Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

Finn goes rigid next to me. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s weird . . .” I stare straight ahead of us and try to nail down the memory. I wasn’t the one who spilled the coffee.

Finn follows my gaze, trying to figure out what I’m looking at. “Are your friends back?”

“No. It’s about the coat.”

“Oh.” He relaxes a little.

“Remember when you and I met—”

“Of course.”

“I was on my way out, but you asked me to sit down with you. Then we were interrupted by that girl in my class. Becky. She hadn’t finished her half of the presentation we were giving that day.”

“It’s burned in my memory. What grade did you get, anyway?”

“I don’t remember. She and I crossed the street,” I continue, “and as we were passing the dry cleaners, Becky’s heel got stuck in a grate. She grabbed my elbow, and I dumped coffee all over myself.”

“So it was Becky’s fault.” He raises his eyebrows. “Sounds like she owes you a coat.”

“It was my first big purchase as an adult, that coat. I ate noodles for a month to save for it. I was devastated. Since we were by the cleaners, I dropped it off, and we went on to class.”

“You’re adorable when you’re animated,” he says.

I demonstrate by tracing my finger across the table like I’m drawing a treasure map. “Listen. If you hadn’t kept me at Quench, Becky wouldn’t have found me there.”

He laughs with disbelief. “So you’re saying I owe you a coat?” He leans in and nuzzles my cheek. “Let’s go right now. I want to get you one.”

“Hang on.” I push him off. He reluctantly lets me. “I’m not done.”

I’m piecing everything together in my mind. Details rush back to me, fitting together like puzzle pieces. “I picked up the coat at the dry cleaners a few days later, and that’s when I met Jill. Follow me?”

He’s watching me closer now, his interest piqued. “I follow.”

“I didn’t mention this earlier, but Jill and Victor hosted their engagement celebration weekend in the Hamptons.”

“They needed a whole weekend for that?” Finn’s wry smile tells me he finds this whole thing cute, but in about two seconds, he won’t. After all, he’s the one who believes in fate.

I search his eyes. “Victor invited some guys from next door for beach football since they were short a few players. Nate was one of them.”

Finn’s smile droops and then vanishes. “What are you saying?” he asks.

I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Nathan and I met because of you.”

TWENTY-FOUR

At first glance, it seems farfetched, but the truth is actually cut and dry—one fateful moment with Finn in a coffee shop years ago led me to Nathan. If Becky hadn’t ruined my coat, I wouldn’t have met Jill at the dry cleaners and introduced her to Victor. But does the story stop there? Was marrying Nathan a stepping-stone on the path back to Finn? If there is such a thing as fate, at what point is it finished?

“I’m the reason you married another man.” Finn isn’t pondering fate the same way I am. He just looks irritated. “Me? Is that a joke?”

I shake my head. “You’re the reason.”

He drops the palm of his hand heavily on the table. The chicken tenders jump in their basket. “That’s all sorts of fucked up.”

I can’t read his mood. I know he, like Nathan, wants to believe in things like soul mates and destiny. Where does that leave each one of us, though? It was a silly chain of events to follow, but a pit forms in my stomach. If I’m the master of my own fate, then I’m responsible for the outcome. I got myself here with Finn. I let Nathan slip away.

Finn rubs his forehead as he stares toward the restaurant bar. “You and I—we were supposed to end up together. It got twisted.” He glances back at me. “I let you walk out of that coffee shop and into another man’s arms.”

Finn’s conviction is written plainly on his face. He thinks he’s to blame for this. I want to tell him how ridiculous that is, but he’s taken on a lot today, and I want to comfort him. He’s had reason enough to walk away. It says something that he hasn’t. “Maybe it’s all part of a greater plan, Finn. And if that’s true, no decision is the wrong decision.”

When he nods, some of his golden strands fall into his eyes. He pushes them back. “Maybe. But I hate that it had to happen this way. I wish you hadn’t left in such a hurry that day, and I’d thought fast enough to get your number. Maybe all this could’ve been avoided.”

He’s getting closer to me as we talk. I, on the other hand, wedged myself into the corner at some point.

“You’re skeptical,” he says, reading my expression.

“I love Nathan,” I say. “I don’t wish my marriage away.”

“I know.” He leans in still. “You can love him and understand he might not be right for you.”

“How do you know that, though?”

“I don’t. But if I had your love, I wouldn’t waste it like he does. He’s playing a game with you. He’ll regret pushing you away, though, when he realizes I’m here, waiting to catch you.”

Would Nate really regret it? When will he wake up and see what he’s doing? If he hasn’t yet, he won’t. So why would I keep waiting for him to? If Finn weren’t here, I wouldn’t have a choice. I do, though. At least, I think that’s what Finn is saying. “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind about us,” I say. “Which means you’ve made up your mind about Kendra.”

Without looking away, he laces our fingers together. “I don’t want to scare you off. I feel like I’ve known you all this time, though. Even if it’s in a vague sense. To me, none of this feels accidental or rushed.”

Our hands fit well together. This could be a normal, natural Sunday afternoon for us. “But we barely know each other.” My go-to argument is becoming less solid the more time we spend together. Hours seem to pass slowly with Finn. Time expands between us as we fill it getting to know each other.

“Yeah.” I hear the smile in his voice before I see it. “Still so much to discover.”

It is a strange thing to know so little about Finn. I haven’t learned his quirks. I haven’t experienced the evolution of his habits from cute to annoying to missing them when they stop. I don’t know what angers him nor why. Could I take this journey all over again with Finn?

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

He smirks. “Why’s that the first question people ask when getting to know someone?”

“Because ‘what’s your credit score’ might put some people off.”

“At least that would tell you something,” he says, chuckling. “What would my favorite color honestly say about me?”

“Well, if I were to go shopping for you, it would help me pick something out.”

“But my favorite color to wear isn’t the same as the color I’d want on my walls. And neither of those colors are what I’d choose for a car.”

I don’t know why I giggle. It’s the same for me. I like to wear black, but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep in a black bedroom. “So, you’re not going to answer on principle?”

“Nope.”

“All right. What book are you reading?”

“Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.”

“That’s inspirational, right?”

“Something like that.” He touches my cheek. “Soul searching when I should’ve been soul mate searching.”

My cheeks flush like a schoolgirl’s.

“What’re you reading?” he asks.

“Nothing at the moment. I don’t read as much as I should. I keep meaning to.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Well, wouldn’t that give me some insight to you?” I ask.

“A little. A better one would be when I read.”

“Why?”

“I read before bed,” he says. “That’s when my mind is most active, and for me, that isn’t

necessarily a good thing. So, I read to calm myself, about three or four times a week. That’s just fiction. I research my craft in the mornings. It gets my juices flowing.”

My eyebrows are halfway up my forehead. I forget sometimes that Finn is dealing with a move, a new job, and the women in his life. “Okay, then. I feel like I just learned some stuff.”

“You said you think you should read, but you don’t. That gives me some insight into you that I’ll probably sit and think about later.”

This statement alone shows me even more about who Finn is. He listens to little things I say and thinks about them when I’m not around.

“When do you eat?” he asks next.

I tilt my head with a smile. “That’s pretty standard across the board, isn’t it? Morning, noon, and night . . .”

“Touché. What’s something you consider a special treat?”

“I don’t know. Hot chocolate?” I tease, glancing at the half-drunken mug. He waits, unconvinced. I can see he’s determined to get somewhere, so I go with it. “I love smoothies.”

“When was the last time you had one?”