Page 27

Finn

T he following morning, I wake up early and sit at the dining table, hoping Wyatt will show up for breakfast. When he doesn’t, I start worrying about last night. Have we gone too far? Did I just ruin our relationship?

The last relationship I was in didn’t end well.

Sure, it was college, but David Fucking Baldwin had been such an asshole to me—cheated and then gas-lighted me to believe it was all my fault.

It took me months to figure out that no matter what he said, it was a lie—but I still had feelings for him.

The only thing is, were the feelings real?

Or were they my insecurities from being alone?

But Wyatt is not David. Wyatt is caring and kind. Gentle and strong. Even though I don’t know him well, I feel I can trust him, but can I trust myself? Will I ruin this like I supposedly ruined my last relationship? What was it David said? Oh, right, I cared too much. What does that even mean?

When I close my eyes, I can still see Wyatt lying there on the bed, naked.

His beautiful body toned and rugged. I shake my head.

I can still feel his lips pressed against mine, the tantalizing way his tongue slipped into my mouth to explore me as I explored him.

Licking my lips, his taste is still there.

His scent lingers on my skin. My entire body tingles as I remember the way his tongue circled my nipples as he gave me butterfly kisses from my neck to my belly.

The way he slowly pushed inside me, careful yet with a hungering need we both felt that night.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” Miranda comes from the kitchen carrying a basket of freshly made muffins, snapping me out of my desire-filled daydream. The steam is still rising from the checkered cloth used to keep them fresh. “You look like you’re fighting some inner demons.”

She places the basket down on the table and sits next to me.

I feel like she and Doris already suspect my feelings for Wyatt, but I haven’t voiced it out loud to anyone…

except Wyatt, last night. Although, if I’m being honest with myself, we never really discussed our feelings. Just had a really fucking good time.

“Been thinking about personal things,” I say. “While I didn’t have the best relationship with my father, after reading some of his journal entries, I’m starting to wish I could talk to him now.”

Miranda rests her hand on mine. “Your father was such a special person. He loved you very much, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.

” She unwraps a muffin and sets it on a plate in front of me.

“There were so many times he and Brock would sit by that very fireplace and talk about their boys. Doris and I would bring out some wine and we would all have the best time, imagining what the two of you would become as you grew up.”

“That sounds really nice,” I say with a smile. “Was Wyatt there too?”

“As he grew up, he did sit around the fire with the rest of us and listen to the stories your father and his would tell. Anything from spooky camping stories to their hopes and dreams.” She wipes a tear from her cheek.

“Those were some of the best times we all had, especially during the winter months when things were slow around here.”

“You must have all enjoyed the winter then.”

She nods. “Best time of year for us.”

I need to talk to someone about Wyatt, and after listening to Miranda lovingly talk about us like family, I figure she would be a great option. “Miranda?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I want to talk to you about something really private and important.”

“Oh?” A worried look settles over her features.

“Nothing to worry about, but something that I am unsure how to handle. It’s personal… like relationship-type stuff,” I say. “Are you comfortable discussing it with me?”

A huge smile spreads across her face. “I thought you’d never ask.” Miranda is positively giddy. “There’s nothing I enjoy more than talking about love.”

I laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far… yet.”

Miranda grows serious. “I’m all ears.” She then mimes zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key.

Might as well just get straight to the point. “I think I might be developing real feelings for… Wyatt.”

Miranda doesn’t bat an eye, simply sits there and waits for the rest of it.

“Maybe this isn’t such a surprise for anyone else? But I hadn’t expected it to happen… in fact, I wasn’t even sure he was gay—still not.”

She nods. “Can I say something?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day you arrived.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“From the very moment you came here to Wildwood, Wyatt has been different. He was so very sad when his father and then your father passed away. But something changed in him upon your arrival.” She shrugs.

“Not in some kind of platonic, I-have-a-friend-now sort of way. More like, he had eyes for you.”

“Wow,” I say, truly surprised. “I had no idea.”

“That’s because you’ve been in your own head too much. Haven’t you seen the way he meets you here for meals? Asks you to help with the chores? Finds ways to spend time with you?”

“Yeah,” I say. “But isn’t that normal?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. That is totally normal for anyone else other than Wyatt.” Miranda chuckles. “That boy is such a recluse at times. There were days we would just put food out for him like a stray cat. If it disappeared, we had proof of life.”

“Was he always like this?”

She shakes her head. “It started when his father came down sick. His entire meaning for living at that moment was to help his old man get better. But, when it didn’t happen, he was able to survive because of your father. Then, he got sick.”

Damn, Wyatt basically lost everyone he looked at like a parent within a short period of time. I hadn’t even looked at it like that before now.

“Since you’ve been here, Finn, I’ve seen Wyatt smile, come out of his shell, and be like the kid he used to be.” Miranda chuckles again. “Look at me talking about him like he isn’t a grown-ass man. I guess he’ll always be a kid to me.”

“Gosh,” I say. “I hadn’t realized any of this.”

“How could you? You weren’t here… under no fault of your own, mind you.” She reaches across the table and gives me a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

I nod. “Don’t let me forget to tell you about my last relationship.”

“Oh? Was it a doozey?”

“It was toxic, and I still struggle with it from time to time.”

She points to the fireplace. “Well, when you’re ready, I’ll pop a bottle of wine, and we can have our first fireside chat.”

“I’d love that.”

“Me too, Finn.” She squeezes my shoulder and goes back into the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Although, I don’t have long before my phone rings.

“Hello?” I say. The number is local, but I don’t have it saved in my phone.

“Finn, this is Mr. Oliver. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

“Really?” I say and then lower my voice so Miranda can’t hear me from the kitchen. “I’ve had my phone on and haven’t changed my number.”

He responds with a nervous laugh and then clears his throat. “Right. Well, I needed to speak with you as part of the contractual agreement between your father and I.”

“Okay, do you need me to come down and speak with you in person?”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary,” he says. “Per the contract, when you have exactly seven days until I take possession of the property, I have to inform you of your rights.”

“Seven days? That’s it?” My heart races, and I can feel the little bit of food in my belly rising.

“Indeed,” he says, with absolutely no kindness or empathy evident in his voice.

“You have exactly seven days to come up with the payment in full or proof of funds to complete said payment, or the Wildwood will shift ownership to me. Although, per the fine print, I could ask for immediate payment, but I’m not a harsh man.

I know you have many things to get in order before you can come up with the funds. ”

To you, asshole . Somehow, this has to be illegal or something, but I don’t have the money to fight it.

No lawyer would take on the case because I would have no means to pay them even if we won.

I’d better play along and be nice to make sure Oliver doesn’t come asking for the money even earlier than the seven days.

“Is that all?” I ask.

“Unless you’d like to hand over the property early, I would be happy to let you all stay for a reasonable timeframe until you’ve found other accommodations,” he says, his tone sickening and fake. If I could reach through the phone and choke him, I would.

“Reasonable timeframe?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’m not an unreasonable man. If you agree to hand over the property now, rather than in seven days, I will be happy to let you all stay for two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“Free of charge, of course,” he adds.

“Fuck you, Mr. Oliver.” I disconnect the call, fighting the urge to throw the phone across the room.

The smugness in that man’s voice sets me on edge.

I don’t want to give up without a fight, but I can’t think of anything I can do at this point.

There is no way to make that kind of money, especially in such a short period of time.

I need to think and, to do so, I need to be alone for a little while.

It’s too cold to go for a walk outside, so I go back to my room.

At least there, I can lie on the bed, take a nap, and maybe read a little bit from my father’s journal.

It has helped me get to know him in ways I hadn’t expected.

His words are settling to me, only I wish I’d heard them from his mouth.

Closing the door behind me, I go straight to the box of belongings left by my father and pull out the journal.

“Please, Dad,” I say, clutching the book to my chest. “Give me some advice or at least help me feel a little better about all of this. Dad, you made this place a home. Wildwood would never have been successful without your love and hard work, and I don’t want to ruin any of that. ”

Slowly walking over to the bed, I sit on the edge and open the journal to the entry where I left off reading last time. But before I begin reading, I rest my head on the pillow and cry.