Page 37 of Hearts Adrift
“And I’m not just talking about your body or your cute face. I mean spiritually. Personality. Your whole …you.”
“My whole … me?”
“Just want it stated. On the record. No ambiguity or guesswork. Not saying it with an expectation. Or for you to feel any certain way. I just want you to know that fact, so if there’s ever a time … that you’re at a certain door, maybe someone else’sdoor … unsure if you should knock or let yourself in … well …” I shrug. “This is your permission. To let yourself in.”
His adorable eyes fall into mine yet again.
Pushing and pulling into mine the same way the water keeps clawing at the stones before sliding back into the sea.
The fire’s back.
A lot of fire.
I chuckle and look away. “Sorry. Again. My nature, to be ‘too much’ all the time. You were just opening up to me and … I just made it awkward. Forget that I said anything.” I carry on walking.
After a moment, I hear him following me, just a step or two behind, feet crunching in the sand and rocks.
Echoes of distant laughter catch us both by surprise. We stop and turn, the pair of us spotting a gaggle of teens who also found our cozy hiding place down here below the pier, eight or nine of them.
And that’s eight or nine too many pairs of eyes that’ll no doubt recognize me.
“Are they allowed down here?” I ask.
“No,” says Finn, “and if it were any other day, I’d be shooing them back up to the Fair. Come on.”
Then he takes hold of my hand.
Again.
I reflect surprise—and relief—as his eyes meet mine with urgency.
Then we take off running. Fleeing the scene like a pair of runaway lovers.
Lovers? I need to stop calling us that. We’re not lovers. I have this bad habit of deluding myself—even if saying it causes my heart to jump so pleasingly.
He didn’t exactly reject the metaphor I was making.
Haunted houses and knocking and letting ourselves in.
I wonder, had he not fallen asleep last night, would he have … knocked on my door?
We’re soon out from under the pier, crunching through the gravel of the parking lot and ducking between the cars. He opens the door to one of them—his own, presumably—and inside I go. “Keep down,” he says to me, slapping a hat on my head—a Hopewell Fair souvenir hat with a rainbow Ferris Wheel logo across the front. I quickly lower the hat so it shadows most of my face, then scrunch down in the passenger seat as Finn takes off.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“No idea. Around town, I guess, until I hear back about our potential creeper at the bungalow. My friend should be there any minute. He doesn’t have a shift at the Easy until later tonight. Are you thirsty?” With a swiftness, he snags a water bottle from a stash behind his seat and offers it to me. “Might be a little warm. Sorry.”
I take the bottle, crack it open, and chug nonetheless. “I and my vocal folds appreciate this lukewarm offering.”
He chuckles at my wording. “You always so poetic?”
“Not really. I’m just feeling a bit—”
“Stay down.”
I guess I sat up to drink the water. I scrunch back down into place, slouching deeply in the seat. “I’m just feeling a bit … fun, I guess.”
“Fun?”
