“The list is a joke. I’m not getting a new heart.”
I pull on one of my curls, straightening it out past my shoulder, then letting it bounce back into place. “That’s not what Marley said.” Marley said the list was Finn’s best option.
His face hardens. “My parents have all this faith and belief that one day I’ll be normal. It’s a waste of time.” He darts his eyes at me, studying my face. “I’m not ever going to have a normal life. It’s a fact they can’t accept.”
But it doesn’t seem that way. It feels more like Finn’s the one struggling.
“So,” I say, my brain searching for something else to talk about—anything else, “what’s your favorite thing about Jackson?”
He doesn’t even have to think. “I like the tourists.”
“Really?” My tone is rich with cynicism. I don’t believe him. Finn isn’t exactly friendly.
“Yes, really,” he says, drifting another glance down at me. “They’re new and excited to be here. They ask where they should eat and where they should shop and they’re always thrilled with whatever answers I give them. They come from all over the world—places I’ve only dreamed of going—and yet they come here, to Jackson. When I feel like crap because I can’t go anywhere, they remind me that they chose to come here.” He smiles, his earlier animosity gone. “That’s my very honest answer.” His brows raise. “How do you get people to tell you things?”
“Excuse me?” My forehead smushes into a pile of wrinkles—I feel it, but I can’t stop it. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know that I would have told anyone else that.”
I smirk and shake my head, releasing the shocked lines on my face. “Why?” My mind whirls. How can he be so hard and soft—at the same time? “And people don’t tell me things. I’m kind of a loner.”
“They would if you’d let them. If you’re a loner, it’s by choice.”
I press my lips together. I’ve got Cytha and I don’t need anyone else. The thought comes like an automatic alarm going off on my phone.
We gather our supplies at the old mom and pop shop and head back to the bookstore. “Do I get to paint?” Finn asks.
I feel a pinch of guilt, remembering Harmony and how annoyed I got when she painted my leaves pink. “Sure. I’ll show you.”
Upstairs, in their home, I mix the green, blue, and yellow, just like I did at Rodrick’s house. But I also mix together the brown and purple watercolors, mashing them in separate bowls until they’re just a powder. I bend over his kitchen table adding a little water to each bowl and mixing the colors together.
Finn hovers beside me like a shadow. “I had no idea this would be so intense.”
I laugh and nudge his side with mine, still calculating my water amounts.
He nips at the small scrap of skin showing between my waistband and my shirt.
“Finn!” I holler, bumping him again. I try to glare at him, but I’m smiling and it isn’t effective. “Are you ready to paint?”
I bought a wide brush at Scott’s and I show Finn how to make a long stroke. He works on the remaining leaves, while I take care of the branches.
“Wait,” I tell him when I look at his two leaflets sitting on the table to dry. “Your paint is too heavy. These will take forever to dry.”
“I did exactly what you told me to do.”
“You didn’t,” I say. “These are going to take two days to dry.” I hold up his dripping leaf. It’s like he dipped it in a lake. They are as useless as Harmony’s. Then, I motion to my branches. “Like this.”
He drenches his brush in water before hitting the paint.
“Finn,” I laugh out his name. “No wonder.” I snatch a paper towel and sop up the water from his brush. “Like this,” I say, handing it back to him. I hold his hand and guide the brush, stroke after stroke. Finn’s heart beats at my back and I’m not sure if I’m so aware because of his cardiomyopathy or because it’s Finn and he’s so close. “See?” My voice is quiet.
My heart thumps in my chest and my nerves shoot around like little rockets inside of my body. I can’t look up at him, but I feel his gaze, staring down at me. His body heat warms me until sweat pools at the back of my neck. The pulse in my wrist, wallops inside of my arm.
I straighten a little and feel his shoulder at the back of my head. I hold it there a minute, leaning on him like I’m someone else—and like he is too. I’m not the loner and he’s not sick.
“I should probably leave the painting to you,” he says at my back, his breath warm on my cheek.
“Finn!” Marley calls from downstairs. “Have you seen my glasses?”
He sighs and I step away from him in a flash. “No, Mom,” he calls, but doesn’t walk to the balcony. He rubs his hands over his face. “Have you checked your head?”
I snicker and move on to the next leaf.
“Har har,” Marley calls. “I need to go into town and I can’t—never mind, found them. Are you and Esther okay to man the store?”
“Yeah, Mom—” Finn starts, aggravation lining his tone.
I smack his shoulder, then skip over to the balcony wall and look down at Marley. “No problem, Marley!” I give her a thumbs up and an overly cheerful smile.
“For a girl who doesn’t worry about relationships with her own family—you sure worry a lot about my relationship with my family.”
I roll my eyes and return to the table.
Finn sits in a chair and carefully watches me while I finish coloring the rest of the leaves and branches. I study each piece, but in my mind I try to figure out what in the world just happened between us.
“Okay,” I bend back a little, stretching my muscles and shaking out my wrist. “These should be dry in an hour. Well, all except for the ones you decided to drown.”
“AA?” His brows raise with his grin.
An hour later, I stand on a ladder and Finn hands me one piece at a time. I string a few leaves from book branches and Mod-Podge others to the window. “I wish the store made more money and this could be my full time job.”
Finn chuckles. “Yeah, me too.”
I can’t decide if he means he’d like to do this as well—or he’d like me to do this forever. It frustrates me that I’m even considering between the two options. “I’d create their window displays forever if it would pay the bills.”
“Aren’t you a little young to worry about bills?”
I paint the white glue over another leaf. It’ll dry up clear and leave just my storybook leaflets in the window. “Next year, I’m on my own.”
“Really? Won’t your uncle help?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I’m gonna go wash my hands. Be right back.” I run up the stairs at a rate that Finn would never be able to follow and pointlessly run water over my messy hands in Marley’s sink.
The door to the shop dings and James’ happy voice rises up over the balcony. “So, tonight—”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna make it tonight,” Finn says.