Page 8 of My Merry Mistake
“You can’t say stuff like that.” I look away.
“Why not?” He shrugs. “Youare.”
I look at Poppy, thankful she didn’t hear him, then grab his arm and pull him through the bouncing crowd.
I hear someone say, “Yeah, buddy, get it!” as we make our way out of the crowd and into the kitchen. While it’s still loud, it’s considerably quieter than the living room. Muffled music and conversations still pulse through the walls. Once I’m sure we’re safely out of my sister’s earshot, I turn and face him.
He’s still grinning. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, this is like déjà vu . . .”
I smack him across the arm. “Finn! You cannot tell anyone that we’ve met.”
“I told you I won’t,” he says, matter of factly.
“Yeah, but I don’t believe you.” I go to push my hand through my hair, then remember there’s about half a bottle of hairspray in it. I turn away and huff out a breath. “Is everything just a joke to you?”
“I mean, most things, yeah.”
I stare daggers at him.
“Oh. Except this, of course.”
I try to enhance my calm and talk slowly. “Look. Finn. My sisters don’t know anything about that night.”
“Why not?” The question is so earnest, it makes me laugh.
“Because I don’t share my humiliations with people.”
“They’re notpeople.” He frowns. “They’re your family.”
“Exactly.”
“Are you afraid they won’t love you anymore if they find out you’re not perfect?” He leans toward me. “Because—newsflash—they probably already know.”
I groan. “You don’t get it.”
“I have a pretty big family. I think I get it.”
“You clearly don’t.”
“Then explain it to me.”
I search my mind for a way to make this clear to him, but when I come up empty, I just let out a noise in frustration. “You are infuriating.”
Because how do I get into it withoutgetting into it? Someone like Finn will never understand someone like me. I’m driven by ambition and perfection.
I have a feeling he’s driven by testosterone.
He reaches past me, opens a cupboard, and pulls out a canister of cashews. He pops the top, grabs one, and tosses it up in the air, catching it in his mouth.
“Have you grown up at all in five years?”
He shakes the can, dumps out a handful, then caps the canister and puts it back in the cupboard.
“I have, actually,” he says. “But I’m still me, thank goodness. I’m not a college kid anymore but I still know how to have fun once in a while.” He has an air of confidence that walks right up to the line of cockiness and dips a toe on the other side.
“Finn. I’m being serious.”
“Oh, I know, Hart,” he says. “I have a feeling you’re always serious.”
