Father Christmas

“Right,” I say, voice cracking with embarrassment. I’m such a fucking weirdo. Finn has known me since I was a baby. I’m like a niece or, at most, a surrogate daughter to him. Someone to coach and take care of. Not someone you want to kiss you so badly, you could scream.

I adjust my mirrors and back out of the driveway, then head off in the direction of the Scoop Shop. We make it there ten minutes before closing and hop in line behind a couple of obviously drunk women carrying their shoes. They leer at Finn and whisper-hiss about how hot he is. One of them says he looks like a Viking, which he does. A Viking with silver streaks in his dirty-blond hair, and arms covered in tattoos that don’t stop at his shirtsleeves.

I’ve seen Finn without a shirt on plenty of times, at family barbecues and beach holidays. I know he’s got two howling wolves tattooed on his back, and that he got them to represent his friendship with my dad. On the grass between them lies a sleeping wolf cub that’s meant to represent me. Supposedly, the day my parents brought me home from the hospital, my dad pulled him aside and made Finn swear that if anything were to happen to my parents, he’d always look after me. It’s a promise he’s kept, with one heartbreaking exception: his move to Nashville two years ago. Though we call and text often, I desperately miss seeing him every day.

Finn ignores the drunk women, who eventually stumble off with their ice cream cones. At the shop’s window, he orders two hot fudge sundaes with whipped cream, nuts, and cherries, which we eat at a picnic table in the little side yard near the parking lot.

“You are a good driver, Astrid,” he says. “I’m sorry your mom can’t acknowledge that.”

“Thanks.” I smile around a mouthful of fudge. Finn’s praise means more to me than I care to admit.

“You must have some cash saved up from working all summer. Have you thought about buying a car?”

I scrape the last of the melted vanilla ice cream and fudge onto my spoon. “I have. But I’m saving up for something else.”

“Oh yeah?” He nudges my leg with his foot when I don’t respond.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it.”

He tilts his head, gaze narrowing. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe,” I say, but I’m only joking. I have a feeling he’s going to like my reasoning. “Look, if I tell you, you can’t tell Gran, okay? Not yet.”

“I won’t say a word.” He holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

I set my empty sundae cup on the table and pause for a breath. As of yet, I haven’t even told Leena about my plans to apply to college. Honestly, it’s a miracle that I graduated high school on time, given how much stress I was under after Gran’s diagnosis.

“I think I want to go to nursing school,” I tell him.

Finn’s smile is somehow both adoring and infuriatingly arousing. “You should, Astrid. You’d be great at it.”

“You think so?”

“Fuck yeah. You’re smart and level-headed in a crisis, just like your dad was. Dory told me how helpful you’ve been through all this cancer shit. Better than some of her nurses.”

His words make me feel warm all over. “Some of Gran’s nurses really impressed me. Doctors get all the credit, but it’s nurses who set the tone for a person’s treatment.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He pauses. “You know, depending on where you go to school, you’ll still probably need a car to get there.”

“I’ll buy one eventually, but I want to figure out my plan first. Mom is pretty much guaranteed to freak out, so I want to be careful about how I break it to her.”

“What schools are you looking at?”

I’m not sure if I want to tell him I’ve been researching nursing programs in Tennessee. Maybe he’d prefer to keep his hometown life and his rock star-adjacent work life separate. Anyway, I don’t get a chance to respond before the Scoop Shop employees switch off the outdoor lights.

“Guess that’s our cue to go home,” I say.

Finn raps his knuckles rhythmically against the picnic table. Even in the dark, I can make out his lopsided grin. “I’ve got a better idea.”

We jump back in Finn’s truck, with me in the driver’s seat.

“Take a right out of here,” he says.

It’s not the way home, but I’m not ready to go back to my real life yet. Being out after dark with Finn feels like wandering around a sound stage after everyone else has gone home. I can pretend like we’re the main characters in a movie, two star-crossed lovers you can’t help but root for.

After a few minutes, he has me pull into the parking lot of a playground.

“I remember this place,” I tell him. “You and Dad used to take me here.”