“I’m sorry. I just saw him and you… and I thought…”
“You put two and two together and came up with fifty three thousand. Finn, if you ever doubt me again, you need to let me know. Talk to me. I know you’re not a talker, but shit like that needs sorting out, instead of leaving it to fester. If I saw you with another girl, I’d lose my mind, but I’d talk to you about it. That’s what normal people do.”
Normal. That wasn’t a label I’d ever use for my life.
She sighed and I gave her a shy smile, cocking my head to the side to try and look cute.
“Like I said, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” I shrugged, hoping we could move on from this because embarrassment was as familiar to me as another limb, but I still despised it.
She nodded in agreement and smiled back.
“What have you got behind your back?” She narrowed her eyes at me in play
ful accusation.
I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, but I wasn’t the kind of guy that bought flowers and chocolates or stuff like that. The gifts I gave her were always unique.
“It’s a rose. But not just any rose.”
I’d made the flower myself, saw the idea online and thought it looked cool. It held much more meaning, and at the time, I thought it’d trump any shitty gift Kian might’ve given her.
“Is that pages from a book?” she asked as she reached out to take it from me and turned it over in her hands like it was delicate treasure.
“Yeah. I swiped pages out of Zak’s copy of Harry Potter to make it. I’m hoping he doesn’t read it again anytime soon and find out.”
She laughed now; a proper, genuine laugh.
“I love Harry Potter, and this is so thoughtful, but I’m not entirely sure how I feel about you massacring a book.”
I hadn’t seen it like that and I could feel the sweat start to trickle down my back as my cheeks flamed red.
“Just promise you’ll stay away from my bookshelf.” She chuckled, bumping me playfully with her shoulder. “I’m kidding, Finn. It’s beautiful. Thank you. It’s way better than a normal rose that’d die in a few days.”
“That’s what I thought too.” See, great minds thought alike. She got me. Even if she did question the safety of literature when I was around.
“I can keep this in my memory box.”
“You have a memory box?” I asked. The way she blushed was so cute that I had to press further. “Are you getting forgetful in your old age? It all goes downhill after eighteen,” I joked, shaking my head regretfully.
“It’s my Finn box,” she replied, and then her eyes went wide, and her cheeks flushed brighter. “Oh my God. I really shouldn’t have told you that. I’m so embarrassed.” She grimaced to herself, but I wasn’t going to let her suffer.
“Don’t be embarrassed, I think it’s sweet. What else is in the box?” I really did want to know.
“Well, there’s pictures that you’ve drawn for me. There may or may not be napkins in there too that you’ve doodled on.”
“Doodled?” I laughed. “I like that word. What else?”
“Why don’t you come inside and see?”
And this was why I loved her. Five minutes in her presence and all I cared about was her and how she made me feel. Nothing else mattered.
I had to admit, my stomach flipped at the thought of stepping into her house. I really wanted to go to her room and get a true insight into what made her tick, but at the same time, my nerves were out of control.
“I’m not sure. Are your parents home?”
“Yes, but they won’t mind. They’d like to meet you.”
I highly doubted that. In my experience, parents didn’t take too kindly to guys like me rocking up to see their daughters.