His eyes were distant, clouded over as if he was sorting through memories. I glanced at him to see if he was being serious, but I didn’t know him well enough to tell. If he was looking for pity from me, though, he’d be sadly disappointed. His childhood, however lacking in home cooked meals it may have been, couldn't possibly have rivaled my dysfunctional upbringing.
Plus, I’d always had very little tolerance for people who used the shitty hand they’d been dealt by life as a perpetual crutch. Or worse, as an excuse for their later failures. I think the empathy gene may have skipped a generation with me– then again, taking my father into account, it may have been simply nonexistent in my family lineage.
Finnbroke from his reverie and turned his pleading, puppy dog stare on me.
“Come on, please?”
I was saved from answering as the oven timer chimed, signaling that dinner was ready. With a sigh, I retrieved two plates from the cabinet and heaped them high with big portions of pasta, sauce, and cheese-covered chicken. I slid one across the kitchen island toward Finn and took a seat on the stool beside him.
He immediately dug in, showing gusto for food unique to college men, and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Finishing in record time, he let out a belch and happily patted his protruding stomach.
“Will you marry me?” he joked.“Because that was delicious. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“Well, there are thesenew things calledrecipe books…” I smiled teasingly, swirling strands of pasta around the tines of my fork. “Really, anyone can cook. You just have to know how to read and follow basic directions.”
“So you taught yourself?”
“My father wasn’t around much. I had nannies, but they didn’t typically stick around long enough to teach me anything.”
“I bet you drove them away with all that sass, you little troublemaker.” He smiled at the thought.
“Not exactly.” I said, grabbing his empty plate and stacking it on top of mine. “My father usually screwed them and when he inevitably grew bored, he’d hire a replacement. They tended to last longer when he was traveling abroad for business.”
Keeping my tone flat and indifferent, an ability I’d acquired after years of self-discipline, I hoped to discourage any more ofFinn’s questioning – or worse, his pity. I carried our plates to the sink, rinsing them off and loading them into the dishwasher. Transferring all of the leftovers into a Tupperware, I placed it in the fridge where Lexi would be sure to find it if she ever emerged from her bedroom. When I looked up at Finn, he was staring at me with an indecipherable look in his eyes.
“What?” I snapped defensively. This was exactly why I didn’t talk about my childhood.
“Nothing,” he said, looking away. “That just sounds…lonely, I guess.”
I shrugged, having no other reply to offer him. I didn’t want to talk about my past, especially not with a guy I barely knew. I was trying to think of a way to change the subject whenFinn, to my surprise, did it for me.
“Come on,” he said abruptly, grabbing my hand and towing me from the kitchen.
“Let go of me!” I squealed, attempting to tug my hand from his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’ve got real trust issues, you know that right?”Finn said without breaking stride and continuing to drag me along in his wake. “We’re going to get dessert. You’ll thank me later – take my word for it.”
“I’m not sure your word is worth much of anything,” I grumbled, grudgingly allowing myself to be towed along.
“Ouch,” he said. “I don’t know how much longer my ego can take this abuse.”
“Well, considering its massive size, it should take more than a few of my insults to chip away at it.”
We were both laughing as we stepped out onto the patio and made our way down the stairs. Though the rain had stopped, moisture lingered heavily in the air and the setting sun peeked out from behind dark clouds, staining their edges pink and orange in the fading light. Reaching the bottom of the steps, Finn made his way over to a black motorcycle parked in the driveway behind Lexi’s sedan. He looked down at me warily, as if anticipating an adamant refusal to ever ride such a deathtrap.
I bit my lip to hold back a laugh and nimbly plucked the keys from his hand. Slipping on the too-large helmet, I straddled the bike, pulled out the choke, and started the ignition. I easily shifted into neutral before turning to look atFinn, who was staring at me open-mouthed.
The look of absolute shock on his face was priceless; I finally lost control and a stream of giggles escaped my lips. Sliding the helmet visor down, I shifted into gear and sped out of the driveway, leaving him in the dust.
Finn’s Ducati handled a bit differently than the vintage ones my father kept in our garage at home, but I soon adjusted to its controls. It had been several years since I’d ridden. Many nights during my high school years, when I’d been desperate to escape my father and his large, soulless house, I’d snuck into the car hanger and taken one of his many toys for a drive. Sometimes, I’d take the Lamborghini, the Bentley, or the vintage Aston Martin, but on the nights I’d craved rushing wind and dangerous speeds, I’d always preferred the motorcycles.
I did a lap around my block before pulling back into the driveway.Finn hadn’t moved. His face was still frozen in a mask of surprise as I whipped off the helmet and handed it back to him, laughing.
“You...I...What…just happened?” He stammered, gazing down at me with a mix of admiration and astonishment. “Am I dreaming? ‘Cause you just fulfilled one of the all-time top male fantasies. Except typically by this point in my dream, you’d be naked.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I laughed.
“You just keep surprising me,”Finn said, shaking his head. “You’re so different from what I expected.”