“No. Sorry. I had little time to ask questions before they shoved me onto a plane.”
“Really?” he blinked. “I mean, we are a Showflix documentary and everything. My mom basically rejuvenated the profession in Western culture, or at least that is how it reads in print.”
“That’s great for you,” I shrugged. Famous people did not really do it for me! You know what did? Kind people. Humans who kept other humans from starving. People who gave a shit! Now, that was impressive.
“Who do you think you’re interning for?”
“Canada,” I blurted with a shrug, unsure if that was still a goal.
“Ha.” He glanced at his feet the same way most do when they live in the shadows of greatness. “Well, she has strings to pull if that is what you are aiming for.”
“I am not sure what I want,” I dug my toes into the sand. Just who. “But you?” I marveled, catching his embarrassment. “You’re a midwife?”
“Yes.” He shifted slightly in the sand before flashing me a practiced smile.
“I am sure you are tired of this conversation, but how did this happen?”
“Honestly, it is all in the documentary.” He laughed. “But I don’t know. I assisted with my mom’s births growing up, and after I graduated high school, I couldn’t imagine walking away from that part of myself. I am damn good at it,” he smiled with a quiet sigh, and I loved this for him. “I guess it was never really a question of what I wanted to be, but whether the profession was ready for me to be it.”
“Well, that and your football team.”
I did not mean that to be an asshole. I knew what it was like to have twenty Death Eaters stare at you after expressing your desire to deliver babies for the rest of your life. Most women growing up in the club dorms only ever learned to hold on, and there I was, telling them I was about to let go.
“Rowing,” he corrected, flexing his forearms and tugging them behind his head. Hot damn. “But yes. That, too.”
“Right. Rowing!” I cheesed out a grin. “Maine. Lobster rolls. Got it.”
“Watch it, Socks-With-Sandals!” He teased, leading me to the front door. Apparently, my crawling back through the window was out of the question. “Wouldn’t want all that space granola to keep you from appreciating this opportunity.”
“Space granola?” I sneered. “That’s not a thing.”
He wiggled the lock, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I could pick one with my eyes closed. Literally, Jessie made me do it blindfolded.
“No?” he gave it another tug. “You’re telling me you don’t like granola?”
“I love it,” I shook my head. “And I wear flannel, can sing every song from the Bleach album, and I have been known tokick ass at hacky sack, so!” I glimmered, checking all the Pacific Northwest boxes I could think of.
“What in the hell,” he yanked one last time, watching in satisfaction when it squeaked open, “is a hacky sack?”
I nodded in approval at his skills.
“It’s a game… So does mentor mean I’ll be delivering with you?” I asked, entering the kitchen.
“Yep!” He inspected the lock to ensure he did not break it. “I am afraid you’re stuck with me for the next two months.”
“I think it’s you who should be afraid,” I said from the doorway. “Sorry, I broke your nose.”
Finn dragged his bloody fingers through his hair, shooting a smirk I could tell he’d fired before. A midwife fuckboy, now there is a Showflix documentary I would watch.
“I’m not,” he uttered, shifting his charm into something almost dangerous. Something I imagined buttery girls in pink sundresses creating entire shrines to. But it was cotton candy: sugary, soft, and forgettable.
“Sweet dreams, Birkenstocks,” he called me. “Oh, and make sure you shut your window tonight. You never know who could crawl through.”
I flinched, palming my chest to keep the heat from burning into my throat.
Ping. I closed the door.
Thay: Got this today while you were on the plane.