Page 6

hazel

. . .

I watch Finn set my phone aside, his green eyes never leaving mine. The shop feels electric around us, charged with twenty years of unspoken words and careful restraint, finally breaking free.

“Come on,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Help me lock up.”

We move through the familiar routine of closing—turning off machines, wiping down surfaces, checking locks—but everything feels different now.

Every casual brush of our hands as we work sends sparks through me.

When Finn reaches around me to flip the main light switch, his chest pressed against my back for just a moment, I have to steady myself against the counter.

“Easy there,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “We’ve got all night.”

The promise in his voice makes my knees weak. I turn in his arms, and suddenly we’re kissing again, deeper this time, more desperate. His hands tangle in my hair, and I press closer, wanting to memorize every detail of this moment.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I realize I’m gripping the front of his shirt.

“We should go,” I whisper, though I make no move to step away.

“Yeah,” he agrees, not moving either. “Your place or mine?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities. My apartment is closer, just a five-minute walk through the quiet streets of Starlight Bay. But the thought of those five minutes feeling like an eternity makes me kiss him again.

“Mine,” I manage against his lips. “Definitely mine.”

Finn’s truck is parked just outside, and he holds the passenger door open for me like he has a thousand times before. But when he slides into the driver’s seat and reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers as he starts the engine, it feels like the first time all over again.

The drive is quiet except for the soft hum of the radio and the sound of rain beginning to fall more steadily. Finn’s thumb traces circles on my palm, and I find myself watching his profile in the dashboard light, still hardly believing this is real.

He pulls into my driveway and kills the engine, but neither of us moves immediately. The rain patters against the windshield, creating a cocoon of intimacy around us.

“Hazel,” he says softly, turning to face me. “Are you sure about this?”

The question is gentle, giving me an out if I need it. But looking at him—really looking at Finn—I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

“I’m sure,” I tell him, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Are you?”

His smile is answer enough, but he says it anyway. “I’ve been sure for twenty years.”

We make a run for the porch through the rain, both of us laughing as we stumble up the steps. I fumble with my keys, hyperaware of Finn standing close behind me, his presence warm and solid at my back.

The lock finally gives way, and I push the door open, stepping into the familiar comfort of my small apartment. Finn follows, closing the door behind us, and suddenly, the space feels charged with anticipation.

I turn to face him, and whatever I was about to say dies on my lips. He’s looking at me with such intensity, such raw want, that my breath catches.

“Finn,” I whisper, and then he’s crossing the room in three quick strides, cupping my face in his hands.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, his voice rough. “Before we... I need you to know that this isn’t just physical for me. It’s never been just physical.”

My heart swells at his words. “For me, either,” I admit. “I think I’ve been in love with you for years, but I was too scared to admit it.”

Something fierce and joyful flashes in his eyes. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” I say, stronger this time. “I love you, Finn Morgan.”

He kisses me then, deep and claiming, and I lose myself in the taste of him, the feel of his hands in my hair, the way he says my name like a prayer against my lips.

When we break apart, both breathing hard, I realize we’re standing in my living room, still in our jackets, still damp from the rain. The domesticity of it makes me laugh.

“What?” Finn asks, his own lips quirking up.

“Nothing,” I say, reaching up to smooth his damp hair. “Just... we’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” he confirms, catching my hand and pressing it flat against his chest. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. We can take this as slow as you want.”

The offer is sweet, but looking at him now—hair mussed, eyes dark with want, lips slightly swollen from our kisses—slow is the last thing I want.

Instead of answering with words, I start walking backward toward my bedroom, pulling him with me by his jacket. His sharp intake of breath tells me he understands perfectly.

But as we reach the doorway, something makes me pause. Maybe it’s the magnitude of what we’re about to do, or perhaps it’s just the need to savor this moment before everything changes forever.

“Actually,” I say, stopping in the doorway, “maybe we should slow down just a little.”

Finn stops immediately, concern flickering across his features. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

I smile, loving him even more for his instant understanding. “Not like that. I just... I want to enjoy this. All of it. We’ve waited so long.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by something that looks like relief. “You’re right. We have all night.”

He reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on my palm. “How about we start with getting out of these wet clothes? I’ll make us some coffee.”

The suggestion is practical, but the way he’s looking at me makes it feel like foreplay. “I think I have some of those cookies you like,” I offer, my voice slightly breathless.

“Perfect,” he says, and the word carries so much more meaning than just agreement about cookies.

As I head toward my bedroom to change, I feel his eyes on me, and when I glance back over my shoulder, the heat in his gaze nearly stops me in my tracks.

“Finn,” I say, suddenly serious. “I love you. Really, truly love you.”

His smile is soft and devastating. “I love you too, Haze. More than you know.”

I close the bedroom door behind me and lean against it, my heart racing. Twenty years of friendship, of careful boundaries and unspoken longing, and now we’re here. On the other side of everything, we’ve been too afraid to reach for.

Through the door, I can hear Finn moving around my kitchen, the familiar sounds of him making coffee in my space. It’s something he’s done dozens of times before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, it feels like the beginning of everything.

I change into dry clothes—soft pajama pants and a fitted t-shirt—and take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. My hair is still damp and slightly wild, my lips are swollen from kissing, and there’s a brightness in my eyes that I haven’t seen in years.

I look like a woman in love.

When I emerge from the bedroom, Finn is standing at my kitchen counter, two steaming mugs in front of him. He’s shed his wet jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, and the sight of his forearms makes my mouth go dry.

“That was fast,” I say, moving to stand beside him.

“I’m motivated,” he says with a grin, handing me a mug. “Plus, I know where you keep everything.”

It’s true—he’s been in my kitchen countless times, helping me test recipes and staying late to talk about everything and nothing. But tonight, watching him move comfortably through my space, it hits me how perfectly he fits into my life. How he’s always fit.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, noticing my contemplative expression.

“Just... this. Us. How natural it feels.”

He sets down his mug and turns to face me fully. “It does, doesn’t it? Like we were always supposed to end up here.”

“Helen’s going to be insufferable,” I say, but I’m smiling.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “But she’ll also be happy. She’s been rooting for us longer than anyone.”

The gentle touch of his fingers against my cheek sends warmth spreading through me. I set down my own mug and step closer, drawn by the magnetic pull that’s always existed between us.

“Finn,” I whisper, not sure what I want to say, only knowing I need to say his name.

He answers by cupping my face in his hands and kissing me again, soft and sweet at first, then deeper as I melt against him. The taste of coffee on his lips mingles with something essentially him, and I could spend forever just kissing him like this.

When we step away, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.

“I should probably go,” he says, but his hands are still on my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone.

“Should you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“If I stay...” he trails off, his meaning clear.

I know what he’s offering—a chance to take things slow, to build this relationship properly. It’s thoughtful and considerate, precisely what I’d expect from Finn. But looking at him now, feeling the warmth of his hands on my skin, I realize I don’t want him to go.

“What if I don’t want you to go?” I ask.

His eyes darken, and I feel his hands tighten slightly on my face. “Hazel...”

“I mean it,” I say, surprised by my own boldness. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay.”

For a moment, he just looks at me, searching my face for any sign of doubt. Whatever he sees there must satisfy him because his next kiss is different—hungrier, more demanding.

“Are you sure?” he asks against my lips.

“I’m sure,” I breathe, and then kiss him back with everything I have, pouring twenty years of love and longing into the connection between us.

His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart against my chest. The knowledge that he wants this as much as I do sends a thrill through me.

But even as desire builds between us, there’s something else—a tenderness, a reverence for what we’re about to share. This isn’t just physical attraction; it’s the culmination of a lifetime of love and friendship.

“I love you,” he says, direct and straightforward.

“I love you too,” I reply, and the words feel like a promise.

He takes my hand, and I lead him toward my bedroom, my heart pounding with anticipation and joy. Twenty years of waiting, of wondering, of careful boundaries and unspoken longing—and now we’re here, on the threshold of everything we’ve been too afraid to reach for.

As we reach my bedroom door, Finn stops and turns to me one more time.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he says softly.

I answer by standing on my tiptoes and kissing him, pouring all my love and certainty into the gesture. “No, my mind is made up.”