Page 72 of Stirring Up Love
He shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. “It’s relative.”
Simone tucked her heels up under her and scooted a piece out. “Tell me more about your cooking-school idea. Has it always been your dream?” Not sly, as far as interrogation went. But a simple question might catch him out in a lie.
“No.” Finn pushed the blanket off his head and tucked it around his shoulders. Bad. Now there was nothing to hide his absolute gorgeousness. “For most of my life the concept of having a dream never even crossed my mind.”
Never? She couldn’t imagine. Then again, one of her few memories of her mom, the ones she hoarded, was of Momma teaching her to tie her shoes. Telling her she could be anything. Do anything. That she was powerful and strong. She could guess how many people had told Finn that.
“I didn’t set out to be a chef. Didn’t plan on being anything, really.” He shook his hair over his forehead, then pushed it back over his head. Buying time. But she waited.
“One day I was washing dishes at Bellaire—that’s the restaurant where I work. Both chefs on shift called in sick, and the owner, Bella, was in a bind. Asked if I could help out. Turns out that despite growing up on a steady diet of chicken nuggets and boxed mac and cheese, I had a knack for cooking.”
“So you stumbled into it?”
“More or less.” Something in the way he said it made her wonder if he was holding back. “Doesn’t fit your dynamic, I know.”
She made a face, and he nudged her knee. Her heart sang like a treacherous canary at the unexpected contact.
“Oh, come on. Like you didn’t have your future mapped out at seventeen?”
“Fifteen.” She grinned, then her smile slipped. Over half a decade lost to saving face, a fish out of water in the city. “But my big plan was to take over Honey and Hickory, and we all know how that turned out.”
“Yeah, perfectly.” He leaned forward and nudged out another block. The tower leaned precariously. “Are you or are you not running the restaurant?”
“I am, but—”
“But nothing. Life isn’t linear. Sometimes to get fromAtoByou’ve gotta take a detour right pastZ.”
Uncharted territory. Uncertainty. All the things she ran from. “What’s pastZ?”
“Heartache, usually.” He rubbed at his wrist, smoothing his thumb along the curling tendrils of ink at his wrist. “But also hope.”
Trusting the process sounded a whole lot like relinquishing control, trusting others with her plans. To get her mind off those uncomfortable scenarios, she asked, “Your tattoos, do they have meaning?”
He nodded and nudged aside the blanket draped over his shoulders. Made a fist and turned his arm over, exposing the underside.
“With all the moving I did, I didn’t have many treasured possessions. The few I did got lost under beds or forgotten under pillows. I stopped carrying anything that couldn’t fit in my duffel. Stopped bothering.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal.
“But my body is my own. Goes where I go.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The perfect place to capture memories and keep them in plain sight, where they can’t be lost or stolen. I got my first one at sixteen.A really terrible bird. It was supposed to be a hawk, but it turned out more like a grumpy pigeon.”
Simone bit her lip against a laugh. “Can I see it?”
He shook his head, grinning for real now. “Absolutely not. Got it covered a few years ago.” He peeled up the sleeve of his tee, exposing more skin, and she swallowed. Bare branches of a tree wrapped his shoulder, clouds layered in whorls around the branches.
“So your pigeon has a roost,” she said, unable to help herself.
Finn bumped his shoulder against hers. “Remind me again why I’m hanging out with you?” But he grinned. “You’re right, though. The failed hawk is still underneath, even though you can’t see it anymore. Just like a person’s past. It’s invisible, but it’s always there. Which is why I shouldn’t have judged you by your beautifully perfect exterior.”
“A compliment and an apology?” Simone pressed her lips together. “Talk about a level-up.” She shifted slightly. “I like these best, I think.” She traced her fingers along the delicate sketches of herbs on his forearm. “Fennel and thyme. You might not have planned for it, but profession is a part of you now.”
The corner of Finn’s mouth lifted in a smile. “It is, yeah.” He pulled the blanket around himself again, and when he spoke, his voice was scratchy, the effects of the tea having worn off. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if Bella hadn’t taken a chance on me. But she’s not the only one. My last foster mom, Tori? She took a chance on me too. Never gave up, either, though I put her through it. She and her son, Darius, are the closest thing I’ve got to family, though I didn’t meet them until I was seventeen.”
He stopped, like that was the end of the story, but she knew it wasn’t. So she slid out another Jenga block and set it carefully atop the tower, waiting.
“Halfway through junior year, I got placed with Tori, who’s a doctor. I started going to a new school in a wealthier district. I was used to flying under the radar, but there I stood out. Kids started bullyingme right off the bat. For my clothes, the fact I got picked up instead of driving my own car. Stupid crap.”
He pulled his lips to the side, eyes downcast. “But it got so bad I started acting out just to get sent to the principal’s office. With all the detentions, I earned a reputation for being a badass, which, to be clear, I totally was not.” He shot her a grin, then sobered.
“Out of nowhere, a group of popular kids started inviting me to stuff. Parties, to play video games at their house. I thought things were looking up for me. With them around, the bullying let up. But after a few weeks, we were chilling at this one kid Owen’s house, in his basement, and he asked if I could get them prescription drugs. I guess they figured I’d have access to stuff because of Tori’s job.”
