Finley Embraces Heart and Home (Love Austen 4)

Not today.

“Come next week, yeah?” We’re on the rooftop terrace, Ethan fresh from his after-hike shower, his hair damp at the edges of his cap and his t-shirt wet at the shoulders. He rests his arms against the rail and looks out over our backyard, the Dashwoods’ backyard, toward the distant hill where he and Tom had been today. “There’s this huge hazelnut grove in the woods. I want to show you.”

“You want to show me, or your dad wants me to see it?”

“Stop it, Fin.”

He sounds tired, and a little annoyed, and I flounder for a response. Heat scalds my cheeks and I frown, for the first time wishing I hadn’t been so curt when Tom asked this morning.

“I just . . . I mean . . .”

He looks at me, eyes gentling. “I get it, just . . . He sometimes gets it wrong, but he’ll never get it right without trying.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’ll never get it right without trying, either.”

I stammer, searching hard for something to defend my actions, but there’s nothing. I turn and head for the turret door.

Ethan grabs my elbow, halting me. “You don’t have to run away.”

“I’m not running.”

He raises a disbelieving brow.

My throat hurts as I swallow. I hate that I disappointed him, hate more that he’ll forgive me right away. “I’m walking. Slowly.”

“You’ll let me come with you then?”

No! I feel like a dick right now. “Uh, if you have to.”

He laughs. “You are running away!”

“Fine,” I admit, pulling out of his hold and poking out my tongue. “But you’ll let me.”

“Will I?”

I open the door and duck through. “I’ll come with you next week.”

The hazelnut grove is kinda awesome, which kinda sucks because Tom and Ethan are both giving me Told You So looks.

So I temper my amazement with affected boredom. “What’s next?”

Ethan shakes his head at me. He saw how eagerly I picked up the spiky hazelnut casings and pried a few nuts free. He sees how I’m rolling them like good luck charms between my fingers. “There’s a lookout not far. I’ll show you. Dad, we’ll be back in ten.”

Tom, taking a breather on a bench at the base of a tree, hesitates. Ultimately, he sinks more comfortably onto the bench and waves us on. “Show Finley what he’s been missing.”

I start to grumble and Ethan prods my back to get me moving. The touch must press a magic button or something, because I can feel the ghost of it as we walk, and I’m totally not grumbling anymore. In fact, holy shit. The view is everything, and why is this the first time I’ve seen it?

The hilly Port Ratapu peninsula sits snug in glittery blue waters. It’s like something out of a postcard.

“Don’t tell your dad, but it’s, like, the best view ever.”

Ethan looks around and takes my hazel-free hand, tugging me closer to the edge of a cliffy bank, ten feet of steep rocky turf down to a narrow, muddy path with a steeper drop below. It’s a long, long way down.

He positions me in front of him, his fingers dragging over my biceps as he stretches my arms wide. He speaks at my ear. “Doesn’t it feel like you’re on top of the world?”

I am on top of the world. The view, the whipping wind, Ethan close behind me.

Ethan laughing into the back of my hair.

Ethan . . . moving away.

I spin around quickly and the force has my hazels flicking out of my hand. My gaze flies from Ethan to the bank. “Dammit. I lost my nuts.”

Snickers follow.

I’m already down on my knees trying to reach the one that landed in a nest of weeds not too far down the slope. I roll my eyes at Ethan over my shoulder, grinning too.

Ethan drops next to me, bumping my arm with his. “Let me grab your nuts.”

“Ethan!” I hoot out in laughter, but it’s strained because, well. It’s not like I haven’t thought about . . . that before.

Ethan’s laughing as he reaches down, and then suddenly, he’s not laughing. He’s not beside me.

“Ethan!” My vision tunnels; his fall seems to go on forever and my body is locked in fright.

Ethan lands on the ledge below and groans. I don’t think, I scream for Tom, and I know he hears. The whole world has to hear me.

I roll onto my belly, legs first over the edge and scramble down the rocky turf, dirt sliding with me.

Ethan pushes up onto his elbows and winces; I scurry to his side, gaze flying to the dark stain blooming through his grey t-shirt.

“You shouldn’t have followed. You could have hurt—why are you stripping?”

I peel my t-shirt over my head, sunshine beaming hard onto my back.

“Oh fuck,” Ethan says.

He lifts his shirt, exposing a deep jagged cut at his hip. So much blood. I wad my t-shirt and hold it against the wound. Ethan hisses.