Page 75 of Stirring Up Love
“He sounds like a tool.”
“He has his moments,” she said, and smiled.
They followed the path toward the canyon, the crunch of their feet on the ground the only noise, steps slowing as they came up to the rim. Rays of morning sunlight bathed the canyon in goldenrod and ocher, rose pink and mauve.
The sight took her breath away.
Tears sprung to her eyes. Actual tears. Of joy. The worst, most useless variety.
What kind of loser cried happy tears? She did, apparently.
She felt like a total and complete wreck. But it was the most extravagantly beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Finn’s arm came up around her shoulders, and she let him pull her close. Sunk into his warmth, let him hold her up while she went to pieces at the sight of a hole in the ground, of all things. Layers of rust and sand, overhung by an endless sky. Eons and millennia stretched before her.
She ought to feel insignificant in the face of all this magnificence. But in Finn’s embrace, all she felt was accepted. A crying, blubbering, accepted human.
A sob escaped her lungs. Finn shifted and wrapped her up in his arms for real, and she burrowed into his chest, her emotions overflowing in hiccups and snot and ... oh, gosh, she was never gonna live this down. She’d come here to give him this moment, but he’d given of himself too. Like he had last night. Like he might keep doing, if she let him.
“I figured it would’ve been me to have an emotional breakdown on this trip.” A suspicious layer of thickness coated Finn’s words, and she looked up to see tears shining on his cheeks. He slid his thumb across her damp cheekbone.
“I don’t cry.”
“Yeah?” To his credit, he didn’t call her on the blatant lie. “Well, I do.” He laughed. “Quite a lot, actually. You would hate it.”
She sniffed. Lifted the sleeve of her hoodie to dry her eyes. “Do you cry at movies where the dogs don’t make it?”
“Oh God, yes.” He tilted up his chin and blinked.
“Me too,” she admitted. “Every time.”
His chest moved in a silent laugh.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No. I swear I’m not. How could I?” He cleared his throat. “I’m just really happy to be here. With you.” A kiss settled on her forehead, and she felt it soak in. Take root. “Thank you.”
“There you go again with the excessive gratitude.” She tightened her arms around him and ventured another peek at the glorious tableau. With Finn’s arms around her, she took in the sight, breath even and deep to match his. “Thank you for reminding me it’s okay to let go.”
Okay to let go, but he held on. His arms wrapped around her waist, and she leaned back into the shelter of his body, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they’d been intertwined for eons, millennia. And instead of feeling choked up, breathless at the grandeur, his embrace settled her like a calming breeze.
Here, with Finn, her impatience transformed into peace. Shallow breaths became full inhales. Oxygen and serenity. Like everything would work out. Like she didn’t need to strive and push and finagle things to her definition of perfection.
A crunch of gravel sounded on the path behind them. A moment later a black Lab burst out of the sagebrush and covered them in doggy kisses.
“Sadie, where are your manners?” At the end of the leash, her owner whistled the dog to his side. He ruffled her ears. “Can’t you see these lovebirds are trying to have a moment?”
Lovebirds?Love?The word caught at her like a snare, pulling her away from Finn. Breaking the spell.
This wasn’t love. This was a simple crush. A vacation fling. Nothing deep or meaningful or lasting. She fled up the trail, past the man and his dog, both of whom shot her a confused look. Holding her breath against the tightness in her chest, she charged onward toward the parking lot.
Taking Finn here, turning the focus on his desires after months of writing him off—that was a kind gesture. A good deed.
But love? Love was an upside-down, topsy-turvy feeling. Love was sloppy and reckless and unpredictable. She couldn’t surrender to love.
She reached the car. Nowhere left to run. Nowhere to hide from her feelings.
“Simone.”
That voice. Finn’s voice. The aural version of aWelcome homesign at the airport, scrawled in big, sloppy letters. A hug in auditory form.
