Page 12 of Evermore

But there was also something new—a growing certainty that understanding what was happening with Finn was crucial in ways he couldn't articulate. Not just for their relationship, but for something larger and more significant.

“Finn makes me feel like myself again,” River admitted quietly. “Not the grieving son or the obsessive researcher, just... myself. Like I'm interesting and worth knowing for reasons that have nothing to do with my tragic backstory or my professional achievements.”

“That's huge, man. That's the kind of connection people spend their whole lives looking for.” Jake raised his beer bottle in a mock toast. “So what's the problem?”

River hesitated, then decided to trust Jake with the part of the story that was keeping him awake at night.

“There's something weird happening. Not just the attraction, but genuinely strange things.

He wrote me a letter that he doesn't remember writing, containing details about my life that he shouldn't know.

And yesterday, he seemed to know things about my cottage, about where I keep stuff, like he'd been there before.”

Jake's expression shifted from enthusiasm to concern. “Weird how? Stalker weird or supernatural weird?”

“I don't know. Maybe both? I keep telling myself there has to be a logical explanation, but the evidence is piling up and none of it makes sense.” River realized his hands were clenched around his beer bottle, his body betraying an intensity he hadn't consciously acknowledged.

“I've been thinking about it all morning, trying to piece together patterns, looking for connections.”

River took another drink, using the pause to organize his thoughts.

“Part of me thinks I should be running in the opposite direction, but a bigger part of me can't imagine not seeing him again.

And there's this other part that thinks.

.. that thinks maybe understanding this is the most important thing I'll ever do.”

Jake studied River's face with the careful attention of someone who'd known him for years. “You're getting that look again.”

“What look?”

“The same one you had after your dad died.

Like you're trying to solve something that can't be solved, and you're going to tear yourself apart trying.” Jake leaned forward.

“River, I get that this is mysterious and probably fascinating from a research perspective, but don't lose sight of the fact that this is about a person you care about, not a scientific problem to crack.”

“Then don't run,” Jake said simply. “Figure it out together. Whatever's happening, it brought you two together, and from where I'm sitting, that looks like a good thing.”

River's phone buzzed with a text, and when he glanced at it, his heart did something embarrassing and athletic in his chest. Finn's name on his screen, a simple message that felt like Christmas morning:

Finn

Hope your day is going well. Last night was incredible. Thank you for sharing your world with me.

“Speak of the devil,” Jake said, noting River's expression. “That's a good look on you, by the way. The 'someone actually likes me' glow.”

River typed back quickly:

River

Best afternoon I've had in years. Want to do it again soon?

Finn

Absolutely. Let’s try and cook dinner together tonight if you want to come over. Fair warning, my cooking is hit or miss, but the company is guaranteed excellent.

River felt his entire day reorganize itself around that invitation, research deadlines and professional obligations suddenly feeling manageable rather than overwhelming.

But underneath the excitement, that new intensity pulsed like a second heartbeat—the need to understand, to observe, to figure out what was really happening between them.

“He wants to cook dinner together,” he told Jake, then realized how ridiculous he probably sounded.

“And you're practically vibrating with excitement about domestic activities.

Yep, you're definitely falling hard.” Jake finished his beer and stood up.

“Go home, shower, buy good wine, and don't overthink this. Sometimes the best things in life happen when you stop trying to control every variable.”

But as Jake walked away, River found himself mentally cataloging all the variables he wanted to understand.

The timeline of Finn's mysterious knowledge.

The specific details in the letter that couldn't be explained by casual observation.

The way Finn moved through River's space with impossible familiarity.

River spent longer than strictly necessary selecting wine at the local shop, torn between wanting to impress Finn and not wanting to seem like he was trying too hard.

But part of his attention was also devoted to planning.

Tonight, he would pay closer attention. Not in a suspicious way—he trusted Finn's confusion about the strange incidents was genuine—but with the careful observation skills that had made him a successful researcher.

He finally settled on a bottle that split the difference between thoughtful and casual, then stopped at the market for ingredients that might complement whatever Finn was planning to cook.

Standing in the produce section holding organic tomatoes and trying to decide between different types of cheese, River had a moment of recognition about how dramatically his priorities had shifted in the span of a week.

Last Tuesday, his biggest decision had been which statistical analysis to apply to his latest data set. Today, he was agonizing over whether fresh basil would seem presumptuous while simultaneously planning how to gather data about impossible phenomena.

The transformation should have been alarming. Instead, it felt like discovering a new species—thrilling and significant and worthy of intensive study.

As River drove through Beacon Point's narrow streets toward Finn's building, his mind organized itself around questions that needed answers.

How long had Finn been experiencing memory gaps?

What other knowledge had appeared without explanation?

Were there patterns to when the strange incidents occurred?

By the time he parked outside the bookshop, River had decided that tonight he would begin documenting everything. Not because he didn't trust Finn, but because whatever was happening felt important enough to require proper investigation.

The evening light made the Victorian building's weathered brick look warm and welcoming, and River could see lights glowing in the upper floors where Finn's apartment waited.

Taking a deep breath and gathering his wine and groceries, River climbed the front steps and knocked on the door that led to the residential entrance, his heart racing with anticipation and the growing certainty that he was about to discover something that would change everything he thought he understood about reality.

Whatever impossible truths might be waiting upstairs, River was ready to document them all. Because understanding Finn—really understanding him—had become the most important research project of his life.