His voice is soft and calming. With the fresh air, I manage to slow my breathing. Unintentionally, I move closer to him.
Ethan points to a tree. “I climbed the shit out of that one as a kid.” He gives me a grin as if he’s proud of the achievement, and it relaxes me even more.
Our eyes lock, and instead of looking at me with pity or like I’m some crazy person, his smile becomes warm and filled with understanding. “It can get overwhelming with so many people and everyone talking all at once.”
I quickly nod, thankful for the out he’s giving me instead of asking what’s wrong with me.
When I find my voice, I whisper, “Thanks, Ethan.” His mouth starts forming the words ‘you’re welcome,’ but I shake my head to stop him. “Thank you for not asking questions and somehow always knowing when I need an out. It means a lot to me.”
Instead of his eyes looking like ice, they remind me of a cool drink of water on a hot summer's day, and it becomes easier holding his gaze.
“Any time, Finlay.”
ETHAN
I want to fucking fist bump the sky, my chest swollen to the point of bursting with happiness.
I calmed Finlay down.
Me.
Finlay’s so comfortable with me that I can pull her back from a panic attack.
That’s fucking huge.
Josh’s wailing voice comes from the house, and I burst out laughing. “He wasn’t kidding when he said he can’t sing.”
A genuine smile plays around Finlay’s lips, making me wonder what it would feel like to kiss her.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat and gesture to the door. “Ready to head back in?”
“Yeah.”
I walk in first, knowing Finlay hates having anyone behind her. She doesn’t keep any distance between us, and it makes the grin on my face grow.
Walking into the living room, it’s in time to see Josh drop the microphone, then he says, “That’s how it’s done, folks.”
I expect Finlay to go sit with her dad, so I move in behind the couch, but instead, she comes to stand next to me.
My heart flip flops like a fish out of water, and I tuck my hands into my pockets, still grinning like an idiot.
David glances over his shoulder at Finlay. “You okay?”
She nods quickly, giving him a reassuring smile.
Everyone takes a turn to sing, no one holding back, and the air fills with fun and laughter.
When it’s only Finlay and me left, I glance down at her. “Gonna take pity on me and sing The Christmas Song with me?”
“Only if we’re doing it Nat King Cole style,” she grins.
“Deal.”
We head to the front, and picking up the microphone, I hold it out to Finlay. She shakes her head. “Oh no. You hold it so everyone can hear you sing.”
“Damn,” I mutter, pretending to look like she busted me.
I select the song, then clear my throat. I start singing, keeping the microphone low so Finlay can join in, but she just grins at me, like she’s going to leave me to sing the whole damn song by myself.
Then she leans into me, her arm presses against mine, and her voice makes mine disappear.
I pretend to wipe some sweat from my brow, taking a deep breath. Having her this close to me is overwhelming, my entire body lighting up with tingles.
“That’s cheating, Ethan. You have to sing,” Mom calls me out.
Leaning a little down, I start to sing again, my voice a little hoarse from having Finlay against my side. When we finish the song, she holds up her hand for a high five. As our palms touch, I start wondering if she feels this connection between us too.
It can’t just be one-sided. Not when it’s this intense.
“Ethan, you’re doing dishes for roping in Finlay to sing with you,” Dad says.
“Only if I get to take leftovers home,” I chuckle as I head toward the kitchen, accepting my punishment with a smile. I’ll clean the whole damn house if it means I get to have Finlay standing so close to me again.
I’m only alone in the kitchen for a couple of minutes when Eli, Quinn, and Finlay join me to help.
Eli starts placing the leftovers in containers. “I’m watching you,” I warn him. “If you run off with all the mashed potatoes, we’re going to have a problem.”
“What are you willing to trade?” he starts bargaining.
“The cornbread.” Eli gives me a playful glare, and it has me adding, “The beans.”
“Fucker,” he mutters. “You take the beans and half the mashed potatoes.”
“Deal.”
Finlay’s rinsing the dishes as I wash them, and seeing a happy smile on her face, a plate slips from my hands, dropping into the soapy water with one hell of a splash. I jump back while Finlay gasps, both of us staring at the water and suds splattered over our sweaters.