Rhythm by Marie Lipscomb

Chapter Twenty-Four

Beth

She’d practiced it a hundred times on the way over to him, but nothing could have prepared her for the impact of seeing him. When he turns to face her, her brain flatlines. She’s used to seeing him disheveled, sweating and breathless. But, standing before her, dressed in a navy-blue suit, he’s cool, calm, and inconsiderately, unfairly, ungodly handsome.

The top buttons of his shirt are open, and it takes all her willpower not to look at his chest. That bastard and his hypnotic chest hair.

“Thank you,” he says, and his sweet, genuine smile almost takes hold, but fades just as quickly. His deep brown eyes dart to the side. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk to me.”

“Neither was I.” She laughs quietly, and the tension between them ebbs a little.

In the corner of her eye, Sadie hovers, smirking behind her champagne glass.

Beth freezes. The realization they’re standing together in front of an enormous painting of them passionately fucking each other, sends flashes of embarrassed heat across her face.

“We should probably move elsewhere…” she raises her eyes to the painting.

“Oh,” he laughs a little. “Shit, yeah. People will start asking for autographs soon.”

He lets her take the lead as they walk together out of the main hall, falling in step with each other as they reach one of the quieter side rooms. For a moment, it all seems so absurd. It would be easy to forget, to be swept away by his charm, and the desire to be held in those arms once more. If she let her heart decide her actions, she’d be pressed against him, savoring the lips she’s longed for since she first came to his door to complain about the noise. But she can’t let her heart decide.

He doesn’t speak. He waits for her.

So, she says the only thing she can think of, the only thing which conveys the complexity of her confusion, the weeks of resentment and the inexplicable desire to hang on to a man who walked away from her after one night. “Finn, what the fuck happened?”

He sinks down, sitting on a marble bench, gripping the edges as he looks up at her. “I think I might have fucked up.” After a moment, a muscle flexes in his jaw, and his gaze falters. “I woke up that morning, and it was intense.” He gives a quiet huff of laughter. “I was… excited, hopeful. But then I heard you talking on the phone.”

Her forehead tightens as her brows knit together. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know who you were talking to, but you were telling them how awful it was, how you hated yourself for it, and…I assumed you were talking about what we did.”

Her silence lasts an eternity as she stares at the wall above his head. The intensity in her eyes tells him she’s rifling through her memories. At last, she laughs a little in disbelief. “Finn, I think it was about the storm, and how many times I complained about your drums.”

He pauses and blinks as his cheeks darken. “Shit.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I don’t do the one-night-stand thing, and even though we had an incredible night, we were still pretty much strangers. When I heard you, my pride took over. I panicked. I shut you out before you could say anything else, and I know that was the wrong thing to do.” He stands, and she’s almost startled by the size of him. “I messed up. I know I did. And I’m so sorry, because it must’ve been confusing, and embarrassing and hurtful, and you didn’t deserve a moment of it.” He stops and draws a breath. “I wish more than anything I’d spoken to you, because I hope…” His throat bobs as he swallows, and he seems to shrink before her eyes.

Beth presses her fingertips to her lips, concealing her smile. “Look, that night… us… none of it made sense. I’ve spent every day since trying to unravel it, figure out how something can go from feeling so completely right, to so catastrophically wrong.”

He nods once, pressing his lips together. “I believe the key ingredient is an enormous dipshit.”

“More like two.” She chuckles. “Well, at least you didn’t paint us having sex.”

“That’s true. Score one for me. But on the other hand, you didn’t just pay a fortune for a giant painting of yourself having sex, hoping it would come off as some grand gesture.” The corners of his eyes crease as he slips his hands into his pants pockets. “Oh, by the way, the song, the one you heard last night—we aren’t playing it again, ever. It’s gone.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll come up with something new.”

His smile melts her, demolishing the last remnants of her resolve. They share the silence, at peace in each other’s company as the world continues turning around them.

Finn

He doesn’t know how it worked out, only that it did. Every smile she gives him is a goddamn miracle, far more than he ever dared to hope for. His heart is all but bounding, and he swears to himself, over and over that he’ll never mess this up again.

“Can I get you a drink to celebrate your sale?” His cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

“I actually came here with a friend. I don’t want to leave her alone for too long. Besides, you’ve spent more than enough tonight.” She flashes him a grin. “But, there’s a free champagne bar for artists. I can stealthily get you a drink to celebrate your extravagant purchase.” He’s burning up in her presence, following after her like a giddy puppy as she all but glides toward the bar. She glances at him over her shoulder. “What are you going to do with the painting anyway?”

“I have absolutely no idea. I didn’t exactly plan this.”

“You don’t have to keep it.” She passes him a flute of champagne, her eyes meeting his and making the butterflies in his stomach soar.

The glass feels so tiny in his hands. He takes a sip, and tries not to grimace at the taste. “I want to. Uh… if that’s okay?”

She clinks her glass against his and smirks. “It’s all yours.” Her eyes brighten as she smiles at someone behind him. “This is Sadie, my friend.”

When she approaches, he shakes the new woman’s hand, but his mind races. She’s introducing him to her friend. That’s good… right? Unless her friend knows what an ass he was. Oh shit.

“Hey,” he smiles. “Finn.”

“I know,” the woman says, her eyes narrowing as she looks at Beth. “Is he off the hook?”

Beth scowls for a moment, letting him marinade in the tension. When she laughs, it’s the loveliest thing he’s ever heard. “Yeah. It’s all good.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Sadie grins. “I’m a huge fan. Huge. Love Cacoffiny.”

He draws a dramatically sharp breath. “Me too!”

And then, as though it’s the simplest, most natural thing in the world, Beth’s fingers press against his palm and slide down to lace with his. For the first time in a while, the warmth in his chest isn’t from embarrassment, or nerves, but the glow of a fire which has found the best place to burn.