Page 51 of Cabin Fever

I look at him in disbelief. “I didn’t notice that.”

“Because I was so sneaky.”

There’s a soft click, and the gate in the fence pushes open. Finn walks through, standing in front of me. “So if you run the tape forward three years, to a creek in July, when I finally get to kiss the girl I’ve been thinking about nonstop, and it's the single best moment of my life to that point.” His jaw works. “And then I’m doing the math on the way home. How many relationships last when they start in middle school or high school? What happens if I keep kissing her and then something goes wrong? I was fifteen and the odds of me fumbling were, in my mind, close to ninety percent.”

I laugh. “You seemed so confident.”

Finn steps closer, caging me in against the fence with his arms. “The idea of hurting you—of losing our friendship—made me sick. So I thought if I pretended it didn’t happen, then we could go back to normal. I’d still get to see you every day, and even though I very much wanted to kiss you again . . .”

I nod, lifting my hands to his hips and pulling him closer.

“I knew I loved you. But I got so scared of ruining the only family I had.”

“But what about me, Finn? You didn’t tell me any of that. So when I saw⁠—”

“I know. It was stupid then and stupid now. Melanie was my deciding I wasn’t going to blow up our foursome, but then I still wanted you to . . .” He purses his lips. “To want me.”

It’s hilarious, really. That we were both on opposite sides of the fence, wishing we could be with each other. For years.

“But the tragedy is that our foursome broke up anyway,” Finn says. “I didn’t understand then how people go different directions when you get older. I thought we’d all be on Larkspur forever.”

I brush my nose against his. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something.”

“No. We were teenagers dealing with a lot. We both did the best we could.”

I nod, but I’m not sure I fully believe it. There are a lot of things I wish I could go back and fix during that time.

“But what I regret is not calling or texting. I’ve been gathering tidbits about your life from Theo and Dahlia, and my choices weren’t any better than Theo’s. I was too scared to tell the truth. I didn’t want to get hurt if all of that didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me. Especially after . . .”

“Yeah. Those were rough years.” I still can’t believe how self-centered I was. How I didn’t even consider what Finn was going through before he graduated.

Finn lifts his hands to cup both sides of my face. “This is me telling you that I love you, Harper. Present tense. I loved you when you were eleven and ran a lemonade cartel. I loved you at that creek, and I wish I would’ve had the courage to cross the fence.”

I push up and kiss him. Just a light peck on the lips, and Finn follows me back to the ground, pulling my face back to his.

He brushes his lips over mine, kissing the corner of my mouth. When I make a sound in my throat, his hand slides into my hair, his other arm gathering me into him. The years between us collapse so fast, it makes me dizzy. Kissing Finn Gallagher isn't fireworks. It’s better. Like a door that’s been closed your whole life opening for the first time. Like coming into a warm house with the lights on and the fireplace lit. It’s peace, comfort, and home.

When we finally break apart just far enough to breathe, I whisper against his mouth, “Does it worry you that we haven’t been a part of each other’s lives now? That we live in two different places?”

Saying it out loud makes me nervous. I’m admitting for a second time that I’m not looking up a block. I’m looking to the end of the road.

Finn shakes his head. “I'll do whatever we need to. It doesn't have to happen all at once. I don't want it to happen all at once. We've got fifteen years to catch up on. But for the record: it's a short flight to California. It's nothing. I've driven farther for good tacos.”

“You mean, taquitos?”

Finn laughs. “Exactly. I've got a crew that can run a job site without me for a week at a time, and a reliable truck.” He kisses me again. “I called my dad today, by the way. I told him what I was doing, and he asked what for.” His mouth goes crooked. “I told him. He got quiet, and then he said, 'About damn time.’”

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

Finn presses me up against the fence and picks up where we left off. His mouth leaves mine and trails over my jaw, the line of my throat. My bare shoulder where the blush dress strap starts and ends.

“I have a cabin,” he murmurs.

I laugh, curling my fingers in his hair. “You don’t have a roommate?”

“Mm. I do, but she won’t mind. I’ll put a sock on the door.”

“She?”