Page 128 of How To Plot a Payback

“I think we both know,” I say, and continue on. “So how about we just go ahead and strike that one out and call it a win,” I say, giving it a firm strike-through and adding: Rescued from unhealthy relationship. “Now I do have one idea here, though,” I say, “regarding the time I swiped a dinner reservation out from under you—”

Coming to a breaking point, Finn takes his hands from his face, lays them on my cheeks, and pulls me in. His lips press against mine, muting my words. And what at first is a very obvious, forthright attempt to stop me from speaking melts moments later, as we both truly, fully come into the moment. His hands slip down my face, one onto my neck, the other cupping one shoulder. Gentle. Tender.

We stay in this moment, beneath the spring sunshine and the thick air of cut grass, his scratchy could-be beard tickling my cheeks. Only when Bernie tugs on Finn’s corduroy pant leg does he release me, our eyes locked.

Baby birds chirp in a tree in the distance.

A puppy barks playfully as it chases a ball.

The sky is a brilliant blue, with streaks of white clouds zigzagging overhead.

All forever a part of this memory.

“It only seems logical,” I continue, crumpling the sheet in my hand, “I take you out to dinner. Where is the restaurant where I swiped your reservation?”

Finn groans and leans down and kisses me again. He makes a grab for the list, but I tuck it out of reach behind me. “Nice try, but it’s memorized,” I say. “And I’ve got a lot of apologizing to do. In the form of dates.” I peck him lightly on the lips. “In the form of puppy playdates.” One more kiss. “You won’t be able to get me out of your hair there will be so much making up for. Years of it really. Apparently we have a trip to my cousin’s wedding when this show—”

“Neighbors,” he says lightly.

“Neighbors,” I repeat, “wraps up—”

“We?” Finn raises a brow.

“Of course. This is your opportunity to be my plus-one at a family wedding, which seems like an awfully nice gesture to make up for”—I scan the list—“number twelve.”

Finn scratches the back of his neck. “You really can forgive me for plotting against you?”

“Easily,” I say. “Everybody needs a good how-we-started-dating story. We’ll be the life of the wedding party.”

Not twenty minutes later, as we’re making our getaway plan, I realize one more thing in this avalanche of a day.

“Hang on,” I say, brows furrowed as the new realization dawns. “Finn,” I say accusingly. “This means you have to go back to writing a detective series.”

“Right?” he says, as if he doesn’t follow.

“But you said you hated doing the detective series. You told me you were tired of the same old plot. You said you liked the snappy humor of Neighbors—the sitcom. You wanted out.”

“Oh, that. Well.” He shrugs. “I’m good at it. It’s my expertise.”

“Yes, but you wanted out.”

“Yes, but you wanted Nancy Drew.”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t have to give up your dream to carry on mine.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He lets a few beats pass between us, stilling the charged energy, settling my racked nerves that have tightened with my fear of stepping on someone else’s path. It’s the same choke hold that seized me when the new contracts arrived, this fear that I would be stuck in something I no longer wanted. Only this time I feel it for his sake.

“Here’s the thing, Lavender. If there’s one thing I’ve learned of late, it’s that dreams can shift, can change. They grow and evolve into new and different dreams—sometimes fashioned by outside forces, sometimes by change of heart. I’ve learned, from you actually, how my dreams could change due to external forces. And it’s not a bad thing. But this time, it’s a mix. I saw an opportunity, and I reached for it. Sure, I’m going back to a detective series. But I’d do it again in a minute. Because you are my bigger dream now. I don’t care what I’m writing, so long as I get to share my days with you.”

I scrutinize him for so long Bernie nudges my feet. “So you’re saying murders won’t be so tedious after all.”

He grins. “Of course not. As long as I’m solving them . . . with you.”

Epilogue

Finn

Saturday, Casa Laguna Courtyard