Page 9

finn

. . .

I’ve seen Hazel smile a thousand times, but tonight, her laughter echoes through Hometown Spirits like a melody I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear.

The festival left all of us pleasantly exhausted, with that particular kind of tiredness that feels earned and welcome. Now, the four of us—Hazel, Helen, and me—are crowded around a corner table at Hometown Spirits, the jazzy lounge that’s become Starlight Bay’s favorite weekend haunt.

“I still can’t believe you dropped that entire tray of samples,” Helen says, nudging me with her elbow. “Twenty perfect scoops of Hazel’s signature lavender honey, gone in an instant.”

I groan, taking a swig of my beer. “In my defense, that kid came out of nowhere on his skateboard.”

“My hero,” Hazel teases from across the table, her hazel eyes catching the dim lighting in a way that makes my chest tighten. “Sacrificing perfectly good ice cream to avoid flattening a twelve-year-old.”

Helen tosses her hair over her shoulder, looking every bit the city girl, even in our small-town bar. “At least you saved the festival’s social media presence with that quick thinking on the stage setup, Finn. Those lights you rigged made Hazel’s ice cream station look magical in all the photos.”

“That’s our Finn,” Sarah says, raising her glass. “Tech genius by day, ice cream knight in shining armor by night.”

I feel warmth creeping up my neck that has nothing to do with the two beers I’ve had. “Just doing what neighbors do,” I say, but I can’t help stealing another glance at Hazel. She’s wearing that vintage sundress I’ve always loved, the pink one that matches the color of her shop’s awning.

The band in the corner shifts to a slower number, something with a saxophone that feels like it’s speaking directly to the part of me that’s been in love with Hazel Brown for so long.

“Remember when we used to sneak out to the pier during summer festivals?” I ask her, leaning forward slightly.

“And watch the fireworks from the best spot in town?” Hazel smiles, that dimple appearing on her right cheek.

“How could I forget? You always brought that old plaid blanket and a thermos of hot chocolate.” She laughs. “Even in July.”

“Night air gets chilly by the water,” I defend myself, but I’m smiling too. What I don’t say is that I brought the hot chocolate because it was her favorite and the blanket. After all, I hoped we might sit close together under it.

Helen rolls her eyes. “You two and your small-town traditions. Meanwhile, I was dreaming of rooftop parties in Manhattan.”

“And look where that got you,” Hazel teases her twin. “Right back here with us small-town folk.”

“Just visiting,” Helen corrects, but there’s less conviction in her voice than usual.

The saxophone player hits a particularly soulful note, and something shifts in the air between us. Hazel’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, it’s like we’re sixteen again, full of unspoken possibilities.

“Dance with me?” The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them.

Hazel tilts her head, that familiar crease appearing between her eyebrows—the one that shows up when she’s considering something important. “I don’t know, Finn. I’m pretty terrible at dancing.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” I counter, standing and offering my hand. “Remember junior prom?”

“When I broke Tommy Peterson’s toe? Not exactly a selling point.”

“My toes are sturdier than Tommy’s.”

A beat passes, then another. The saxophone winds around us like a ribbon.

“One dance,” she finally says, placing her hand in mine. Her palm is cool against my skin, but I feel heat spreading through me all the same.

As I lead her toward the small dance floor, I catch Helen making exaggerated heart eyes at us over her cocktail glass. I shoot her a warning look, but I can’t summon any real annoyance. Not when Hazel Brown is following me onto a dance floor, her sundress swaying with each step.

“I’m trusting you with my toes here,” I murmur as I turn to face her, placing one hand lightly at her waist.

“Always,” she replies, and something in her voice makes me wonder if we’re still talking about dancing.

The air changes between us as her hand settles on my shoulder.

The saxophone’s melody wraps around us, creating a bubble that feels separate from the rest of the lounge.

I’ve imagined this moment countless times, but my imagination never captured the subtle scent of vanilla that clings to her hair or the way her fingers occasionally tighten on my shoulder when I guide her through a turn.

“You’re not half bad at this,” she says, surprise coloring her voice as we sway together.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I laugh. “I may have taken a few lessons.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Finn Morgan, did you secretly take dance lessons?”

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as embarrassment heats my face. “My cousin’s wedding last year. I was a groomsman and didn’t want to look like a complete idiot during the reception dance.”

What I don’t tell her is that I practiced with a particular partner in mind.

“Well, color me impressed,” she says, and there’s something soft in her expression that makes my heart skip. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I try to keep you guessing,” I reply, guiding her through a gentle spin that makes her sundress flare slightly. When she returns to me, she’s closer than before, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes.

We move in silence for a moment, finding our rhythm together as naturally as we’ve done everything else throughout our lives. Over her shoulder, I spot Helen raising her glass to me with a knowing smirk.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat, “the festival was a hit. Your booth had the longest line all day.”

“It was,” she agrees, but there’s a note of something—worry, maybe?—in her voice. “But I’m still not sure if it’s enough, you know? The shop’s summer numbers need to be strong if I’m going to make it through the winter.”

Even now, with my hand at her waist and hers warm against my shoulder, she’s thinking about the shop. It’s one of the things I love most about her—that unwavering dedication.

“You will,” I say with absolute certainty. “And I’ve been thinking about that website upgrade we talked about. I could add an online ordering system for special events. Might help with those corporate summer parties at the bay.”

She looks up at me, her expression suddenly serious. “Why do you do all this for me, Finn?”

“Because you’re my fucking world, Hazel,” I say, completely lost in this perfect moment.

Her eyes widen, and for a terrifying moment, I think I’ve ruined everything. But then her lips curve into a smile that reaches all the way to those beautiful hazel eyes.

“Why did we waste so much time?” Her thumb traces a small circle against my shoulder. “This doesn’t feel risky at all. It feels like... coming home.”

The saxophone’s notes hang in the air between us, and I have to remind myself to breathe. We’re still swaying, but the movement feels secondary to the conversation happening in the spaces between our words.

“Is this real?” I ask, my voice lower than I intended. “Because I need to know, Haze. I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long that I’m afraid I’m imagining it.”

She slides her hand from my shoulder to the nape of my neck, her touch sending electricity down my spine. “It’s real, Finn. I’m done pretending I don’t feel what I feel when I’m with you.”

I pull her closer, our bodies moving as one to the music. “And what do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been sleepwalking, and I’m finally awake.” Her eyes never leave mine. “Like all those years I spent running away from Starlight Bay, I was really just running from this—from us.”

My hand at her waist slides to the small of her back. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, Hazel Brown. Never stopped, not even when you left.”

“I know,” she says softly. “I think I always knew. I was just too scared to believe someone could love me that completely.”

We’re barely dancing now, just holding each other and swaying slightly. Hazel’s fingers play with the short hair at the nape of my neck, and I have to fight to concentrate on her words rather than the sensation.

“So, Maine,” I say, changing the subject before I do something crazy like kiss her senseless in the middle of Hometown Spirits. “Should I only book one room?”

Her smile turns playful. “With a king-sized bed, please.”

The look she gives me nearly stops my heart. “You’re killing me, Haze.”

“Good,” she whispers, rising slightly on her toes so her lips brush against my ear. “Because I plan to make up for all the time we’ve wasted.”

The song ends, but neither of us moves to break apart. Instead, she stays in my arms, her body warm against mine, as the band transitions to another slow number.

“Think Helen will notice if we slip out early?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“She’ll definitely notice,” I laugh. “And she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

“Worth it. Besides, I think Helen’s on to us now.”

I glance over at Helen, who’s now openly watching us with a satisfied expression like she’s been waiting for this moment for years. She catches my eye and mouths “finally” before turning back to her drink with theatrical nonchalance.

“She’s definitely on to us,” I murmur against Hazel’s ear, my voice barely audible over the music.

Hazel pulls back just enough to look at me, her face flushed from the warmth of the dance floor. “Then let’s give her something to really talk about.”

Before I can ask what she means, she’s leading me off the dance floor, her fingers intertwined with mine. My heart hammers against my ribs as we approach the table where Helen sits with a knowing smile.

“We’re heading out,” Hazel announces, grabbing her purse from the chair.

Helen’s grin widens. “Oh, are you now? And where exactly are you two lovebirds going?”

“To plan our Maine trip,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my pulse is racing.

“Mm-hmm.” Helen takes a slow sip of her cocktail. “Is that a metaphor for sex?”

Hazel rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Hel.”

“I’ll be expecting a full report,” Helen calls after us as we make our way toward the exit.

The cool night air hits my skin as we step outside, a welcome relief from the warmth of the crowded lounge. The festival lights still twinkle along Main Street, casting everything in a soft, romantic glow.

“Your place or mine?” Hazel asks, and the simple question sends a thrill through me.

“Mine’s closer,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

We walk the three blocks to my house in comfortable silence, our hands still linked. Every few steps, Hazel glances up at me with that same soft expression from the dance floor, like she’s seeing me for the first time.

The next morning, I wake up with Hazel curled against my side, her chestnut hair spread across my pillow. Sunlight streams through my bedroom window, and for a moment, I’m afraid I’m dreaming.

But then she stirs, pressing a sleepy kiss to my chest, and I know this is real.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.

“The best morning,” I reply, pressing my lips to the top of her head.

She tilts her face up to look at me, her hazel eyes bright despite the early hour. “So, about Maine...”

“Right. Maine.” I reach for my phone on the nightstand. “I’ll book us a flight for tomorrow if you want.”

“Tomorrow?” She sits up, the sheet pooling around her waist. “That’s pretty last minute.”

“I’ve waited long enough. I don’t want to wait another day.”

Her smile is radiant. “Then let’s do it.”