Then Fin took Clarisse’s hand, led her into the house and up the stairs.
The house, now, was just Fin’s.
And, tomorrow, Clarisse’s.
Kirb was gone. Like Clarisse and No, he’d gone to college. He studied agriculture, graduated and now he worked the land with Fin but he and his girlfriend lived in an apartment in town, saving to buy a house in one of the developments close by.
Fin’s Mom was gone too but she’d only moved out three months ago. She did this so Fin and Clarisse could have the house just to themselves starting out. And she was able to because she’d been working the last six years, starting out as Tanner Layne’s receptionist part-time. Then Mimi needed her back so she worked part-time for Mr. Layne and part-time for Mimi. Then Mimi really needed her at the front and helping with baking so she went full-time for Mimi which was where she stayed. She didn’t make a mint but when her Dad died last year, he left her a little nest egg and Kirb and Fin gave her more. She wasn’t living the highlife, she had a small, one-bedroom apartment that was close enough she could walk to the Coffee House and it was cute. So she wasn’t complaining.
When Fin guided her to the top of the stairs, he turned right toward where the bathroom was and where his Mom and Dad’s room used to be. Then he went to the closed door to the bedroom but she smelled it.
Fresh paint.
Her brows drew together and Fin opened the door, pulled her through and then stopped them.
She stared.
“Holy cow,” she whispered.
She’d said (to everyone) one of the first things she was going to do after she moved into the farmhouse was make their bedroom hers and Fin’s own. And she’d spent some time researching what she wanted to do with it.
And this was it. Almost exactly like the magazine picture she showed to anyone who would look.
Dark teal-gray walls. White ceiling. Heavy but elegant, dark wood furniture including a queen-size bed. Glass-bottomed, tall lamps on each nightstand with a pull string that had a crystal dangling at the bottom of the chain. A big, plush, dark gray area rug under the bed.
On one of the dressers, one of Dusty’s vases, a big one. This one not her usual colors or shapes. It was obviously made special, a matte gray outside, the inside of the curving lip, a shiny teal. It was gorgeous.
On the walls black-framed, cream matted jumble frames with a variety of black and white photos of Fin, Clarisse or Fin and Clarisse throughout the entire seven years they were together.
And there was a big frame made of curly-edged mirror holding Clarisse’s favorite picture of her and Fin.
Fin was leaning against the side of the barn, his ever-present, ratty baseball cap on his head, a white t-shirt covering his chest, faded jeans on his legs, workmen’s boots on his feet, beat up leather workmen’s gloves on his hands. Clarisse was leaning against Fin wearing short-shorts, a cute tee and even cuter flat sandals. One of his arms was wound around her waist, the other hand dangling. One of her arms, hidden from view, was wrapped around his waist, her other hand on his abs. She was in profile, Fin full face, his head was back, pressed against the barn, her chin was dipped down. Both of them were laughing.
Dusty took that picture. Clarisse adored it.
“Wedding present,” Fin muttered and she looked up at him. “From your Mom.”
She slowly closed her eyes then opened them and looked back around the room.
She’d shown her Mom that picture in the magazine.
And there it was. Her Mom got Fin to take her to the watering hole so she’d be occupied all day so she could give this to Clarisse.
Whatever happened to her Mom seven years ago to shake her up, it took hold. She was remarried to an attorney but she still worked, now as a paralegal for a different firm to her husband. She even went to night school to learn as she held down her day job. They lived in a cushy apartment in downtown Indy and had buckets of money. Her Mom again had great clothes and great shoes but she also worked sixty hour weeks and still somehow managed to have a great marriage to a guy who wasn’t a slimeball but actually pretty cool.
And she also managed to be a good Mom.
At first, it freaked Clarisse out.
She got used to it.
And No told her time again he told her so.
Whatever.
It worked. Mom and her husband Jordy were even friends with Dad and Dusty. They didn’t go out to dinner together or anything but they exchanged birthday cards, Christmas cards and talked and laughed together whenever there was some family gig going on, like Thanksgiving, Christmas dinner and Fourth of July barbeques. Jordy didn’t have kids but he was all about family and since Dad, Dusty and Mom were too, it worked.
Seven years ago, Clarisse would have said no way.
Now, she was used to it.
“Jordy too, obviously,” Fin went on and she looked back at him. “Your Mom makes some cake but this furniture…” he trailed off but she could see it.
It was not inexpensive. It was not even middle-of-the-line.
It was the best money could buy.
They’d have it a lifetime.
Clarisse smiled back at the room.
“That’s not it, honey,” Fin murmured, she looked to him again but he was already looking toward the door.
Then, his hand still in hers, he led her through it and down the hall to the other end. He went to the closed door of his old bedroom, opened it and pulled her through.
She stopped dead, what hit her eyes penetrated and they filled with tears.
The wood floors had colorful throw rugs strewn all over them. In the corner was the big, fluffy, faded flower print armchair that used to be in Fin’s Mom and Dad’s room that Clarisse said was the only thing in that room she would keep. A loose, colorful afghan she knew Fin’s Gram crocheted was thrown over it. There was a small, tassel-sided, button-topped footstool in front of it in covered in muted rose velvet. There was a big, deep, wide white desk that had a huge, high back that went up nearly to the ceiling that was all drawers, nooks, crannies and shelves and she saw they already had her knickknacks, notebooks and more frames of photos of family, Fin and friends. There was a brand new, super wide monitor, all-in-one computer sitting on the desk with her bright colored pencil holder, envelope stand and notepaper stacks arranged around it. Even her hand lotion she had on her desk at home was there. In front was a kickass swivel chair that was white leather and chrome. It was modern but somehow it totally went with the countrified rest. There were bookshelves with her books and CDs in them against the walls, her stereo set up in one, her speakers set around the room. And the windows were hung with wispy, sheer, muted rose curtains that bunched on the floor and looked amazing against the white woodwork and the newly painted walls that were a deep, warm violet.
And last, in frames all around on the walls, were big pieces of Dusty’s swirly, pastel pencil doodles. Random patterns, beautiful colors, flowy designs. They were gorgeous.
“This is from me,” Fin said, her body started and her head whipped to him.
Dusty and her Dad, yes.
Fin…
Oh my God.
He tugged on her hand to pull her closer and when he got her close, his other hand came to span her hip and he whispered, “This is where you chase your dreams, honey.”
The tears filling her eyes tumbled over.
“Baby.”
He grinned and said, “Happy wedding.”
She grinned back, the wet still coming and he let loose her hand and hip so both his hands could cup her jaws and his thumbs slid through.
“You’re not supposed to cry,” he whispered, watching his thumbs move.
“Fin, whenever you do something sweet, I cry. You can’t be surprised. It’s happened enough.”