Page 9 of My Merry Mistake
“And I have a feeling you never are.”
“I wonder which one of us has better stories.” He grins.
I roll my eyes.
And then we just look at each other. In those few seconds, my mind goes blank, and I wonder what it might be like if I were acompletely different kind of person. A person who likes to have fun.
“You never texted me, by the way.” He says, taking me out of my own head. He reaches over, takes the Coke out of my hand, and cracks it open. “After that night.”
At that, I lift my chin and meet his eyes again, expecting to feel chastised, but instead, he looks amused. He hands me the can.
I’d done my best to forget that night—and everything that led up to it—over the years. And I’d mostly succeeded.
It’s one of those things that pops back in late at night when I’m trying to sleep, and my brain decides to take me on a tour of my most embarrassing moments.
The fact that Finn witnessed my first and only genuine meltdown is a very unfortunate reality.
“I was embarrassed,” I say, honestly. “It was not my finest hour.”
He opens the freezer and pulls out a frozen pizza. “It happens. No one’s perfect, you know.”
I watch as he moves around the kitchen, shocked at the way my past and present are colliding right here in this room.
I draw in a breath. “I . . . am . . . sorry I didn’t text.” A follow-up thank youwould’ve been nice. Even I can’t deny that he’d gone above and beyond for me that night.
“Are you, though?” He pulls a pizza pan from a skinny cupboard, and when he looks at me, I see the tease playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes,” I say, honestly.
He smiles. I wish it weren’t a nice smile. I get the feeling that Finn is used to being very well-liked. I’ve never had that knack with people, but I’ve convinced myself that being respected is more important.
“Apology accepted. Eat this pizza with me. You said you wanted pizza, so—” He walks over to the oven and sets it to preheat.
“Wait . . .what?”
“Eat. Pizza. With me.” He acts out every word.
“You . . . just like that? Apology accepted?”
“Yep.” He shrugs. “It’s not deep dish, but it’s pretty good.”
I watch for a few seconds, then press my lips together, inhaling slowly. “And you won’t tell anyone about before?”
He leans against the counter, on the opposite side of the room. “I mean, forgiveness is free.Keepinga secret, though, might cost a bit more.”
Great.
“Like what?”
“A real date.”
I roll my eyes. “Please.”
“I can do much better than frozen pizza in my kitchen,” he says.
“Oh, I’m sure you think you can.” I quirk a brow, feeling a little lighter.
He must see it as a crack in my armor because his smile brightens. “Oh, come on, Hart. Give me a chance to prove it.”
