“Victim. Whatever.” With my cookie in hand, I walked to the nearest window and gave a silent F you to Mother Nature. But for the storm, the B&B would be empty and I’d be in my own room brainstorming my story instead of engaging in far-too-delightful banter with Finn and making a mental list of ways to avoid having sex with him again.

The only thing I had going for me was this gathering. It was a perfect time suck. With any luck, it would go late, and by the time we retired for the night, I could feign exhaustion.

“I used to be afraid of thunder,” Finn said out of nowhere.

“Really?” I stole a quick glance over my shoulder at him before turning back around. It hurt too much to look at him right now.

“My dad told me to count the seconds between every boom. He said if I could get to ten, it meant the storm was almost over.”

I faced him again. “Is that a thing? The ten-second rule?”

His gaze locked on something out the window. “I’m not sure, but it distracted me from my fear, which I guess was his intention.”

I smiled, touched by the reminiscence. “That’s a nice memory.”

“The good ol’ days.” His face went dark for a moment, then back to normal like someone had waved a magic wand in front of it. “Want another cookie?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

“Be right back.”

I sighed dejectedly at the abrupt change of conversation, even though there was no reason to expect Finn to confide in me again. He hadn’t voluntarily shared his homeless experience either. I’d dragged it out of him. When was the last time I had poured my soul out to a hookup? Why should he? But I couldn’t help wanting to know more about him anyway.

It was time to mingle. I scanned the room. My lips curled into a grin when I spied a woman wearing a Peloton Century Club T-shirt. I weaved through the crowd until I reached her. “Congratulations on the milestone,” I said, pointing at her shirt. The company gifted it to members after they took one hundred of their cycling classes.

She glanced down, as if to reacquaint herself with her current outfit, and beamed. “Thank you! You ride?”

“I’m a spin instructor. For New York Fitness Club, not Peloton.” I’d taken my share of Peloton classes, but I wasn’t comfortable in front of the camera (or hot enough).

“What a great job. Are you certified?”

“I am. I took an instructor certification course a couple years ago but stopped at the basic level.” A sour taste seeped into my mouth at the reminder my certification was due for renewal soon. More money I didn’t have.

“How many levels are there?” Finn glanced between us. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Finn.”