Page 18 of Just Do It
‘Hence you disappearing Saturday morning.’
I took a sip of tea.
‘I’m sorry you regret it.’ He wiped over the worktop.
‘It was my decision. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to.’ Oh God, that came out wrong! I risked a glance but Finn was focused on his coffee. ‘It’s just that…’ He flicked his gaze up and met mine. He really was unfairly good looking but not in a pretty boy way. His face looked lived in – delicious but lived in. There were crinkles around his eyes that disappeared when he laughed, his nose had been broken at least once, perhaps twice and there was a scar on his chin that ran diagonally from one side to the other in a pale silver line.
‘You’re studying me like I’m one of your mummies.’
I sat back. ‘Sorry. Occupational habit.’
He folded his arms across his chest causing the fabric to sit taut over his shoulders and pecs. I did my best not to think about those. ‘No problem. And what is your professional opinion?’
‘About?’
‘Whatever it was you were putting under scrutiny.’
I opened my mouth to dismiss it but caught his expression and remembered from my limited experience of him that this man was a sharp crayon in the colouring box of life. Denying I’d had any specific thoughts was not only wasting both our time but also doing him a disservice.
‘You have an interesting face. I was trying to decide whether your nose had been broken once or twice. I suspect twice.’
‘Correct. Rugby the first time, trying to break up a fight the second.’ I winced and he shrugged it off. ‘What else?’
‘The scar looks old but deep. You keep your face clean shaven. Is that from choice, or because the hair won’t grow there?’
‘I got it when I was twelve and my brother was nine. We were trying to outdo each other on our bikes doing wheelies and such like. I had a brain fart at one point and pulled my front brake accidentally. Sailed over the handlebars and landed chin first on the pavement.’
‘Ah.’
‘The beard thing is a bit of both. If I grow anything, there’s a line in it which looks kind of weird and I prefer clean-shaven when I go out. Although full disclosure, if I’m just hanging around at the weekend, I don’t shave. Does that answer all your questions?’ His mouth was serious but amusement twinkled in his bright blue eyes.
‘For the moment,’ I replied, trying not to smile.
‘Do I get a question?’
I swallowed. ‘I suppose it’s only fair.’
He glanced down to the ice pack on my hand. Lifting it off, he peered at my injury. ‘It’s taken the swelling down quite a bit already. That’s good. I think it’s an idea to tape it lightly to the next finger for now, just to give it some support.’
‘I can’t type like that.’
‘Elizabeth, you’re not going to be able to type with it anyway. This will just make it more comfortable.’
I huffed out a sigh.
He dug about in the first aid box next to him and within a couple of minutes, my finger was covered with fresh gauze and strapped neatly to the next one like a splint. I made to stand up from the table we’d sat at.
‘I haven’t asked my question yet.’
Damn, I was hoping he’d forgotten that. I sat back down.
‘Why did you leave?’
I checked quickly around us. ‘I don’t think this is the best place for that subject.’
‘There’s no one here but us. I can see up the corridor.’
‘Even so.’
