Page 58 of The Dangers of Daydreaming

“Well, have fun,” she said brightly, opening the door to her room.

“Thanks,” Finn said, reaching a hand out to me.

I grabbed it without thinking. We both looked down, but when I didn’t let go, neither did he.

Instead, he tucked his hand tighter around mine, the warmth of his sending pinpricks of feeling through mine and up my arm. He went first down the next staircase, but folded his arm behind his back so he could keep a hold on my hand; a secure hold like he was weaving through a crowd and didn’t want to lose me. How had I gotten myself intothis position? And why did I seem incapable of wanting to get myself out? Something about our hands together felt natural.

But also not, because at least eighty-three percent of all my attention was on that small bit of skin that touched Finn’s. It was currently creeping up to ninety.

As if realizing how much I was enjoying our point of contact, he squeezed my hand then let it go, opening the door for me.

I tried not to pout as I glanced down at my suddenly cold hand. The pout turned to a glare when I saw Finn tuck away a smile.

He was playing with me. And I couldn’t even be that mad.

As usual, he held the door while I buckled my seatbelt, then went to his side.

“Do you have your own car?” I asked. “Or do you take the van everywhere?”

“The van is mine,” he said, turning it on. “I bought it when Gram and Pops decided to start offering tours. I needed a new car anyway, and it saved them an extra expense.”

“How are you feeling about all of that? Are they still planning on selling, with your grandpa doing better?”

He tossed me a sheepish look. “I don’t know, I’ve been avoiding the conversation.”

“Oh yes,” I said gravely. “The old, ‘I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ trick. If you don’t talk about it, maybe it doesn’t exist.”

“Exactly,” he said with mock enthusiasm and a lifted fist.

I shook my head but let it drop. This was his problem to work through, it wasn’t my place to butt in.

“They want to hire a harvester for the orchard this year,” he said, as if that were an explanation of sorts. He glanced over at me. “They’ve never done that. Every once in a while, we use one to help us out, but never to do it all. For the last decade, each summer they’ve held a big U-Pick event—where they invite people in for a fee to pick the fruit? It feels wrong not tohave one this year, but Gram asked for the harvester, so I know she’s not planning on the event. I thought about trying to do it for her, but I don’t have those skills.”

“I can help you plan one if you need,” I offered. “I’m really good at planning stuff.”

“I know you are… but I can’t ask you to do that. I’m just thinking out loud here, really. Financially, it would probably help them out to not have to pay the harvester… but I don’t really want to be bugging her with a ton of questions if I decide to do it. I don’t know—I’ll keep thinking.”

I nodded. “Your Gram is coming back to stay at the B&B?”

“She has been for the last few days. Usually, she drives to the hospital every morning—the bad beds finally got to her. But today I dropped her off on our way to the tour.”

“How’s she doing?”

His mouth turned down, and his answer was slow. “I’ve been avoiding asking that, too.” His jaw worked. “But before you judge me too harshly, I have been checking in. So much that I think it’s starting to get annoying. I just worry that if I ask how she’s doing and the answer isn’t good… then maybe I’ll have to… face the reality of that.”

“That makes sense.” I squeezed his forearm, and he rewarded me with a small smile. But he looked like he needed a distraction from the conversation more than he needed to work through it. I gave it another thirty seconds, to be sure he didn’t have anything else he wanted to talk about, before saying, “It’s been at least twenty minutes, and you haven’t tried to get me to go out with you once.”

His eyes flashed to mine, entertainment lurking behind the residual pain of our conversation. “Now that you mention it—”

I laughed, shaking my head. Of all the topics I could bring up, I’d chosen this one?

“There’s this super good Italian place a few miles from here. Probably some of the best pasta I’ve ever gotten.”

“So nowyou’re trying to sell me on the food?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I wasn’t making much headway selling you on the company.”

If only he knew how wrong that was. “I don’t know, Italian isn’t my favorite.”

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