Kiss Me Hard Before You Go (27 page)

His face grew warm. “I didn’t think you were a rose girl,” he said.

“You did just fine, Finch Mills,” she said. “Y’all grab your plates and come on back to the kitchen and serve yourselves.” She motioned for them to follow her.

The kitchen counters were cluttered with casserole dishes, pie pans, a basket of fried chicken, and cake plates. Even the breakfast table was littered with dishes.

“Well... have at it.” Evie swooped her hands forward.

They filled their plates. Cooper in particular towered his food, and Finch waited in the kitchen with Evie while she fixed her plate. “Did things go okay today?” he asked her.

“Yeah. As well as they could,” she said. “The visitation is tomorrow, and the funeral is the day after that.”

“Anything I can do?” he asked. He took the plate from her hands and carried it as they walked to the dining area.

“No,” she said with a grateful smile. “You’ve done so much already.”

***

If anyone had told Evie Barnes a month ago that she’d be sharing a meal with the folks she was surrounded by at that very moment, she’d tell them they were crazy. Trying times brought the strangest allies, the folks you’d never think would have your back, but all of a sudden you find them standing behind you supporting you so you don’t fall. These people centered around her table were just that—support—especially Finch.

Evie knew it may not come to anything more than it was. He had to leave soon: his life was hectic, unpredictable, and hers was on a similar path. But her heart was wide open, and there was a special place just for him if he wanted it.

They all left, and Finch lingered, helping Evie and Katie clean the dishes. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Evie. The soap suds floated and found a resting spot on her cheek and the tip of her pointed chin. He gently flicked them off of her, and she gave him a lopsided grin. She could see he was tired and felt selfish for allowing him to do so much for her in the past few days.

Katie let out a loud yawn and stretched. “I’m going to bed.” She hugged Evie good night and offered Finch an unexpected side hug before she left the room.

“She likes you,” she said.

“Of course she does,” he teased, and she shot him a look.

She dried the last dish and sat down at the breakfast table. Finch sat across from her and latched onto her hand, mindlessly stroking the surface.

“She’s decided to stay?” Finch said more as a fact than a question.

“Yeah,” she answered with a whisper.

“And?” He could read her like he could read his own reflection.

“I feel guilty. She has a chance to start over in Florida and now she’ll be holed up here for who knows how long,” she admitted. It felt good to get it off of her chest.

“She’s choosing to stay, and I don’t blame her.”

She formed a surprised expression.

“You make sacrifices when you care deeply for someone,” he said.

“But I feel like all I’m doing is taking from everyone, and I have nothing to offer except a bunch of damn casseroles.”

“What you did for my friends was big, Evie. No one’s ever invited us into their home before tonight. Most people take one look at Friedrich or Mouse and run the other way. You look them square in the eye on an equal level and treat them with dignity and respect. That’s why they’re helping,” he said. “‘Cause you treat them like they’re human beings.”

“I didn’t know the reason why.” She half-shrugged.

“When people are shown a little kindness, they want to pay it back.” He squeezed her hand. “You don’t notice it because you’re not a judgmental person. I remember that first night at the skating rink and those punks were making fun of Mouse, and you kicked them out.” He let out a laugh. “That’s when I knew.” He stared her in the eye.

She fought to catch her breath. “Knew what?” she barely uttered.

“That your face was definitely not stupid,” he teased, and Evie’s grin fell. “I know what you want me to say, and I’m not that guy, Evie. I don’t dish out flowery words and poetic lyrics. You’ve got enough sense to know how I feel.”

Her chin dipped down and her cheeks grew flushed.

“I don’t expect those things,” she said, still avoiding eye contact. “I know how you feel because I feel the same.” She tilted her head up and looked at him, seeing his eyes dance and his lips curl up at her words. “Do you have to go?”

“It’s my job, Evie, and I’ll come back to visit once I’m done on the circuit.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Do you... want to stay here tonight?”

She caught him off guard, and he had to catch his breath. “Evie,” he struggled to say, hearing the rasping in his own voice. “I don’t think...”

“Not for
that
,” she said, and a rush of color crept quickly across her face and ears. “Just to sleep.” She finally made eye contact, and Finch could see the longing in her eyes. “I...” her voice trailed off. “The visitation is tomorrow,” she said with an exhale. “And I...”

He laid his hand on her shoulder, letting her know that he knew what she meant, what she wanted to say. He’d had these same feelings years before. She was lonely, scared, desperate, a mixture of all three. It was one thing to lay in the grass together and stare up at the sky but laying in a bed with her was another. Even if the temptation and the yearning were there, oh man were they there, he’d let those feelings go. If she needed to be held, he’d hold her. If she needed to know he was there, he would be.

“Okay,” he said with a faint smile, the kind that said, I’ll do it, Evie; I’ll do it for you.

She blinked her eyes, thanking him, and stood up to turn off the light. He trailed behind her as they made their way up the stair case, walking as quietly as they could. When they reached her room, Evie stopped and turned to face him. “It’s messy,” she said to him, apologizing for the shape her room was in.

He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter because it didn’t. Her life was in shambles—a dirty room wasn’t a problem.

She opened the door and turned on the table side lamp, giving the room just enough dim light. “You can sit down if you want,” she said, gesturing to the rocking chair.

The rocking chair had been hand crafted by Evie’s grandfather years ago. It was made from oak, and had hand carved flowers adorning the top. Evie always admired the chair. Gray gave it to her when her grandfather passed.

Clothes were draped over the arms and piled in the middle of the seat. Finch scooped them to the side and sat down, trying to find a comfortable position, but he couldn’t. Somehow his nerves got the best of him, and trying to make his head rule over everything else was like climbing a mountain blindfolded.

She rummaged through her dresser drawer, searching for pajamas.
Please not the lime green night shirt
, he thought.

Evie pulled out an Easter bunny pink night gown, one that was just as gaudy and ugly as the lime green frock he’d fantasized about her in too many times. “I’ll be right back.” She bundled it under her arms and tip toed out of the room.

He rocked back and forth, taking a look around the room. Evie wasn’t much for decorating. A colorful patchwork quilt covered her white iron post bed. The pale pink walls were mostly bare with the exception of a couple of posters: Fleetwood Mac and Blondie. Finch got up from the chair. It continued to rock back and forth as he ambled toward her bookshelf.

The wooden bookshelf was painted white and had a few books on one shelf, most of which were written by Laura Ingalls Wilder. He laughed at the irony, and the image of the first time he saw her popped in his head. He remembered her reaction when he first called her ‘Laura Ingalls.’

The rest of the bookshelf was filled with record albums. He combed through her collection, noticing that Evie had alphabetized them all by last name. He rolled his eyes when he reached the C’s. “Shaun Cassidy. Really?” he muttered aloud.

He continued rummaging through her collection, noticing Evie’s eclectic taste in music. Everything from Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, to the soundtrack from
Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory
, and Miles Davis. He wondered if that’s where her pet ox’s name came from – the great jazz artist himself. He laughed again.

From what he could see, Evie didn’t spend much time in her bedroom like most girls. There wasn’t a vanity dresser covered with make-up and perfume or pictures of friends plastered all over the walls. The room was sparse but still managed to have a warm feeling about it. In his opinion, her room felt more like home than his apartment in Florida did.

She entered and closed the door behind her. Her fingers tugged on the fabric of her night gown. This one wasn’t sheer. She had made sure of that when she checked herself in the bathroom light. If she couldn’t see her floral undies, then Finch couldn’t either. Still, when she saw his brown eyes lingering longer than normal, she wondered if she had chosen the wrong thing to wear.

She could wear a potato sack, a hideous burlap sack, and he’d still stare at her like he wanted to eat her for dinner. He came to his senses and looked in the other direction, directly at the bookshelf. “Shaun Cassidy?” he said with a grimace.

“Yeah. I had a crush on him when I was younger,” she said, knowing that was less than a year ago.

“Your taste has improved,” he teased.

“Maybe not. Maybe it’s gotten worse.” She picked up her pillow from her bed and threw it at him, hitting him smack dab in the face.

“You just asked for it.” He toppled her to the bed and rested on his elbows, gazing down at her. She tried to catch her breath. Not from the heaviness of him. He made sure not to crush her and placed most of his weight on his arms. She could see the muscles bulging from the arms of his t-shirt and a small patch of his chest hair peaked through the neck line.

No. Her breaths were shallow because of his proximity to her. Him being on top of her and in her bed, that made her heart pound against her chest and her breath uneven and ragged.

He sniffed and crinkled his nose. He moved closer to her and sniffed again. “You use the strong stuff, huh?”

“What?” She instantly put her hand over her mouth, feeling self-conscious.

“Listerine. It’s the stuff Stoney uses to ward off his cigarette and coffee stench.”

“It kills germs,” she defended, still covering her mouth. She had spent extra time flossing her teeth, brushing them longer than her standard minute, and finished with Listerine. Just in case they kissed, she wanted to ward off the remnants from dinner that evening.

“It kills everything. How could it not,” he said and removed her hand from her mouth. He shifted his body so he was off of her and lay on his side, resting his elbow against the bed. He leaned closer to her, and their parted lips barely touched. “I’ve never tasted it before, though.” He kissed her on the lips, his tongue lightly touching hers. If he got carried away, he’d lose any will power he had, and he swore to himself he’d keep it in his pants.

When he pulled away, he formed a soft smile. “It tastes a lot better than it smells.”

She slid from underneath him and sat up against her pillow. “I’ve never had anyone up here,” she admitted.

“And I’ve never tasted Listerine until tonight. It’s a night of firsts for us both,” he kidded. He wanted to lighten the mood. The air was thick with sexual tension, and Finch wasn’t planning to go there. Not this night. Not until she was ready. He was giving Evie what she needed and that was all.

She folded the covers back and got underneath them, pulling them to her waist. “I’m too tired to think of a comeback.” She let out a yawn.

“Hold up.” He lay down beside her on top of the quilt. He had decided he wasn’t going underneath those covers, nor was he shredding one piece of his clothing. He was even going to keep his shoes on for the love of all things holy. “You mean to tell me you put thought into those comebacks of yours?”

She pursed her lips and stuck her tongue out at him.

He let out a loud laugh and smiled.

“Good night, Finch,” she said and turned off the light. She lay on her side, her back facing him. “Finch?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“How come you quit knife throwing?”

The room was silent, and she waited for him to respond.

“Finch?”

“The most random questions pop out of that mouth of yours,” he said and paused for a moment. She could hear him breathing. “It reminded me too much of my mom, and it wasn’t the same without her. I didn’t enjoy it anymore.”

“Oh,” she answered reflectively. “How’d she die?”

She could hear him scratching the stubble on his chin. “The doctor said it was encephalitis. She got real sick all of a sudden, and there wasn’t anything that could be done,” he said, and the faint sounds of pain lingered in his statement. “You would’ve liked her.”

She rolled over on her side, facing him, and searched for his hand. She laced her fingers in his, and said, “I know I would have. Thanks for staying with me tonight. It means a lot to me.”

“Whatever you need, Evie.” He wrapped his arms around her, knowing that for a light sleeper, he may just sleep soundly that night.