Page 12

chapter twelve

roll your r's and try not to fall for her

T he living room was a battlefield, and I was losing.

Badly.

There was a pile oftextbooks teetering on the edge of the coffee table like they might stage a rebellion, socks in places socks had no business being, and Maple sprawled across the freshly folded laundry as though it were her personal throne.

“Maple, move,” I muttered, waving asock in her direction like a whiteflag of surrender. I would pick her up. She was only tiny. But she was very precious about her personal space you see, and wasn’t afraid to terrorise anyone who disturbed it.

Hence why Tristan's tattooed handswere peppered with tiny scratches.

I tossed the sock down the hallway,hoping she’d chase after it, but all she did was blink at me. I swear, for a second, I heard her thinking, You’ve already lost. Don’t embarrass yourself like the singer did.

“Wow. She’s not even flinching,” Jesse’s voice floated in from thedoorway, as Maple eyed me and curled the other way. I glanced up to find him leaning against the frame, his Blondie tee lo oking too cool for a guy who was eating a Pop-Tart straight out of the foil.

Beside him stood Tristan, clutching a takeout cup from Pin’s, dressed head-to-toe in black because, obviously, he’s contractually obligated to maintain his dark and brooding aesthetic. Heaven forbid he ever accidentally come within five feet of a cheerful colour and ruin it.

Probably why Goldie and her baby yellow thing made them so right.

“I’m not surprised,” Tristan said,smirking. “The cat knows this is all a show. You never clean.”

“I clean,” I shot back, grabbing ahalf-empty chip bag and hurling it behind the couch. “It’s just… selective cleaning. For special occasions.”

Jesse snorted, before stuffing hismouth. “Special occasion, huh? What, is Rory coming over or something?”

I froze. Just for a second. Longenough for them to both exchange a look like they’d caught me trying to hide a secret. Which, to be fair, they had.

“Oh, my God,” Jesse said, grinning likea madman. “She is, isn’t she?”

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly.“Maybe.” My head fell back. “It’s not like that. She’s just… helping me with French.”

“And you’ve suddenly decided to deepclean because of… French.” Tristan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You know, the last time I saw you do this much work was… actually, I’ve never seen you do this much work.”

Jes se grunted in response. “Meneither. Honestly, we should ask her to come over more often—motivation through sheer panic.”

I didn’t bother replying, mostlybecause he wasn’t wrong, and I didn’t have a decent comeback. My brain was too busy spiralling at the thought of Rory showing up any second. And when she did, I’d have to sit next to her, probably for hours, while she talked to me in French, and I tried with every fibre of my being not to stare at her.

Fuck. This was a terrible idea.

It had been stupid enough to agree toskate with her yesterday.And okay, I admit, I wasn’t lying whenI told her I’d do anything so she could make the money she needed without having to dance for Hatterson, but I didn’t think beyond that. I was thinking short-term. Doing it, patching things up, was for the group, and so she didn’t have another thing weighing her down this year. But I didn’t think about what it meant for me.

There was a strict reason why I didwhat I did to her last year—a reason I clung to like a lifeline. And I loved watching her skate yesterday. Every single second. But for one very selfish moment, I realised how right I’d been to turn her down.

Rory was the lake you stand over justbefore you bungee jump, staring into it’sdepths and losing yourself in the currents. The kind that terrifies you, yet somehow, it whispers—soft and certain—that you’ll be okay if you trust yourself enough to fall. So, you leap. And before you know it, you’re climbing back up the steps desperate to jump again. And again. Until you’re addicted—until it’s the only way you want to start your days.

She was too magnetic. Too bright. Too her. The kind of person who could make you fall in love with just by being in the same room.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

I couldn’t turn out like my dad, tooshattered and hollow to exist. A shell of the man he was. If anything happened to Rory—if I messed up or drove her away—I wouldn’t survive it. It was in my DNA to spiral, so why would I risk it?

So, obviously, the best plan here wasto stay emotionally unavailable. Easy.Simple. Totally doable.

Then there was a knock at the door,and my stomach fell to the centre of theearth.

Doable . She knocks on the door and allI want to do is rip the thing off it’shinges to see her.

“She’s hereee,” Jesse said in a sing-songvoice. Kinda creepily.

“Both of you, out,” I snapped, shovingJesse toward the hallway and givingTristan a look that said don’t push me right now or I’ll set the cat on you. Again.

Tristan smirked but shrugged, makinghis exit. “Good luck with your… French .”

“Go write a song about Goldie,” I said,shoving him into his room, and closingthe door with a soft slam.

I could feel my heartbeat pounding inmy ears as I walked back down thehallway, the thing a jackhammer in my chest as I got a few paces in front of the door. I let my lungs fill, holding the ai r for one second, two, three, before closing my eyes and easing it all back out.

I’d be okay. We were being civil,right? Civil meant friends. Civil meant being polite and smiling and then not letting that smile drop because she is so funny and smart and pretty and—oh my God what am I doing?

You’re weak, Finneas. Pathetic and weak.

I raked my hands through my hair,pulling at the ends slightly, before gripping the door handle so hard it hurt. And when the creaky hinges sounded, all my carefully constructed plans to not lose my cool went out the window.

Rory stood there, bundled in a coattoo big for her, cheeks blushed from the cold, and holding two steaming cups of coffee. Her thick curled hair was a little messy, her smile a little shy, and so damn adorable that I forgot how to speak.

Do you hear me Finneas? Weak!

“Hi,” she said, tilting her head, hereyes flying up and down my oversized white tee and jean shorts. “Um, can I come in? Or are we doing this outhere?”

I stepped aside, my brainshort-circuiting. “Yeah. In. Come in. Uh, the island is… clean-ish.”

“Clean-ish,” she repeated, laughingsoftly. “That’s reassuring.”

Her eyes roamed the place as shebreezed past me, taking everything in as she placed coffee on the island, before sliding off her coat. I quickly shut the door and walked over to take it from her, passing her a tiny smile before hanging it on the pegs above the door, away from the jean jacket that I know for a fact Jess hasn’t washed because he’s scared about the patches coming off.

When I turned back to her, she waspulling out one of the island stools, unloadingthe textbooks from her backpack and laying them out in front of her. She looked like she belonged there, and for one brief, ridiculous second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if she really did. If this wasn’t just tutoring but… us.

Nope . Can’t go there either. Not safe.

“So,” she said, pulling a notebook outof her bag and flipping it open, beforegently placing the bag by her side and slipping onto the stool. “What do you need help with? Vocabulary? Sentence structure? Pronunciation?”

“Literally all of it,” I admitted, walkingover to the island sinking into the chairacross from her.

Not next to—across from. BecauseI’m a man of restraint.

Starting now.

“Like, imagine a disaster. Then imagineit speaking French. That’s me.”

She let a laugh slip past her lips asshe slid one of the coffee’s over to me.“Ooookay.” she drawled, before taking a sip of hers. “Let’s go right back to basics then." she shuffled her notes until she plucked out a single sheet, wafting it like a fan. "Pronunciation. That’s where people start to flail.”

“Most people flail. I drown,” I said,deadpan.

Those foxy eyes narrowed as sheshook her head. “I won’t let you drown.”

And for the first half an hour, shedidn’t. We worked through the basics, her voice patient and steady as she walked me through rules I’d apparently slept through in class. But the real challenge came when she tried to get me to roll my R’s.

“We don’t usually roll them, but it’lljust help get your mouth comfortable for all the weird rules that come with pronunciation, okay?”

I nodded, already feeling windswept.“Okay.”

Leaning forward slightly, her handcupped her jaw. “Say, rouge.”

“Roooge,” I tried, my face creasing,because the R came out like I wasgrowling at her.

“No, roll it more.” She rolled her Reffortlessly, the sound light and perfect.“Like that.”

I tried again. Failed again.

“Just relax your tongue,” she said, herelbows propped up on the table, leaningcloser.

I frowned. “Relax my tongue? Thatdoesn’t even make sense. It’s a tongue. It’s either doing something or it’s not.”

She bit back a laugh. “Okay, trythis—copy me.” She rolled an R effortlessly.

I tried. I failed. Miserably.

“Again,” she said, her voice quieterthis time. I tried again, and our eyes met,and like she could hear me guessing whether this whole thing was pointless, she shook her head, before whispering. “You can do it.”

Without breaking our stare, I triedagain, my tongue fumbling over the sound as I watched her mouth shape the word. Her pi nk lips curved around each syllable, her tongue briefly peeking between them, and suddenly, I did it.

“That’s it!” she cried, light sparkling inher eyes. “Do it again!”

Her excitement was infectious.

I licked away my smile, straightenedmy spine, and muttered, “Rouge.” The ‘R’ rolled just like hers, smooth and deliberate.

Her grin stretched wider, bright as the sun streaking through the windows. “See? You can do it. Itold you, it’s just baby steps!” she said, her voice warm and giddy, the kind of tone that could make you feel invincible.

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” Iteased, leaning back slightly, though mygaze stayed locked on hers.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Or maybe you’re a better student than youthink.”

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shimmering with a light that wasn’t just pride—it was something deeper, something radiant. And it hit me all at once. The way she came alive, how joy didn’t just sit on her skin but burned from within, turning her into something impossible to look away from. I’d felt it yesterday, too. That pull. That gravity. The quiet kind of magic that makes you forget where you are because all that matters is her.

I didn’t realise I’d gone quiet until herbrow quirked, her lips still curved in thatsoft, knowing smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my voicequiet.

But it wasn’t nothing. The warmth inmy chest grew, as steady as a log fire burning in the peak of winter.

Her gaze didn’t falter, and neither didmine. The air around us seemed thickernow, heavy with something unspoken. I knew I should look away, say something sarcastic to break the spell, but I couldn’t.

“You okay?” she asked, her voicesofter now, a thread of curiosity weavingthrough it.

“Yeah,” I said, though the word felttoo simple for the moment. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitated, my throat dry. Her gaze, the shades of brown dancing in there soft as anything,held me there, in her orbit, and for a second, I thought about whether this was safe. Whether these little moments we were stumbling into regardless of the rules I’d set myself were going to be the thing to break us. Or make us.

I was going to tell her that maybewe’d made a mistake, that I wasn’t as ready for this as I thought I was.

But before I could find the words—

Thump.

Maple launched herself onto my pile ofnotes, landing with precision right between us. She stretched out dramatically, yawning as if she’d worked harder than either of us, then casually swiped at one of Rory’s coffee cups with her paw.

Rory blinked, the tension snapping likea rubber band. “Oh, hello.” Her voice was a murmur, falling between us as she smoothed out Maple’s fur and tickled behind her ear. And it seemed that I wasn’t the only one weak enough to fall for Rory, as Maple flopped down onto her notebook, purring like a train.

Rory peeked up at me. “Guess shethinks we’ve had enough practice for one afternoon,” she said, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

“She’s just jealous. Big attentionseeker that one.” I mumbled, tripping over the laugh that came out.

Rory giggled, reaching out to scratchbehind Maple’s ears. “I don’t blame her.” I blinked, and before I let my mouth hang open, Rory reached over, grabbingmy coffee and a pen without a word. Her fingers moved quickly, sketching something on the lid with soft determination, like it meant something to her. After a moment, she slid it back toward me. “Here. Motivation.”

I looked down to see a tiny doodle of…something… wearing a beret.

A grin tugged at my lips as I glancedback up at her. “A mouse?”

The surprise on her face wasbeautiful, her brows shooting up. “It’s a cat,” she said, affronted.

I shook my head, leaning back slightly. “Well, thank God I didn’t need you fordrawing lessons.” My protest was cut short as she tossed a highlighter at me, aiming for my chest.

“Whenever you look at the cat—”

“ Mouse, ”

“Whatever,” she shot back, shakingher head, though the smile she was fighting crept through, warm and disarming. “Every time you look at it, think about how you need to relax. French is complicated, and it will probably make you question whether this whole thing is worth it.” Her eyes lifted to me. “But it’s also beautiful, and maybe worth every bit of turmoil it brings.” One of her shoulders lifted, as her smile pulled tight. “Just remember that.”

My finger traced the edge of the lid,the rough texture grounding me for amoment before I looked back up at her. “I’ll remember.”

The words came out quieter than I’dmeant them to, the promise slippingthrough the cracks of my usual sarcasm. I had to work to keep the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth in check. “Thank you.”

Her smile stayed, lingering betweenus. The moment stretched again, quieterthis time, but not uncomfortable. And as she sat there, smiling at me, I felt the truth of it settle in my chest.

As much as I knew this was wrong, Ididn’t want her to leave. It would be soeasy to ask her to stay.

But wanting her so casually like thatwas dangerous, and that right there wasreason enough to set fire to those thoughts and keep this as what it was always meant to be.

A deal.

So, I swallowed the ache in my throat,smiled back, and promised myself thiswould never be more than French.

Even if it already was for me.