Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,37
knees. A skipping pulse. The way those intense honey eyes fixed on hers.
God, she wanted to kiss him again.
Their mouths were an inch apart. Hot breath on her lips, a slightly calloused palm on her cheek. “I—”
“Root beer floats!” Rylie yelled, tearing out of the house, the door slamming behind her.
Finn straightened, fingers sliding from her cheek. “So close.”
She nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “So far.” A beat. “For the record, the floats will rock your world, too.”
“Hmm.”
Shan started to turn for the front door, but Finn caught her arm, tugged her back around to face him.
“What—”
He kissed her, one brief firm press of his mouth to hers that had her knees going weak. Then he released her, nudged her toward the door, saying, “Get a jacket, wind’s picking up.”
“Are you coming with us, Mr. Finn?” she heard Ry call, while grabbing her jacket from the hook in the hallway.
“Is that okay with you, Ms Rylie?” Finn asked.
Ry’s “Yup!” was punctuated with pounding footsteps across the deck and had Shannon grinning. “Root beer floats are the best!”
Yeah, this less worrying, more living thing was pretty great.
Fourteen
Resolution on the Dotted Line
Finn
“And that’s the final signature right there,” the mid-twenties-something notary said, pointing at one last line.
Finn scrawled his name on the line, took his copy of the paperwork, and then slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk.
He was one town over.
His assistant had called that morning to say he’d found a house and the deal for it was done—easy, Finn supposed when he’d offered the sellers all cash, over asking price, and to take the property as is. It was ocean-front with an identical layout to the cottage he was staying in, and the address told him it wasn’t far from it either.
He’d have to wait until the payment processed and the keys were turned over, but that shouldn’t take long.
Then he’d have his home base here.
Then he could keep spending time with Shannon.
It had been two weeks since they’d watched the movie together, and he’d seen her and Rylie every day—sometimes for just a cup of coffee and the walk to school, twice more he’d brought her takeout for dinner, and once he’d brought her lunch at school.
All of that had given him even more proof for why he loved this town.
Not one picture of him had appeared in any newspaper or social media post, not even the selfie he’d taken with the teenager more than a month before.
So yeah, even if Shannon and Rylie weren’t here, Stoneybrook would be high on his list of places to have a house.
He slid into his car, dropped the papers into the back seat, and turned on the ignition. Privacy, a beautiful woman, an awesome little girl who was energetic and sweet and funny.
He’d bought houses sight unseen multiple times in the past.
This was the first time he’d known with one hundred percent certainty that he would be thrilled about the purchase.
Because Shannon.
Because Rylie.
Yeah, he couldn’t wait to set up a home here.
She came to his deck that night, a mug in her hand, fluffy pajamas on her legs, and an oversized hoodie covering her curves. “Do you mind company?” she asked, gesturing to the laptop open in front of him.
“No,” he said. “I was just reading through a project.”
“A new film?”
“T.V. actually,” he told her. “Or well, for a streaming platform.”
She sank into the chair next to him. “That seems out of the ordinary for you.”
A shrug. “I haven’t done it before, but I’ve been . . .” He trailed off.
“What?” she asked, resting the mug down on the table and covering his hand with hers. “What is it?”
“Hollywood problems,” he said. “More selfish need to feed my soul, more not finding anywhere where I fit in.” He closed his laptop and sighed. “And more of me being totally aware of how ridiculous that sounds being a straight, white man.”
She squeezed his hand. “Well, I will say I agree that your category of story has been told more than most.” A soft smile. “But I don’t think it’s wrong to search for different ways to tell that story, different pieces of yourself you haven’t had the chance to explore yet.”
“How do you always have the words?” he asked.
She chuckled. “Well, if you find the story for a single mom with a jerky ex who looks like me and not some blond, skinny Hollywood type, let it be known, I’ll buy the first ticket.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind