It didn’t have to be that early, but it satisfies the petty part of my brain. Finn’s a late riser. Fucking bizarre that I know that about him already.
It means I have to be up super early the next day to get ready, and I am. I can’t face Finn without some kind of armor on. I pull on the skinny jeans and a long-sleeved off-shoulder top. It’s elasticized and clings to my curves. I’m tired of being embarrassed by my body.
Strapless bras will take some getting used to, but the neckline of this shirt dips too low for a regular one.
I walk over to the Dunks, snow crunching under my boots. My ankle is a little wonky, but so much better than a week ago. I still have to cover the bruises on my neck with makeup, but those are fading too.
I get there by 8:57 exactly, buy a coffee, and wait for Finn at a table in the corner. I shrug my coat off.
He comes in the door right on time.
My stomach does little flips when I see him, and I have to force myself to remember why we’re here. The barista does a double take as he passes by. No one that good-looking comes into this Dunkin Donuts. His long strides have him at my table in seconds.
His hair is messy, and his usual five o’clock shadow is a little thicker. I push my legs together as he asks if he can sit down.
I nod, and he pulls out the tiny chair. His legs don’t fit under the table, so he has to sit sideways.
“You look gorgeous,” he says, licking his lips. His eyes linger on my cleavage and the heat creeps up my cheeks.
I can’t get caught up in his sex appeal.
“How could you have that horrible man come after me again?” It all comes out in one long, breathless run-on sentence. “How could you let me lay in your arms like an idiot, knowing you did that?”
His eyes are sad. I wait for his expression to clear, but it doesn’t.
“I’m sorry, Sasha. I didn’t know P.J. was one of the people who hurt you. I shouldn’t have done what I did at all, and I’m not making excuses, but I promise that I never intended to subject you to the man who did that to you again. And I didn’t intend for him to hurt you so badly.”
“But you did intend to have him lie to me about why I was there.”
“Yes. I knew you wouldn’t trust me because of who my father was. I figured you’d be more willing to work with me if you thought my father and I weren’t on the same side.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not on the same side.” Maybe it’s mean, but I say it anyway. “Your father hates you, Finn. You must know that.”
“I do,” he says.
I expected to feel some kind of pleasure at the revelation, but the defeat on his face just makes me feel worse.
“But how my father feels about me doesn’t matter. What matters is that I hurt an innocent woman doing his bidding. You didn’t deserve that. I’m going to regret what I did for the rest of my life. I was selfish, and arrogant, and didn’t think of how my actions would hurt you. I just told myself that we’d both get what we wanted. But I decided what you should want for you, and that was wrong too.”
We sit in silence for a minute. The absurdity of the bright pink and orange brand of the donut shop as the backdrop of this encounter isn’t lost on me. The sugary, yeasty smell of the donuts is comfortingly familiar, though.
“My grandmother used to take me and Benjamin here,” I say. “For special occasions.”
I watch him process this as a special occasion kind of place.
“We come from two very different worlds,” he says, his voice low. “I saw that in the Athenaeum. It’s not that I’m unaware of how much privilege my family has, it’s just that I’ve always felt trapped by my circumstances and finally figured a way out. And I was afraid the union would ruin that for me. I should’ve had the kind of integrity you do.”
He goes to hold my hand but pulls back. “I know it’s worse for you. But I’d like to share a story with you. Something that might help you understand my relationship with my father. I don’t expect absolution, but I owe you the explanation.”
My hands are cold. I wrap them around my coffee cup.
“I should’ve come clean to you sooner. I shouldn’t have let you find out the way you did. But I didn’t know how to. Especially after…” He pauses.
“Especially after what?” I snap. “After you fucked me?”
An older woman hears me swear and raises her eyebrows before returning to popping donut holes in her mouth.
He blinks. “After I realized I had feelings for you.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” I say, folding my arms under my breasts. “I’m just another conquest, Finn. Someone you needed something from. And I let myself be seduced like the ignorant trash you thought I was.”
“You’re not trash. And you’re not ignorant. I never thought that. I knew from the second we met that you were bright and driven.” He reaches for my hands again but thinks better of it. “Don’t blame yourself for my mistakes.”
He takes in a deep breath. “I do have feelings for you, Sasha. And it’s because of your integrity. Your loyalty to people and your sense of justice. Your goodness and kindness. Your passion is inspiring, and I wanted to be with you. I was just afraid to admit it, even to myself.”
I play with my coffee cup, unsure of how to respond. Unsure of what I’m feeling.
“I wish you knew how special you are. I’ve never seen anyone stand up to my father like that before.”
“Not even you?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t call what I do standing up to him. It’s more passive-aggressive needling than anything. I have a plan, but it’s long term so I can’t do what you did, not yet. Then he’ll finally have a good reason to hate me. But I can’t let you or Benjamin be collateral damage. I won’t let it happen.” He holds his hands as if in prayer and presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t understand why he hates you.”
Finn stares at the stained ceiling. “He thinks he has a good reason.”
His voice catches in his throat. He’s going to tell me something very personal now, isn’t he?
In the same way that he didn’t want me to lose my virginity on a desk, I don’t want him to share this story in a Dunkin Donuts—no matter how special it is to me.
“Wait,” I say. “Not here. Let’s go for a walk.” I don’t bother finishing the coffee and toss it in the bin on our way out.
We wander down a side street toward the river. When we get to the Mystic, we stand in front of it, leaning against a railing. It’s one of those gorgeous, sparkling January days that makes you believe winter isn’t all horrible. The Mystic is frozen, so the smell is contained.
“When is your family finally having the river dredged?” I ask. “It still smells like a garbage fire in the summer.”
“It’s going to happen in the spring. Lots of red tape since it crosses city lines.”
“I bet there are so many bodies in there.”
It’s gallows humor, but Finn laughs anyway. “None of ours. Don’t worry.”
I’d made a comment about ending up in there to him earlier. It hangs between us for a minute. But I want to give him space to tell his story.