Can I Lean On You | Finley & Harlyn #2

Chapter 4

Finley

When Harlyn nudges me awake, it's almost midnight, and I have three missed texts from Mom and one from Dad. I roll my eyes and lay back on Harlyn's shoulder.

He chuckles. "Finley?"

"Just give me two minutes," I mumble, trying to blink enough sleep from my eyes to get back to the hotel.

"Do you need me to walk with you?" he asks.

I sit up and rub my eyes. "No, it's ok. I'll be fine." I stumble off his bed and spin around, still a bit drowsy. The confidence I had earlier, the need to touch every part of him like he was going to disappear, has burned off a little. But I'm still feeling forward and clingy and just a little loopy from exhaustion and being close to Harlyn again after so long, so I pull him in and press my nose to his neck again. "I miss you already."

"Hey." He pushes me back to look me in the eyes. "You only have to miss me for, like, twelve hours."

My brain takes a second to catch up to the fact that I'm not dreaming. I'm only going a few miles away, not countries. And I'll see Harlyn again tomorrow when Mom, Dad, Bridget, and I come over for lunch and the grand meeting of our families.

"Right! I forgot!" I giggle.

"You are so tired, love," Harlyn says, grinning and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"So tired," I agree.

I make my way downstairs with Harlyn trailing behind me. At the door, he kisses me goodnight, and try as I might, I still can't quite wrap my head around being here. In England. In Canterbury. On his doorstep. I've been in the country for almost twelve hours. I sat and talked to his mom for two hours. I fell asleep curled up in Harlyn's arms. And my stupid, anxiety-ridden, sleep-deprived brain will not accept it. So, I cry on my way back to the hotel like I did when I got on the bus to leave in May. There's an empty feeling in my chest that is in direct contradiction with the nerves broiling in my stomach about lunch tomorrow.

I'm going to see him again. Our parents are going to meet. My brain knows that. But my heart isn't quite convinced yet. God, I'm a mess.

Sneaking back into our hotel feels like the most scandalous thing I've ever done in my life, and Harlyn and I literally only kissed a little. Thankfully - or not since I will definitely be hearing about this in the morning and not in a sleep deprived and therefore possibly less harsh way - my parents are asleep. Bridget is still up, swiping through her phone with an ear bud in. She looks up when I enter and smiles a bit ruefully, a single eyebrow arching.

"A nice reunion then?" she asks.

I plaster a smile on my face and stretch out on the bed next to her. "As a matter of fact, it was, but not in the way you are very obviously implying." It's true. It was perfect, even if I can't convince myself it was real.

"Whatever you say," she mumbles. "Mom and Dad thought you died or something, and I had to very awkwardly remind them that when two people like each other very much and haven't seen each other in a very long time, they probably want to spend more than twenty minutes together."

"He also got off work later than planned, which I texted Mom about. I'm sure she didn't believe me."

"I'm sure she didn't."

"They don't seem to trust me with much anymore." I've said this probably a hundred times over the summer. Even with how much our parents have been trying to treat us as adults and support our decisions, there's still the lingering part of me that doesn't trust that it's genuine or lasting.

"Yeah, well, now we're both adults. They can't exactly stop us from doing stuff. They can just make us feel like we're still children and convince us that we're guilty of something when literally all you did was spend time with your boyfriend who you haven't seen in four months."