“I’ve got some calls to make,” I say instead. “I haven’t been the best captain or brother lately and I need to catch up. They’re doing some repairs and I need to check in on a few things. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter THIRTEEN

Harlow

ONLY ONE HOUR into my five hour shift at NBC and I get a call from Salvatore, telling me he’s agreed to my proposal. He loved my idea, and also? He is going to find a place for me on the staff of his new production company.

“No way in hell you should still be shuffling papers at that place,” he’d said. “You’ve got places to be, kiddo.” And for the first time, I agreed.

I’m ready.

I can barely concentrate on the giant stacks of folders I need to file, what copies I’m making or whose coffee I’m pouring. Finally, I think we might have a solution that works for everyone: It could save Finn’s family business... and it could allow me to be closer to him far more often.

The first thing I do Monday afternoon when I get out of work is text Finn: You at Oliver’s?

I see him begin to type, and then stop. And then I’m in the elevator, and leaving the building, and walking to my car, staring at my phone and nearly walking into a telephone pole and getting hit by a bicycle because I’m not watching where I’m going.

I’m already almost home by the time his text appears: Yep.

OK, headed there, I reply, laughing over how long it took him to write one word.

It also takes him forever to answer the door, even though his truck is parked out front. And when he does, he looks... bad.

Sour, even.

“Hey,” I say, stepping close and stretching to kiss him. I can tell he’s just showered, but he didn’t shave. He’s scratchy and smells like soap and coffee. But he doesn’t bend to me, and instead offers the stubbly angle of his jaw.

“Hey.” He steps back, avoiding eye contact, and letting me walk past him into the house.

“You’re awfully... surly,” I mumble, sitting down on Oliver’s couch. Unease bubbles in my belly, and I study his expression, mentally rifling through everything I’ve said or done in the past twenty-four hours that might make him act this way. “Did I do something?”

He hums, shrugging, and then asks, “So what’s up?”

I pause for a beat; he didn’t answer my question at all. But the good news I have pushes forward in my thoughts. Whatever his foul mood may be, I have the power to cheer him up. “I came over because I wanted to tell you something. Something really good, actually.”