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Josh lifts his can. “I’m good.”
I follow Finlay into the house, and my eyes stay glued to her as she walks to the piano, where she sets the guitar down. When she turns around, I quickly look away and grab a beer from the fridge.
Finlay comes to reach past me, pulling a pitcher out, and I get a lungful of her scent. It reminds me of flowers drifting on the ocean, soft and salty, with a hint of taffy.
I’ve always loved taffy.
My gaze follows her as she pours some ice tea into a glass. I watch her down the whole thing before she fills up the glass again.
God, she must be thirsty as fuck from all the singing. Next time I’ll remember to bring a bottle of water along.
That’s if there’s a next time.
Finlay’s eyes lock with mine, and she freezes. “What?”
I shake my head. “What do you mean what?”
“You’re staring at me,” she states the obvious.
Not wanting to creep her out, I don’t say what I’m feeling and instead go with a safe truth. “Just wondering how it feels to be able to sing like that.”
Finlay moves past me, putting the pitcher back in the fridge. “It’s like breathing.”
“Yeah?”
She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain.”
“But it feels natural for you?”
Nodding, she picks up her glass and gestures to the porch.
Oh, right.
The moment we step outside, Josh says, “Fin, you need to start charging a fee. All the neighbors were out on their porches listening to the free performance you gave.”
Her eyes snap up and down the stretch of beach. “Really?”
Josh gestures to Frank’s house, where he seems to be fast asleep in a hammock. “He dozed off an hour ago.”
“I wasn’t too loud?” she asks as she sits down next to David.
“Not at all,” he says, a proud light shining from his gaze.
I lean back against the railing opposite Finlay, struggling to keep my eyes off of her.
“Spending tomorrow with your family?” David asks me.
I nod. “Yeah, looking forward to it.”
Josh shifts in his chair to find a more comfortable position. “I’ll pop by here after spending lunch with Quinn and the Jacksons.”
Not even thinking twice, I say, “You and Finlay are more than welcome to come over. We’re celebrating at my parents’ place.”
David lets out a chuckle. “We can’t just intrude.”
Pulling out my phone, I dial Dad’s number.
“Son?”
“Dad, I’m inviting David and Finlay to join us tomorrow.”
“Of course. Sure. I should’ve thought of that.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.”
We end the call, and I grin at David. “Better?”
He shakes his head at me. “Fine. We’ll swing by with Josh.”
Hell yeah. I get to see Finlay tomorrow.
My gaze moves to her face, and our eyes lock. She holds my stare for a heartbeat longer than usual before she looks away.
Chapter 13
FINLAY
Not the way I imagined spending Christmas.
I thought I’d be alone this year with Dad stuck on the rig. Instead, I have him next to me where we’re sitting in the Jacksons' dining room.
The aroma filling the air is making my mouth water. I’ve picked up all the weight I lost, and then some, and today I’ll probably add a couple more pounds.
Glancing at everyone smiling and kidding around while Mr. Jackson loads an amazing spread onto the table, all my muscles relax.
This is nice.
Whenever Dad’s home for Christmas, we usually spend the day watching one movie after the other while gorging on snacks.
Mom died when I was twelve, and even before she passed, we never made a big fuss over the holidays.
My eyes stop on Ethan, where he’s sitting across from me. My lips automatically curve up at the sight of his sneaky smile as he places an arm around Quinn, playfully hugging her to get a rise out of Eli.
He darts to the side when Eli reaches an arm out to slap him, and a chuckle bubbles over my lips.
Ethan’s eyes snap to me, and I quickly look away, clearing my throat.
“Dig in, everyone,” Mr. Jackson says as he takes a seat at the head of the table.
Picking up Dad’s plate, I lean closer to him. “A little of everything?”
“Please, sweetheart.”
I reach for the creamy-looking mashed potatoes at the same time as Ethan, and our fingers brush. I quickly pull back, but not before an electric current zaps up my arm.
My eyes dart to his, and for a moment, we stare before he gestures at the potatoes. “You first.”
I manage a shaky smile then focus on loading food onto Dad’s plate.
When everyone’s done dishing up, the table grows quiet, then Mr. Jackson says, “We have a tradition. You tell someone of a gift they’ve given you during the past year. Josh, you want to go first?”
“Put me on the spot, why don’t you,” Uncle Josh grumbles playfully. “Let’s see.” His eyes lock on Quinn. “Your smile every time I come home.”
