Page 43 of Twist of Fate
Darlin’.
It rolled off his lips so effortlessly, as if time had no meaning. As if the several hundred days since I last heard him say it had never happened.
Darlin’.
That wasn’t the only term of endearment he’d ever used, though.
No, there was one other.
But I can’t even think about that one. Darlin’ was flirty and innocent. The first time he’d said it, it was in jest, and then it kind of stuck.
But the other one. That one had been intentional. That one, he meant.
Or so I thought…
After he grabs my Coke, we silently step into the hall. He has a set of keys in his hand that jingle as he walks. He doesn’t bother putting on shoes and instead just slips into a pair of slippers that somehow look ridiculously good on him.
It’s honestly unfair how good he looks. There should be a universal rule that when you systematically stomp on someone else’s heart, you automatically turn into a bridge troll.
But no, for some reason, the men in my life only seem to get hotter. When Theo came to my mom’s funeral, I swear he looked taller, like that Spanish heat had made him grow an extra inch or two. That or those endorsement deals he was raking in were just doing wonders for his ego.
Their future wives will thank me, I’m sure.
Future wives.
I eye the back of Finn’s head as he unlocks the door, and now, while I gaze at the strands of his nearly jet-black hair, all I can think about is the faceless woman somewhere out there who will become the future Mrs. Finn Larkin.
Mrs. Finn Larkin-O’Connell?
I’m still not entirely sure which one he goes by. Or it’s both.
Whatever.
My mind starts to spiral. Is he dating anyone? I try to think back to the few minutes I just spent in that apartment. Were there any…girlie things in there?
“Aisling?” I realize he’s unlocked the door and stepped inside, and I’m still standing frozen at the threshold.
I blink in, probably for the first time in a solid minute.
“Yep? What?” Good save.
“Ready?” His lip twitches.
“Yes!” I say with a bit too much enthusiasm. I’m still clutching the Coke in my hand like I’m fucking Gollum fromThe Hobbitbecause I’m too proud to admit I can’t open it on my own in my current state.
As if he can read my mind, Finn glances down at the soda and says, “I forgot to offer you a glass. Here, let me take that.”
Before I can protest, the Coke is whisked away from my grasp, and he’s headed to the small kitchen on the left.
“There are glasses?”
“A few,” he answers. He opens a cupboard, and I let out a laugh.
“A few?” The cupboard is packed.
He shrugs. “I doubt you could host a dinner party, but it’s a solid start.”
He walks to the refrigerator and fills the glass with ice. As he pops open the can, I take a moment to look around. The entire place is stunning. It’s similar to his place as far as finishes, but whoever chose the furniture took a vastly different approach. The sofa is deep and plush, with a chaise on one side that looks like it was made for cozy movie nights. There’s an oversized chair in the corner, by a large window, that would be perfect for rainy-day reading.
