Page 21 of Wintertime Love (Holiday 2)

I step to the side, keeping some distance between us. “Why do you even care?”

He just stares at me as if baffled by my question.

I continue, “Are you just here to apologize because you want to sleep with me and now you think I won’t?” I spit this out and I see

His eyes widen at my words. “Is that what you really think?”

I scoff, “You just said so in so many words.”

He pauses, and then an expression that I can only call sheepish settles on his face. “That’s not it…” He seems to search for the right words, “…Helen and Vee talk about you a lot and before I met you, I’d been staying at the B&B for two days and I wanted to meet the person they described so lovingly. And then I did and you were everything and more.” He takes a step towards me.

I take a step back.

This action doesn’t escape his notice as he went on, “I do like you, Clara. But I’m afraid I can’t lie to you and say that I just want to be friends. You and I can never be just friends.” He straightens up and gives me a long look. “I will apologize for what I said again and I don’t have that much of an issue with my ego to not apologize in public if that’s what you want. I always admit when I’m in the wrong.”

When he pauses, giving me an expectant look, I bite my lower lip, frustrated. ”Even if I let it go, you and I won’t be friends or anything of that sort. You’re a competitor. And that’s what you’ll remain.”

This time his lips curve in a half smile, and his eyes heat up, as he murmurs, “But there’s a fine line between love and hate, isn’t there?”

I purse my lips. “Get out.” But my lips twitch reluctantly.

Finn sees this and smiles now.

“You’re not forgiven yet,” I inform him, annoyed.

“Will I be welcome if I come by for coffee tomorrow?”

“You’ll be paying double.”

“Understandable.”

“And this doesn’t mean we’re good.”

“But you’ll think about it.”

“Yes.” I watch him leave and there’s a smile on his face. I try to look inside for the anger that had been simmering there since this afternoon and had only intensified when we exchanged words, but it’s almost non existent now. That pisses me off. “What happened to holding a grudge?” I mutter loudly to myself.

But I’ve never been apologized to in such a manner. I don’t doubt the sincerity of Finn’s words.

“Too damn trusting,” I scold myself, loudly, as I begin sweeping. “You didn’t even yell at him. The man insulted you for heaven’s sake. Breaking a bottle over his head wouldn’t have been that hard. I mean how long can Greg keep you in that cell for?”

My mood worsens by the time I start locking up because I know Finn is already forgiven.

“Stupid Irishman with his stupid accent and his stupid smile,” I mutter to myself as I let myself in through the front door of the house. In my current mood, I didn’t even eat anything and my stomach rumbles as I make my way to the kitchen. “I hope he steps in dog shit tomorrow and messes up one of his fancy rich shoes.”

“I beg your pardon?” a bewildered accented voice came from the stove.

I look up to see Finn heating something up in a pot on it. I glare at him.

He’s watching me, warily. “I just thought you might not have eaten so I heated up the pasta that Helen made.”

When I don’t say anything, he dishes out the white sauce pasta in a plate and I glare at it. It doesn’t help when my stomach growls loudly and both of Finn’s brows climb up so high on his forehead that they’re in the danger of disappearing.

I snatch t

he plate from him and grab a spoon, brandishing it at him like a weapon. “This isn’t over, just so you know.”

He blinks at me.

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