Page 161 of My Merry Mistake
“I was about to warn her what she’s in for when she comes inside,” his mom says. She looks at me. “Only two of his siblings are missing at the moment, so it’s a full house.”
“I can’t wait to meet them,” I say, realizing I mean it. I want to know all of Finn’s people.
“I’ll give you two a minute out here first.” She pats him on the shoulder and adds, “I haven’t seen you move that fast on oroff the ice in a while, Skip.” She grins and walks back toward the house.
We stare at each other for a brief moment, and then start talking at the same time.
“What are you?—”
“I should’ve told you?—”
We both stop. I’m nervous, and I hold up a hand to say,you first.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “You look?—”
I push a hand through my hair and wince. “I know. I took a late flight, but we were delayed, and I slept on the plane, but not very well, and . . . it’s been a long night.”
“I was going to say you look beautiful.” His eyes gleam, taking me in.
“Oh.” I look away, feeling suddenly—shy? “Thanks.”
He scrubs a hand over his chin, then says, through his fingers, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I know,” I fake curtsy. “In the flesh.” I instantly regret the move and look around for something—anything—to say. “So this is where you grew up.” Still haven’t found the courage to give my prepared speech.
“Yeah, this is it,” he says. “Do you . . . want me to show you around?”
“Yes,” I nod. “I want to see all of it, but—maybe in a little bit . . .” Oh gosh, here it is. The moment of truth. I hate feeling so uncertain. So vulnerable.
If I do what I came here to do, I’m giving him the power to hurt me.
All it takes is one more look at him for my nerves to settle, his words rushing back. “I’ll never do that.” The promise doesn’t feel empty.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and watches me for a long moment, a lazy smile on his face, almost like he knows I’m working up the courage to say something big.
I avoid his eyes and chew the bottom of my lip. “I had a whole speech prepared, but now that I’m here, the only part I remember is”—I look at him, square in the eyes—“I love you.”
The words tumble out like bowling pins accidentally knocked over, and I can’t get them back. Oddly, I don’t want to.
He freezes, and for a second, I’m not sure he heard me. He cocks his head and studies me. “Did you just say . . .” A smile breaks loose on his lips, and the hope I’ve been holding starts to take root.
“You were right,” I say. “We’re awesome together.”
He looks at me like he’s trying to rearrange my facial features because they don’t quite make sense. “You actuallymeantto say that you love me . . .”
I wave him off with a quiet smirk. “Let me talk.”
He holds up a hand. “Yeah, no, keep going, please.”
I close my eyes and breathe deep. “When you kissed me, I got?—”
“Freaked out,” he interrupts. “Because you’re scared of getting hurt.”
“Finn.” My tone is a mix between amused and exasperated.
“Oh. Sorry. Go ahead.” He mimes zipping his mouth shut.
I nod. “Yes. I did freak out a little. But I realized I’m not so much scared of getting hurt as I am scared of letting myself . . . I don’t know . . .needsomeone else. I’ve spent so much of my life moving from crisis to crisis or working to proactively avoid one. Always preparing for the worst . . . and never allowing for the best. The other shoe and all that stuff . . .” My voice trails off, and I wonder if I’m making any sense.
