Finn

“The woman gave up her child?”

“She did, and we are forever in her debt. It may seem weird to some, but she gave us Winnie, and that little girl inherited the absolute best from both parents.”

“Jesus, you’re even more incredible than I ever imagined. Canine volunteer, doting aunt, loyal sister, concert violinist, the list goes on. Anything else I should know?”

Heat starts to creep up my neck, and my cheeks burn.

“Looks like I can add bashful when complimented to my list.”

“Stop.” I laugh to try to hide my embarrassment. “I think this conversation took a wide turn into deep territory for a first date.”

“I disagree. I could listen to you talk for hours.”

“Well, how about we move onto lighter subjects, considering Winnie is coming out of the playhouse and she’s going to be ‘so hungry’.”

He turns to watch her rushing our way and gets out of the booth when she walks up.

“Hey, little lady, you ready to order?” He bends to help her with her shoes.

“Yes, starving. I worked up a real appetite.” She rubs her stomach dramatically.

He raises an eyebrow to me.

“Finn, Whitney here is quite the actress and has the vocabulary of a much older child.”

“Aunt Presley! My name is Winnie.” She pouts, throwing her hands to her hips.

“No, my dear, your real name is Whitney. Your nickname is Winnie. You must know the difference.”

“Winnie is a better name.”

Finn’s eyes dart between us, and he purses his lips to hide his amusement.

“So my dad and brothers seem to think, Whitney,” I emphasize her name and give her a challenging glare, “gets her sass from me. I deny wholeheartedly.”

“I haven’t seen the sass yet, but I’m inclined to agree she gets something from you. What four-year old can say, with conviction, she’s starving and worked up a real appetite. Someone taught her that.”

“She’s almost five, and it’s widely proven that children who speak and understand a large vocabulary have better social skills.”

“Uh huh, think I may see some of that sass coming out. Time to get dinner.”

I go to stand, but he places a hand on my elbow and stops me. “I’ll get it. Tell me what you want.”

Winnie repeats from memory what we both order, and he walks off. I gawk with appreciation at the form of his body from behind. There’s no doubt he works out with the muscle structure in his long legs. His shirt fits him tightly, pulling against his wide shoulders, and then looser around his waist. I’m so lost in my stare that I don’t divert my attention quick enough when he turns. He catches me red-handed checking him out.

I snap my head away and start to fiddle in my purse, looking for hand sanitizer. When he returns with a full tray of food, I’m almost over my h

umiliation of ogling him and being terribly obvious. Winnie sits across from me like always, and Finn scoots in next to me, brushing my arm and leg several times as he settles and passes out the food.

We eat and listen to Winnie talk incessantly about her summer camp, her new friends, and her desire to start dance classes in the fall. Finn finishes first and leans back, throwing his arm across the back of the seat and settling his hand lightly on my shoulder. It’s a casual move, his fingertips barely brushing my skin, but I feel the touch all the way to my toes. My appetite disappears, and I choke down the food already in my mouth.

Finn’s light touch turns firm, and his body goes stiff. I look at him, but my eyes drift to the man standing at the head of the table.

Oh, fuck! Russell!

“Presley,” he says, his eyes going around the table to take in the scene. They land on Finn’s hand.

“Hello, Russell. How are you?” I try to sound calm. I haven’t seen him since I broke up with him two months ago.