Chapter Thirteen

Finchley sits with her coffee mug clutched in her small hands as if it might anchor her to reality. Lightning flashes outside, making things worse. Clearly, Stephen has no intention of letting her live her life without him, but it’ll be over my dead body before he puts his hands on her again. And I’ll rise from the dead and bludgeon him if he thinks he’ll force her to leave Denver with him.

“He can’t get away with it, love. He can’t waltz into Denver and demand you go with him. Maybe he has connections but surely there’s some judge somewhere who hates him.”

“You don’t understand, Ace. He won’t go away. There’s a contract in place between my father and him. When we marry, he inherits the company. There’s a lot at stake for him, and that’s why this isn’t going to end until I give in.”

I hold up a finger. “First of all, do not say when we marry again unless you want me to lose my dinner on your floor. Second of all, he cannot force you to marry him. Third, if you think for a bloody second that I’ll stand by and watch you marry him, you’ve got another thought coming, my love.”

Settling deeper into her sofa, I try to scrub the image of her marrying him from my mind.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You can file a restraining order,” I say.

“I already told you, he’ll get around it. He has connections everywhere, and where he doesn’t, my father does.” She reminds me as gently as possible that we truly are back where we began a decade ago.

It’s a wild storm outside, but it’s no comparison to the anger in her pretty eyes. She sighs and puts the mug on the coffee table. “You should head home before the storm strands you here. Besides, April should be home soon.”

“Birdie, I—”

“I just need some time to think about everything.”

Scarier words have never slipped from her lips, but I must let her do this her way.

The storm is outrageous at this point. Bolts of lightning cut across the sky every few seconds, and the thunder is so loud that even I startle a few times. Add the worry that her ex will show up at her townhouse again, and I’m hesitant to leave until April returns. Even then, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to leave without worrying all night.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” I ask, standing to pull on my jacket.

“I’ll be fine. I’m going to call April and check in on her, then go to bed.” The thunder booms and she jumps, then presses a hand to her forehead. “I’m fine.”

Reluctance forces me to pause at the door, but she urges me to go. “I promise, I’ll be fine. April has a key, so I won’t even have to let her in.”

“If you’re sure. You know how to reach me if you need anything.”

“I do. Thank you, Aiden.”

It’s all I can do to open the door, hug her goodbye, and close it behind me. Darting from her door, I manage to make it to my car without getting struck down by lightning. Inside, water drips from my face and onto the steering wheel, instantly taking me back to a spring day we spent together. We had grand plans of going on a picnic but didn’t bother to check the weather report. Half an hour after setting up everything, a storm came upon us so fast, we didn’t even have time to save the sandwiches before diving into the safety of my car.

We were soaked to the bone, and water dripped on my steering wheel from my hair. I wiped it off and looked at her, drowned and shivering. I grinned and a moment later, she was in my arms. We warmed up fast, but the picnic lunch went to waste.

A boom yanks me back to reality and guilt washes over me. Finchley has suffered so much because I didn’t stand up back when her father threatened me. I’d been terrified, but I had other options. I didn’t have to run away. I shouldn’t have. Doing so caused more harm than good, and I see that now.

I shove the car door open and make a dash to her apartment again. After a single knock, the door flies open. She stands in the foyer, shaking the same way she did that day. All I want to do is take her in my arms again and kiss her until the storm is over.

“Will you let me stay until it’s over?” I don’t know if I mean the storm outside or the one in her life, but, to my relief, she nods.

She breathes out a long sigh. “Yes. Come in.”

Stepping aside, she closes the door and locks it after I enter. I shirk my coat and drape it over one of the kitchen chairs before running a hand through my hair, shaking the water out. When my gaze lands on her again, she’s grinning. I can’t help wondering if she’s thinking of the same failed picnic, but before I can ask she gasps.

“Oh, wanna stargaze with me?”

We did a lot of stargazing in the past, but it never ended with us paying much attention to the stars. As I recall, there was a lot of kissing and not much gazing. To distract myself from those memories, I state the obvious. “Hard to stargaze when it’s raining, love.”

She holds up a finger and smiles. “Ah, yes, but I have the perfect remedy for that.” She darts down the hallway to what I assume is her bedroom. I don’t know what she has planned, but it sure isn’t going over the details of how to get Stephen out of her life. Can’t say I’m too torn up about that since one more image of her saying I do to him and not me flashing in my brain might kill me.

“I’m still looking for what I need!” she shouts down the hall. “Can you make some popcorn? It’s in the cabinet beside the microwave.”

I oblige her, but can’t help wondering if we’re now on a date. It feels a lot like our regular routine plus about ten years. The popcorn is halfway done when she yells, “Aha! Found it,” and wanders down the hall. “It was in one of the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet.”

Finchley drops a box on the sofa and begins piling pillows and blankets on the floor. Once she’s made us a viewing area, she pulls a star projector from the box. I recognize it. I gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday, mostly because she loves stargazing, but also because it would ensure I got kisses under the stars even when it was raining. Like it is right now.

Now my poor brain is in overdrive trying to figure out her game plan. Is this a date? Is she reeling me in like a fish caught on a hook? Every bit of me is stuck, and I don’t mind it at all, but a man has to know for sure that the person holding the reel intends to catch a fish.

I dump the popcorn into a bowl I find in her dish drainer and head into the living room. “What are we doing, Birdie?” I ask.

“You don’t remember?” she asks, cheeky grin and all.

Blimey, this woman is going to kill me before I figure her out.