Page 46 of Protecting His Finch

“Better.”

“Good.” He stares off into the distance and the huge trees that grow thick along the property line.

“We’ll be out of your hair tomorrow,” I tell him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, but I can tell from his expression that he’s relieved to hear that.

Sid is a man of few words, and so am I, so we lapse into silence after that, drink coffee, and listen to the birds sing.

Finley and Tasha make omelets, eggs mixed up with fresh tomatoes, basil, onions, and bell peppers. When we sit down to eat, Finley keeps looking up and inspecting me every time I take a bite. I tell her it’s good (it is), and she beams.

She hunts me down after breakfast, after I’ve helped with the dishes and I’m setting the last plate on the rack. “Archer,” she says urgently and then takes my hand, pulling me toward the door. “Come to the porch with me.”

I pluck my coffee mug from the counter and let her lead me out to the porch. Here, we’re alone, and Finley takes one of the rocking chairs. I notice she has a folded piece of paper in her hand.

“I’ve been thinking about our next move,” she says. Even though we’re alone out here, she’s keeping her voice low.

I ease into the seat beside her. The morning chill is bitter, but my coffee is still warm, and that helps. “Have you?”

“Yes. We can’t stay here—obviously. So.” She unfolds the paper across a small wooden table. It’s a map of the roadways. She draws her finger up the highway line. “I’m thinking we keep going north. We can take the highway up this way to Niagara Falls, and then we’ll be in Canada…”

“Canada? Who do you know in Canada?”

“No one. That’s the point. We can start over.”

We. My heart clenches.

She’s thinking in terms of we’s now.

“I hate the cold,” I tell her.

She smiles in that softly coy way that makes my blood run south. “Well, I’ll just have to find creative ways to warm you up.”

The promise is tantalizing. But I stay silent.

She’s sensed my distance. She has to. Her eyebrows knit. She shifts back into her chair.

“When I asked you why you came with me,” Finley says, “you told me that you owed me.”

“I guess I did say that.”

“But is that the truth?” Those hazel eyes lock on me inquisitively, and she bites her bottom lip briefly between her teeth. “Was it duty or…something else?”

My heart kicks repeatedly against my chest.

Words unspoken clot behind my teeth.

If we continue down this line of conversation, I might tell her some terrible truths.

Like how I love her. How I’ve loved her. How I want nothing more than to brave the Canadian cold with her and spend every night for the rest of our lives between her lips and between her thighs.

Instead, I rub my hand over my shoulder like the wound is bothering me.

“This is acting up,” I tell her. “I’m going to see if Tasha has something to take the edge off.”

I rise from my chair to go inside, but Finley won’t let me run from this conversation. She leaps from her chair and stands in front of me, setting her jaw. Her eyes are vibrant, intense.

“You tell me to trust you…but you don’t trust me,” she says. “Not enough to tell me the truth.”

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