately jumped in with Melanie.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well—”

“That’s not what I said, Harp.” He looks at me, his eyes dark.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him. To get lost in him tonight and tomorrow, as many times as I can before we disembark. It wouldn’t even feel like a fling because every word that Dahlia said tonight was true.

I love him. I’ve always loved him. And that’s why I slide back a few inches. Because if I do this, Finn can go back to his year-long wait list and Instagram followers and flirty bridesmaids, but I’ll go home gutted. If I haven’t gotten over him after one stupid kiss by the creek, I’ll be ruined by more than that.

Finn clears his throat. “Okay.” He dusts his hands and stands. “Easy solution. I'll sleep in Theo's room. Guy shouldn't be alone tonight anyway, and you—“ he nods at his bed, at the empty half of the equation, “Take mine. Problem solved.”

It's the obvious answer.

Finn grabs his toiletry bag and the empty food platter, then pauses at the door, backlit by the hallway. He looks at me sitting on his bed, and his tongue flicks over his lips.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and is gone.

I lock the door, my heart in my throat, and stand in the dark listening to my sister breathe. Since he’s gone, I strip off my clothes and don’t bother putting on the sweatpants.

I climb into Finn's bed, and with the grilled cheese gone, I’m overtaken by the smell of him. The faint scent of his shampoo and that indescribable masculine musk is soaked into the pillow, completely inescapable. I lie there rigid as a plank and turn off the lamp.

I’ve barely gotten comfortable when there’s a knock on the door. It’s soft, but definitely there.

I sit, my heart racing. Who would be at our door this late?

I hurdle the obstacles on the floor, unable to find where I threw my pants, and make it to the peephole.

My heart lodges in my throat.

Finn. Carrying his toiletry bag.

Chapter Thirteen

I'm too tired to think. That's my whole defense for opening the door in my underwear. Also, if Finn’s allowed, why aren’t I?

Finn’s mouth opens as I swing the door open, and then he freezes. His eyes drop, dragging over me like a paintbrush. One unhurried survey that he makes no attempt to disguise, and by the time he arrives at my face again, his cheeks are pink.

“Theo wouldn't open the door,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Hoping he’s asleep.”

“Not dead.”

“Yep.” He shifts his weight.

I step back and let him in, because there is nothing else to do with him, and only realize once he’s in the room that we’re right back where we started.