“Finn knows everything about the human heart.” Angelo holds up a children’s book about the body, and the way he looks at Finn, you’d think he was the author of that book.
Harmony settles in next to Angelo and they search through a row of books. Finn stands up and that’s when I notice the beany’s gone from his head.
“You told him about your heart disorder?”
Finn shrugs one shoulder. “It sort of came up.” He shifts his blue eyes toward me. “So, are you better? Feeling better, I mean.”
I have to push down the instinct to argue with him—reminding myself that after my not so small melt down I decided he wasn’t completely wrong. And that he meant well. “I am.”
“You should come hang out tonight.”
“At Dominic’s?” I don’t see the infatuation with the fire. It isn’t good for Finn. Don’t his friends realize that?
His fingers find my elbow, and the small touch sends a shiver throughout my body. “Will you come?”
Hours later, I head back into the store, but this time for work. There are only a couple customers and they are content browsing the aisles.
I lay my purse on the register counter and Finn’s concentrating gaze whips up to me. “What if we took our most popular books, or the most valuable, and showcased them better?” I say.
His lips part into a small grin. “I like it when you start talking like we’re in the middle of a conversation.” He paper clips the receipts in his hands together and sets them in a basket beneath the counter. “What did you have in mind?”
“I think we could utilize our space better.” I walk to the closest bookcase and drag my finger along the titles on the top shelf. Pulling a few books off of the shelf, I shove the rest together again, making a ten inch space at the end of the row. “These would go in a stack again.”
Finn frowns a little. And I get it—we work so hard to get rid of the stacks.
“But this one, that’s getting lost in all these books, would stand here,” I tap the empty space, “cover out, standing, like it’s on display. They do this at the library all the time.”
“But the books in our stacks rarely get looked through.”
A woman strides toward the register, two books in her hands. Finn retreats to help her, but she pauses next to me. “Is that a first edition A. A. Milne?” she asks, pointing to the book I’ve set out to showcase.
“Ahh, I’m not sure.” I hand her the book, and whether it is or not, she adds it to her pile. I couldn’t have planned it better. She’s convinced him.
Finn and I spend the next hour scanning through books and pulling the ones we know will sell the best, both of us ignoring the fact that I tried to kiss him. Which I’m grateful for. If he can forget about it, so can I.
At least that’s what I tell myself. But then he stands right by me—not just next to me, but arm brushing arm, skin touching skin—to show me two different books. “Which do you think?”
We stand in the back by multiple stacks we’ve created in the now empty bookstore. It feels as if the temperature has been turned up. I stare at the two books, not really seeing either of their titles, only feeling Finn stare down at me.
I peer up at him, no answer coming to mind—I’m still not sure which books he’s brought me. He watches me and steps close, brushing his fingers along my cheek. A strand of hair streaks along my face as he moves it back into place. His chest is close, inches from mine. And I swear I can feel his heart, skipping two beats quicker than my own.
I swallow, not wanting the pain of rejection again. “This one,” I say, taking one step backward and tapping on the book closest to me.
“Sounds good,” he says, holding it up and leaving.
I believe he’s back in his aisle, separate from mine, sorting through books just like me. But when I go to look for him minutes later, I can’t find him.
I should say his name, but I don’t. I just start up the red staircase, listening to the low hum coming from the upper floor. Finn sits on the couch, his oxygen cannula in place and his head back. His arm drapes over his forehead and his eyes are closed. His chest rises and falls in steady breaths.
I slouch to the ground and sit on the top step, unable to leave him just yet. I watch his chest and start counting the breaths he takes. I’m up to three hundred and twelve when the bell on the door rings. I stand—praying I won’t get caught—and dart down the stairs.
It’s only James and Ursula.
“Esther!” James says. “I haven’t seen you in person to tell you how awesome this window is.”
Ursula scans the room—no doubt looking for Finn.
“Thanks,” I say, sliding my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. I need some place for them to go. “Finn’s resting.”
Ursula’s search comes to an end. “Are you coming over tonight?”
“Nah, I should go home.”
“Really?” James rakes his fingers over the top of his short brown hair. “You should come.”
“Dominic’s again, huh?”
Ursula nods, but she doesn’t seem all that enthused.
“Is there anything else we could do?” I shrug and pull my hands from my pockets, only to cross my arms over my chest. “I mean, the smoke isn’t good for Finn.”
His friends know—they all know—but I don’t think they talk about it.
“I would love to do something else,” Ursula says with an eye roll.
“You don’t have to come.” James shifts his gaze to her for only a second. “Fire night’s kind of tradition, and Finn likes it.”
“Those are pretty weak excuses.” I’m not really worried about being James or Ursula’s favorite person—I have enough new people in my life. So, I don’t care if they don’t like my bluntness.
“Yeah, well, that’s the plan for tonight. Let Finn know we came by.” James waves and starts for the door.
I sigh as the bell jingles on their way out.
“I don’t think they bought it.”
With my hand to my chest, I whirl around. “Finn.”
One of his brows, just a shade darker than his hair quirks up. “What are you doing, Esther?”
How much did he hear? Why do I feel like I’m in trouble? My stubbornness takes hold and I speak my truth with confidence. “The smoke is bad for you. You shouldn’t be around it. They should realize that.”
“I like to be around it.”
“Then,” I pause, annoyed with his stubbornness, “you’re stupid and someone needs to intervene. If your friends were real friends they would have by now.”
“I’m stupid? And I don’t have real friends?” He scoffs. “Thanks, you know how to make a guy’s day.”
“I’m not trying to make your day, I’m trying to help you.” I start towards the back row I’ve been working in, my head hot.
“And when did I ask for your help?” he spats.
I can’t believe we’re arguing—again. And yet I am so irritated with him and frustrated at being caught that I just let my anger rage. “Believe what you want. I don’t care. Go inhale all the smoke you can—I won’t stop you.”