Like Gravity(19)
“Sorry,” Finn yawned, completely unconcerned with my distress. He still looked rumpled and heavy-eyed from his nap. “Is that chicken parm I smell?” He inhaled deeply, clearly appreciative of the smells wafting from the oven. “I think I just fell in love with you.”
I chuckled, turning back to the sink and continuing to rinse the dishes. Finn swiped my iPod off the counter, scrolling through my list of artists and occasionally grunting in what I assumed was a grudging approval of my eclectic music tastes.
“Well, I’m definitely surprised,” he admitted after perusing for several minutes. “I’d pegged you as more of a Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber kind of girl.” I snorted openly at this assumption. “But you are missing some crucial bands on here. Namely, mine.” He noted.
“When are you going to realize I’m not one of your groupies?”
“Probably never. More importantly, when are we eating? I’m starving.”
“We?” I looked at him quizzically, raising one brow. “Who says I’m feeding you?”
“Oh, come on. You’re killing me here! It smells amazing and I haven’t had a home cooked meal in – come to think of it, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a home cooked meal. My adoptive parents were big into take-out.”
His eyes were distant, clouded over as if he was sorting through memories. I glanced at him to see if he was being serious, but I didn’t know him well enough to tell. If he was looking for pity from me, though, he’d be sadly disappointed. His childhood, however lacking in home cooked meals it may have been, couldn't possibly have rivaled my dysfunctional upbringing.
Plus, I’d always had very little tolerance for people who used the shitty hand they’d been dealt by life as a perpetual crutch. Or worse, as an excuse for their later failures. I think the empathy gene may have skipped a generation with me – then again, taking my father into account, it may have been simply nonexistent in my family lineage.
Finn broke from his reverie and turned his pleading, puppy dog stare on me.
“Come on, please?”
I was saved from answering as the oven timer chimed, signaling that dinner was ready. With a sigh, I retrieved two plates from the cabinet and heaped them high with big portions of pasta, sauce, and cheese-covered chicken. I slid one across the kitchen island toward Finn and took a seat on the stool beside him.
He immediately dug in, showing gusto for food unique to college men, and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Finishing in record time, he let out a belch and happily patted his protruding stomach.
“Will you marry me?” he joked. “Because that was delicious. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“Well, there are these new things called recipe books…” I smiled teasingly, swirling strands of pasta around the tines of my fork. “Really, anyone can cook. You just have to know how to read and follow basic directions.”
“So you taught yourself?”
“My father wasn’t around much. I had nannies, but they didn’t typically stick around long enough to teach me anything.”
“I bet you drove them away with all that sass, you little troublemaker.” He smiled at the thought.
“Not exactly.” I said, grabbing his empty plate and stacking it on top of mine. “My father usually screwed them and when he inevitably grew bored, he’d hire a replacement. They tended to last longer when he was traveling abroad for business.”
Keeping my tone flat and indifferent, an ability I’d acquired after years of self-discipline, I hoped to discourage any more of Finn’s questioning – or worse, his pity. I carried our plates to the sink, rinsing them off and loading them into the dishwasher. Transferring all of the leftovers into a Tupperware, I placed it in the fridge where Lexi would be sure to find it if she ever emerged from her bedroom. When I looked up at Finn, he was staring at me with an indecipherable look in his eyes.
“What?” I snapped defensively. This was exactly why I didn’t talk about my childhood.
“Nothing,” he said, looking away. “That just sounds…lonely, I guess.”
I shrugged, having no other reply to offer him. I didn’t want to talk about my past, especially not with a guy I barely knew. I was trying to think of a way to change the subject when Finn, to my surprise, did it for me.
“Come on,” he said abruptly, grabbing my hand and towing me from the kitchen.
“Let go of me!” I squealed, attempting to tug my hand from his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’ve got real trust issues, you know that right?” Finn said without breaking stride and continuing to drag me along in his wake. “We’re going to get dessert. You’ll thank me later – take my word for it.”
“I’m not sure your word is worth much of anything,” I grumbled, grudgingly allowing myself to be towed along.
“Ouch,” he said. “I don’t know how much longer my ego can take this abuse.”
“Well, considering its massive size, it should take more than a few of my insults to chip away at it.”
We were both laughing as we stepped out onto the patio and made our way down the stairs. Though the rain had stopped, moisture lingered heavily in the air and the setting sun peeked out from behind dark clouds, staining their edges pink and orange in the fading light. Reaching the bottom of the steps, Finn made his way over to a black motorcycle parked in the driveway behind Lexi’s sedan. He looked down at me warily, as if anticipating an adamant refusal to ever ride such a deathtrap.