Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
My heart had never been so full and so empty at the same time. “I…”
“You can’t do that, can you?” He shook his head.
“I wish I could,” I said as I dropped his hand.
“Which isn’t the same thing as actually being here.” Finn turned to leave. He was halfway to the stairs before he spun back to me. “When you’re ready to start trusting me instead of making up my mind for me, you know where to find me.”
“Oh.” I sank back down on the bench.
I hadn’t expected him to leave with that sort of finality. And now as he walked away, leaving my chest splayed open, I finally understood. The vague ache in my chest hadn’t been a physical harbinger of doom. Instead, it was a feeling. As in, I felt far too much for this man, so much that now I hurt on a visceral level. All this time, I’d thought I was protecting him, when really, I’d been protecting me.
I’d been trying to guard myself from this moment, from this crushing loss. I’d thought by keeping it casual, neither of us would be hurt, but now we both were. And I’d thought the worst thing would be if I died or became very ill, but it turned out that this right here was the worst thing: losing him for no good reason other than that I was scared.
In a word, I was chicken.
Across Church Street, I caught a glimpse of the restaurant where we’d shared our first meal together. And I remembered something he’d said the day we delivered the ducklings. I do the best I can. Yes, he did. In everything. In living his life, despite the risks and dire possibilities. Crops could fail. Animals got sick. But Finn did the best he could.
Could I say the same? Was I doing the best I could with the hand I’d been dealt? Was I truly living or simply waiting to die?
And that was the question, not whether I could protect either of us from hurt when I so clearly couldn’t. But could I live?
As I searched for answers, my gaze flitted to a nearby store. Imprescott Printing. Tanner and I had recently hired a guy for the bar who also worked there. But it was the window display, not the personnel, that caught my eye. Invitations for Any Occasion. And suddenly, I knew exactly what I had to do.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Finn
No one would ever accuse chickens of being cuddly, not even Audrey, who would happily have hers in matching sweaters and leashes if I hadn’t put my foot down about it. But after my fight with Harrison, chickens were exactly what I needed. The farm was full of distractions and things that required my attention. Maybe I’d been foolish thinking I could add in a relationship.
Resolved, I steadfastly avoided dwelling on Harrison as I went about the evening chores, trying to help out with a minimum of human contact, which worked out well until Rachel spotted me near the animal barn.
“You’re back early.” She brushed her sweaty hair back off her face.
“Yep.” I tried for a tone that didn’t invite more questioning.
“Good.” She stretched, rolling her shoulders. Maybe she was too hot and tired to care about my life for once. “I mean, too bad if your plans fell through, but I could use help sorting eggs. And the window AC in Mom’s room conked out. Again.”
Yup. I nodded and tried not to sigh. The work never ended. There was plenty here to keep me busy. I didn’t need a prickly boyfriend. But hell if I didn’t miss him all the same, and not simply because I’d rather be in town having a nice dinner than heading for my toolbox yet again.
“Let me run up and look at the air conditioner.” I patted Rachel’s arm. “Then I’ll meet you back at the farm stand to help.”
“Okay.” She turned toward the farm stand, then paused and looked back over her shoulder. “Finn?”
“Yeah?” I asked warily.
“Are you all right?” Her head tilted like her sister radar had come online.
I should have figured that she’d eventually pick up on my being out of sorts. And that truly was the question of the hour. Was I okay? I honestly didn’t know. I felt numb, but it was the sort of numb like when I hit my thumb with a hammer and the pain took a few moments to arrive after the blow.
“I’m fine,” I half-lied. The pain was coming. It was only a matter of when, but I also didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, I grabbed my toolbox from my shop and headed to the main house where I found my mom sitting in front of the window air conditioner in the living room, audio book going, Hastings at her feet, and knitting needles clacking.