Chapter Text
Annie Cresta knew three things to be true:
1. The double chocolate chunk ice cream was always the hardest to scoop
2. She had exactly three months to scrape together two thousand dollars
3. And working with Finnick Odair was going to kill her
Well… maybe not kill her, but she could practically feel her hair greying at the mere thought of it.
Annie had worked at Flanagan’s since the summer she turned 13 before it was technically legal for her to do so.
But, like how Flanagan’s had been a staple in the community for generations, its proprietor, Margaret Flanagan, was a staple in the Cresta family. She was a childhood friend of Annie’s grandfather, Lucas, and had been a guarantee at every family gathering since Annie could walk. Known affectionately to Annie as ‘Mags,’ the older woman had taken her under her wing the summer her grandfather had passed, hoping that busying the girl scooping ice cream would distract her from the absence of her usual fishing trips and late-night walks on the beach with her grandpa.
It was only an added bonus for Mags that Annie happened to be good at her job, and not just good, in fact, but great. Even at 13, she was organized, efficient, and fast, her wiry, freckled arms surprisingly adept at wrenching even the toughest flavors from their tubs. So Mags had brought her back the following summer and every summer since.
The ice cream bar ran completely separate from the general store and the restaurant, and Annie had been manning it single-handedly since she was 15. It was that summer that she had gracefully retired the older gentleman who had used to help out in his summers, freeing him for lazy days at the beach with his wife. Once Annie had taken over Mags hadn’t really had to consider the icecream bar since. Annie ran everything fastidiously, there were never any complaints, and if there were issues Annie would bring them to her attention in color coded notes.
However, tourism rates were up, and while the prior summer had seen Annie taking home astonishingly large tips, it also left her bone-tired and overwhelmed each night, with throngs of families, sunburned beachgoers, and hikers clogging the lawn and parking lot as they waited for and ate their treats.
So, while she had not been thrilled at the prospect of splitting her tips this summer, Annie had reluctantly agreed that she could use the help and had supported Mags in hiring another hand to help out. That was until she realized just who Mags had gone and hired.
“Finnick…. Finnick Odair ,” she spluttered, staring down at the name typed neatly across the printed schedule in her hands.
“That’s what his résume said,” Mags replied noncommittally, shrugging as she shuffled other papers around her desk.
“But- he… his family owns Odair Boating?! They own half the town, don't they even own the hotel across the way?” she said incredulously, looking up at Mags with a baffled look on her face. While mention of a boating shop might not sound impressive, in their quiet Maine town, it was the closest thing to royalty. The Odairs drew in a small fortune every summer from tourist rentals, and that wasn’t accounting for the near monopoly they held over all other boating and marine needs for the local population, which happened to include more than its fair share of fishermen.
Nocturne Bay had been a whaling town in its heyday, and though whales now roamed the waters without fear of a harpoon, money and business hadn’t moved far from the shore. That fact divided the town; the year-rounders were all locals, but the haves and have-nots rang clear. Those whose families worked in the tourist trade sitting at the top of that divided ladder.
Annie didn’t know Finnick well, but she knew him nonetheless. He was a year above her in school, but they had taken some extracurricular activities together during their time, and they had both been on the swim team for her first three years of high school. He was beautiful: chiseled abs, sun-kissed bronze hair, and bright sea-green eyes. He was charming, too, delivering each of his honey-coated quips and compliments with his signature smirk, emphasized by the singular deep dimple in his left cheek. She would give him that; he was gorgeous, but that was where her warm feelings for him ended.
Finnick and his pack of friends were a menace to the school and the town. They skipped class regularly, showed up to practice late, roughhoused in the halls, and all the things teenage boys got up to when they had nothing better to do and money to burn. Sometimes, when she was reading on the beach or up the bluffs before her shifts, she would see them flying by across the surface of the water on one of the Odairs or their other rich friends' boats or jet skis, clipping the waves, and screaming, beers in hand. She loathed them, especially when they came to Flanagan’s. They would always show up right before close in the summer, half of them drunk, half with sunburned girls she vaguely recognized from school hanging all over them. Despite their full wallets, they tipped terribly and left a mess strewn about in their wake.
Staring now at Finnick’s name on the schedule, she sighed. She had thought he had left, along with a lot of his usual pack. Most of them had departed for college the year prior, and Finnick had been abroad on a posh boy’s dream gap year trip. Or so she had heard. She hadn’t expected to see him back this summer; the Amalfi Coast was a far cry from the freezing ice cream bar at Flanagan’s, and she couldn’t imagine choosing the latter over the former. No matter what she thought of it, he clearly had, and he would be joining her that night for his first shift.
“You’re going to train him, alright Annie?” Mags said, standing slowly from her desk as Annie gaped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“Me?” she said, and Mags just laughed.
“Who else has been running the bar for the last three years?”
“Fair enough,” she muttered back, grinding the toe of her sneaker into the worn wooden planks of the office floor.
“Now enough moping, I know you can play nice kid,” Mags said, patting her hand as she bustled past her and out the door. Annie sighed again and nodded to herself. Yes, she could play nice. .
~~~~
“Finnick, this is Annie Cresta; she’s going to be training and supervising you,” Mags said in the way of introduction, gesturing from Finnick to Annie. Finnick seemed to have already made himself comfortable. As she walked in, she could see his relaxed posture, leaning against the metal rim of the ice cream bar, arms crossed as he regarded her through his unruly hair. It had grown since she had last seen him, and it fluttered down across his forehead and into his eyes.
“Well, a half-hour till open; good luck, you two!” Mags said, clapping her hands and beaming between them as she hurried out and back towards the main restaurant.
“Thanks, Mags!” Annie called after her, and Finnick cocked his head to the side the minutest bit at the nickname, but he made no comment.
“Finnick,” he said, extending a tanned hand in her direction. Annie’s eyes flickered from his hand to his face.
“Yes, I’m aware. We’ve met many times,” she replied flatly, though still returning his handshake with a firm grip, eyes locked on his.
“I know we have Annie , but never as coworkers,” he quipped, winking at her, and she grimaced. She hated the way he said her name Annie with a playful lilt no one used when they addressed her. Like she was a child.
“Annabel,” she countered, and let go of his hand, abruptly turning on him to begin preparing the toppings.
“Annabel?” he inquired, at her back.
“Yes, my friends and family call me Annie. You can call me Annabel,” she fired back, refilling the rainbow sprinkles as she turned her body, throwing him a bored glance over her shoulder. It thrilled her to see him look genuinely confused for once, no smug smile or winning one-liners here. It was a short-lived joy as his classic smirk slid swiftly back into place.
“So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh, Annie?”
“Well, as you said, we’re coworkers, not friends. So it’s Annabel,” she said, flashing him a wide, faux smile before turning away again. “Now, come over here so I can show you how to fill the toppings properly.”
~~~~
The first night of the season was mayhem, as it always was, and Annie could feel it in her arms by the end of the night. She always got more sore toward the beginning of the summer, when her arms had to relearn the toil of scooping for that many hours.
After the last customer, a middle-aged couple with an overtired and thoroughly sunburned toddler, meandered away, Annie shut the window and flipped the closed sign. Sighing heavily, she reached for a nearby rag, beginning to scrub at a stubborn stain that had formed on the counter at some point during the evening.
“Well, that was a rush!” Finnick declared from beside her, hopping up to sit near her on the counter, either not seeing or choosing to ignore the disgruntled look she made as he did
“Yep, opening is always hectic. But, don’t expect it to slow down much, not until mid-August at the earliest,” she said, focusing her attention on the stubborn dark stain.
She could see him nod out of the corner of her eye and then reach for the tip jar.
“And look at all these tips?! You must have made a killing here by yourself,” he said, shaking the large metal can and rattling the heavy amount of coins inside.
“I wish,” she muttered back, finally glancing over at him to find him already watching her; he was smiling, but there was a curious look in his eyes. One she wasn’t familiar with. She ignored it, and him, gently brushing his arm out of the way as she continued to scrub the counter. Finally taking the hint, he abandoned the jar and hopped down,
“So what’s next?” he asked, surveying the dirtied space with a glimmer in his eye.
“We clean,” she deadpanned back, glancing back and forth from the rag in her hand to his face. “Broom’s in the back corner.”
Then she turned back to the bar and listened to him silently follow her instructions.
~~~~~
The second night working with Finnick didn’t go very differently, it was bustling, the day before having been a scorcher that Annie spent down in the surf, gathering shells and reading by the waves. Her shoulders were now as red as her hair, and the raw skin grated uncomfortably against her t-shirt. She rubbed at her pink cheeks, feeling the heat of the sun reverberating in her burned skin, warm to the touch.
“Hot and bothered over there, Annie?” Finnick asked as he reached to flip the sign, beating her to it this time as she bristled.
“In a manner of speaking,” she deadpanned back, rolling her eyes, “And it’s Annabel.”
“Never heard of sunscreen?” He kept joking, leaning against the counter as she grabbed the broom to sweep the spilled toppings from the floor.
“Believe me I’m familiar, the sun just isn’t a huge fan of me, sunblock or not,” she said, refusing to meet his eye as she set to sweeping. She could hear him begin to bustle with something at the counter, but ignored him still, carefully shaking the dustbin over the trash.
Then she felt a sharp tap on her shoulder, and she whirled around, ready to snap at him for ignoring their tasks, holding them up from getting home.
“Cherry vanilla with chocolate sprinkles,” he said, holding a small cup of ice cream out to her. She stood there staring at him, still gripping the broom.
“How did you-?”
“You made one yesterday for yourself,” he replied with a wink, forcing the cup into her hands as he took the broom from her.
“And I got myself some-“
“Double chocolate chunk with marshmallows,” she interrupted, and now it was his turn to look shocked.
“You remember my order, Annie?”
“It’s kind of my job to… it’s also the hardest one to scoop, would never forget the person who orders that every single Goddamn time,” she said, frowning at the small smile spreading on his face. “And it’s Annabel .”
His voice overlapped with hers, and she nearly shivered. Damnit , his voice had the same thrilling impact even on the clumsy syllables of her long full name.
“Yes, I know, I know. Care to see the damage Annabel ,” he said, waggling the tip jar at her. “Looks pretty full tonight.”
“It’s always full,” she replied flippantly, brushing past him to wipe the finger-smudged window screen.
“Oh, come on, you have to admit, I’m good for business,” he japed, laying all of the bills and coins on the counter as he began to divide them into two piles.
“I didn’t realize flirting with the customers qualified as business,” she countered, raising an eyebrow at him as she glanced at him sidelong. He snorted at this.
“What is marketing? You know what they say? Sex sells.”
“Touché, though maybe you should let your loyal fan base know that,” she said, turning and pressing a cleaning rag into his chest. “I’ll spray the counters, you wipe.”
“Wait, wait! I’m nearly done sorting out the tips!” he said, quickly scooping the last few coins onto either pile. “Here.”
She accepted the haphazard pile he shoved into her free hand, cradling her ice cream in the other. Setting it down, she groped at the ground for her bag, yanking it up to stash the stack in her wallet. As she tucked it away, she counted it out. 15 dollars? That couldn’t be right, that was nearly the amount she was pocketing each night when she was working alone. Frowning into her wallet, she looked up.
“Finnick, this can’t be-“
“So are you going to spray the counters or not, here I thought we were a team!” he said, shaking his head at her as he smiled. Her frown deepened as she furrowed her brows at him.
She just couldn’t keep up with the guy, he was everything she thought and yet…
The first week with Finnick on staff passed relatively smoothly, they would bicker back and forth before, during, and after their shifts, but it was always lighthearted, almost playful. She nearly found herself missing the company on the shifts she worked alone. Nearly.
~~~~~
The beginning of the following week was shadowed by rain. As Annie biked into work, she swore to herself as the droplets began to fall, slow and fat at first, leaving the occasional large splotch on her shoulders. Just as she was reaching Flanagan’s, it began to pick up the pace, drizzling now and misting her already windswept hair in a blanket of rain and subsequent frizz. She abandoned her bike, not even bothering to lock it up, and sprinted inside.
“Woah, there!” Finnick yelled, already inside. He was always there before Annie, even if she was on time, which she hated to admit was rarely. She was an exceptionally organized person except when it came to her personal time. Sometimes a good book or often her own thoughts dragged her away into their thrall, and she found herself playing catch up with her day.
“What did you do- walk here?” he spluttered as she threw her wet bag to the ground and bustled to the sink, beginning to wring out her hair over the metal basin.
She rolled her eyes before she replied, “No, I biked. Not all of us have our own shiny sports cars.”
“Hey, I’ve seen you drive here before,” he countered, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he grinned at her.
“Yeah, well, my dad and I share the car, and he had somewhere to be today,” she replied vaguely, shrugging off her zip-up hoodie onto the nearby folding chair as she went to fetch her serving apron.
As she cinched the apron tie around her waist, Finnick knew that the conversation was over. Annie usually would banter back with some barb or another if she was open to entertaining the conversation, but she had shut him down.
It turned out the apron wouldn’t be much needed, as the rain continued business was crawling. After the second hour of barely any customers, Annie sighed and plopped herself down on her folding chair, fishing at her feet for her bag, which was still damp from the rain. Luckily, the book she had inside was still dry, and she quickly pulled it out and began to thumb through the pages to her carefully placed bookmark.
“What’s the book?” Finnick asked, he was slumped against the counter, toying with a napkin he was crafting into a flimsy paper airplane.
“The Bluest Eye,” she muttered back.
“That a romance?” he asked.
“No,” her gaze was heavy on him as she flipped the page, slowly looking back down at her book as she couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “It’s by Toni Morrison.”
They lapsed into silence for a while, with only the noise of Finnick’s fidgeting and the slow and methodical flipping of pages to fill the void.
Fully engrossed in her reading, Annie hardly noticed when Finnick suddenly stood and began bustling around the ice cream bar. She figured there must be a customer and left him to attend to it. As much as she found him bothersome, he really was pretty good at his job. Though she would never admit that to him .
“Cherry vanilla with chocolate sprinkles,” he said from above her, and she jumped in her seat, accidentally jerking her knee into his leg, sending the cup of ice cream he had prepared for her careening into her lap. Well, not her lap exactly, but more precisely into the pages of the book she had spread open in her lap.
“Ugh, Finnick!” she snapped, immediately leaping to her feet, her book falling to the floor as she tripped forward into his arms.
He caught her, steadying her on one broad forearm, which she swiftly pushed away as she ducked to grab her book. Kneeling down at his feet, she groaned as she lifted the paperback, which had fallen open to the dirty floor. Flipping it over in her hands, she could see the heavy smear of ice cream coating the thin and rapidly weakening pages.
“I’ll get you a new one, a new book, Annie, really,” he said, trying to discern her emotions through her mane of thick red hair, obscuring her.
“You can’t,” she replied in a small voice, looking up at him at last, through the rouge strands scattered across her face.
“It’s just a book,” he scoffed, “I can buy you another one, a newer copy with better cover art.”
He tried to smile at her but she just scowled in return and stood abruptly, though she was shorter than him, now she stood nearly even to him, and she seemed even taller the way she jutted out her jaw and looked up at him, squarely in the eye.
“You can’t replace it, and it’s Annabel,” she said, her blue gaze impenetrable on his face. For once, he faltered, but when he moved to say something more, she had already brushed past him with her book, heading for the door that led into the restaurant.
~~~~~
The following shift Annie was set to work alone, the weather was still as bleak as the day before and Mags had insisted they only needed one person, even though it was Sunday. So Annie arrived at an unusually dark and silent ice cream bar. She hated to admit it, but she had grown accustomed to the inviting glow that Finnick brought with him and his early arrivals. As she unlocked the back door, she noticed something wedged between the bike rack and the wall, and she reached behind to pull it free. It was a black backpack emblazoned with the Nocturne High Whaler’s emblem. Frowning, she unzipped the bag, revealing a set of two books and a plastic bag full of loose change. She tugged the books free, revealing two brand new copies of both “The Bluest Eye” and “The Song of Solomon,” with crisp pages and uncracked spines. Pinned to the plastic bag was a note written in a hasty scratching script, almost elegant but just slightly too aggressive.
“You said I can’t replace it…. so I did more.”
She felt a tiny smile tug the corners of her mouth before quickly quelling it to bite at her cheeks nervously.
The note and the books were cute, if unnecessary, but the change was almost insulting, that was, if she wasn’t five dollars behind on tips. She pocketed the small bag anyway and shook her head, going to unlock the door. Finnick Odair was going to be the death of her if she wasn’t careful.
~~~~~
The next weekend came quickly, Annie worked most of the week alone. Finnick had called out at the last second, no doubt off jetting or yachting in some place with beaches that were more sand than rock, where the air was perfumed with palms and tropical flowers rather than the stink of fish and brine dredged in by the boats docking in the harbor.
Annie hadn’t minded the quiet, pocketing hefty tips each night and reading her new books in her peaceful moments.
Now Friday had rolled around again, the final week of June loomed before her, hot and busy like the impending independence holiday just on the horizon. The 4th of July was always a busy day and week for Nocturne Bay, the swarms of people only rivaled in their noise and busyness by the absolute spectacle of fireworks that the town put on.
~~~~~~
Annie picked noncommittally at her sandwich. She knew she should finish before her shift, but the crusty bread and heat-limp lettuce coating her deli meat were less than appetizing. She was in the process of carefully scraping off the surplus of mayo she had accidentally added when her dad entered the room.
Howard Cresta was a lanky middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a wan olive-skinned face. He was an English professor at the local university, about a twenty-minute drive from town, and had been busy that summer teaching three summer courses. A workload that had him away for long hours and left him and his hair growing ever thinner.
“Annie…” he said, announcing her name to the otherwise empty room, and she glanced up at him, noting the almost waxen quality of his skin and the hollow space under his eyes.
“Dad?”
“Annie… we-I. Your mom is moving,” he said, and for a moment, Annie just blinked because that couldn’t be possible. It was, in fact, impossible for her mother to be moving. Her mother didn’t make any choices, EVER, not her clothes or hair, her food, or the places she went, let alone where she lived. And that was because Catriona Cresta lived in a mental health facility. Or that was what Annie and her father called it; other people had less savory terms for it —the insane asylum, the loony bin, the madhouse. Annie had heard them all.
“Dad, what do you mean? Is Mom leaving? Is she coming home?” she asked, her sandwich at once forgotten as she stood, almost defensively, with her arms crossed and her jaw set.
“No, she’s not,” he replied slowly and utterly too vague for Annie’s liking.
“Well then, what on earth could you possibly mean by that?” she snapped.
“Tone, Annabel,” he shot back, and she looked down at her feet, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as if that could keep her angry words inside.
“Your mother,” he ran a hand down his face, and Annie could feel the near-contagious exhaustion in his voice, permeating the air and making her own head heavy and her bones weak. “I don’t have the money anymore. Your Grandfather helped pay for some, but with him gone all the expenses. I don’t- we don’t have the money for Victory Village anymore.”
Annie swallowed hard. Victory Village was the facility her mother lived at, a more expensive and, as a result, a more accommodating, safe, and well-respected care center for people with disabilities and psychological disturbances. Annie hated the place; it was so sterile and cold, but it was better than the other alternatives. State facilities were known for their lack of care and brutality. Most people didn’t bat an eye at it, but Annie and her father knew better, and so, even with their lack of wealth, had forked over the substantial fees each year to keep Catriona at Victory.
“What do you mean our expenses? Where will she go?” she asked, voice quivering.
“The house, and school, the repairs. I mean, that spring storm nearly wiped the back porch clean off,” her father explained, voice hollow.
“School? Dad, I told you, I’ll pay for it! Don’t set aside money for that,” she contested, moving toward him as he let out a heavy sigh.
“That’s too much money, and you know it. However much Mags pays you isn’t enough to cover tuition, housing, and books. I’m a professor, you think I don’t know?”
“Then I just won’t go! I’ll take a gap year, plenty of people do it. Finnick did one!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Annabel. What would your mother say, your grandfather? School is a nonnegotiable, and we are not the Odairs.”
“But I’ll work, I won’t be traveling, I’ll get a second job!” Annie cried out, but her father was already turning away and leaving the room.
“This isn’t a discussion, Annabel; at the end of the summer, your mother will be relocating to the Augusta Mental Health Institute,” her father said, and Annie could feel her blood run cold. She knew they had both heard horror stories about Augusta. Not to mention while Victory Village was a fifteen minute drive, Augusta was a much greater distance away.
“You can’t just do this; she’s my mom! Augusta is an hour from here!” she yelled at his retreating back, and he paused but didn’t turn around.
“And she’s my wife ,” he replied, and she could hear the strangled vice of pain in his voice. A pain that he rarely, if ever, let her see, and then he was gone. Annie collapsed back into her chair, shoving her still-full plate away from her. Staring at the wooden table, she stood abruptly again, running to the back door, slipping on her waiting sandals, and grabbing her bag from the shell-shaped peg by the door before retreating to the shore. She had an hour before work, and at this hour, by the tide pools, only the waves would hear her cry.
~~~~
Annie was nearly silent at her shift that evening, she said a brief greeting to Finnick who seemed less than impressed by her lackluster mood. She set to tasking, scooping, and decorating while Finnick did the talking. Normally, she would fight him for the role, but she didn’t have the energy.
In a brief lull between customers, Finnick seized her by the elbow, giving her pause as she accidentally dropped her ice cream scooper. Cursing, she bent to grab it for cleaning, but Finnick beat her to it, pocketing the soiled scooper into the ample pocket on his apron while fetching her another from the drawer.
“What is with you?” he asked, pressing the cool metal handle into her grasp, and she flushed at the veiled accusation, avoiding his penetrating bottle-green gaze.
“Nothing, I’m tired,” she said half-heartedly, turning away.
“Too tired to comment on my Bermuda bronze or the ear piercing?!” he exclaimed, blocking her way, leaning heavily on the counter in front of her, boxing her in at the ice cream tubs.
“Bermuda bronze, what are you; a nail polish color?” she snapped, and he grinned.
“Exactly!” he cried out, and she almost cracked a grin, but it slumped when thoughts of her mother drifted in her mind yet again. She needed to be working, earning tips, changing her father’s mind and her mother’s fate not entertaining Finnick Odair.
“I think that’s the gay ear, by the way,” she murmured under her breath as she finally managed to shove past him. She just couldn’t help herself.
“There is no gay ear,” he scoffed.
“I don’t know…” she sing-songed out, and then grasped his hand intimately, her fingers caressing his palm as she pulled him close. “But thank you for sharing this with me, it means a lot.”
Her face was close to his, her clear blue eyes flicking from his earring to his face. She could have sworn he was blushing, but it was also stifling in there, and Finnick didn’t blush. His lips parted, and his eyes didn't leave her face. Then, just as quickly as she had grabbed him, she released, withdrawing her hand with a gentle pat as she waltzed away. He was silent for a minute, utterly unlike himself, before he seemed to regain his usual fire.
“Hey, what is the gay ear!” he hollered after her as she grabbed the trash from beside the door, disappearing out the back door.
~~~~~
The rest of the week went much the same. Annie was quiet and subdued, a state that Finnick seemed hell-bent to rile her out of. But she remained silent, not to mention she just couldn’t be bothered to eat when she was nauseous at just the thought of each passing day, and she couldn’t sleep either. Two conditions that Finnick’s jokes could do nothing about.
When Friday rolled around, Annie braced herself for another shift of Finnick’s pestering, a welcome if grating change from the silence of her home. She and her father hadn’t spoken so much as two words since the argument, and it was growing isolating. Her father was always busy in the summer, but now he avoided her even when he was home. This forced silence was only leading to further problems, one of those taking the shape of an empty driveway. Annie and her father may have shared the car, but they had agreed that when the weather was bad, she could take it to work, and he would carpool with a coworker. Today, there was a hurricane warning, and despite the angry clouds and warnings blaring over the TV and radio, Flanagan’s was open.
“Then we’ll be the only place open for the tourists to get food from, it’s genius!” Mags had declared earlier that week. Yeah, thought Annie, evil genius. Made even more evil by her sudden lack of transport. Groaning, she tromped back inside, switching her sandals for wellies and her hoodie for a raincoat as she marched towards the shed that held her bike. She knew, rationally, she could call her father, but then she would be late. She could call Finnick, his number hanging on a fold-creased note taped to the fridge. But that would be humiliating entirely, whether or not he showed up. A question for which she didn't want the answer.
The wind whipped her mercilessly, but the rain was yet to fall, and so she arrived to work, cheeks ruddied but entirely dry. As she wandered in, she found Finnick already there, just inside the door, seeming to watch her arrival. He was staring past her with an annoyed expression, jaw tense, a look that was entirely foreign on his face (though not unbecoming).
“You biked here?” he snapped, and she jumped at the harshness of his voice.
“Yeah?” her reply pitched, uncertain at how to reply to an upset Finnick, turning her answer into a question itself.
“I know you have a car, I’ve seen you drive here,” he shot back.
“Yes, but my dad and I share. Remember?”
“There’s a hurricane warning,” he replied, folding his arms over his chest.
“Yes,” she replied again, eyes downturned, and she shed her raincoat, shoving past him.
“You think rainboots can defend you from a hurricane?” he called after her, his joking tone slowly seeping back into his voice as she ignored him.
“God, just- at least eat this,” he said, catching her by the shoulder and shoving a wrapped sandwich into her hands.
“What?” she said, looking up at him and that foreign near stern expression.
“You haven’t been bringing anything,” was all he replied, “I’m going to ask Mags about restocking the syrups.”
Just like that Annie was left staring after his retreating back, sandwich in hand.
~~~~~
The evening was passing slowly, only growing darker with each hour, the clouds eclipsing any sunshine that might be warring its way through. Fifteen minutes prior, sheets of rain had begun to fall, coupling with the howling wind for a foreboding combination. As the clock neared, 8 Mags came bustling into their domain, frowning at where Finnick was perched on the counter (from which he immediately jumped down)>
“It looks like the storm may touch ground after all, I want you kids clearing out of here, alright?” she said. Annie nodded as Finnick cast her a side-long glance.
“Sounds good, be safe, Mags,” she replied.
“You too, sweetie,” she said, flashing her a warm smile before returning to the main restaurant. It was only as she had fully left them that Finnick turned squarely to her, raising an eyebrow.
“Be safe? On that little scrap of metal. You’ll be like the Wizard of Oz out there,” he said, jerking his head out to the storming conditions through the window. “Why not ask her for a ride?”
“She lives just around back, and she’s not a steady driver, I don’t want her to be put in that situation,” she argued.
“Your situation,” he replied softly, and she glared at him, turning to snatch up her coat from the back of her chair.
“Hey, lucky for you I happen to be a very steady driver with an out-of-this-world brand new 83’ Chevy parked out back.”
“I’m not asking for a ride,” she snapped.
“I know, I’m offering,”
“And I’m declining,” she countered, storming towards the door.
“And I’m insisting,” he said, hand gripping her forearm like a vice in a way that finally stilled her. She glowered up at him.
“I’m not asking,” he said, grinning cheekily down at her in that way that made his dimple deepen. Then he was steering her out the door. “Prepare to get a little wet.
~~~~~
Finnick’s truck smelled like him: sand, salt, sandalwood, and the faintest bit of whatever aftershave he used. His truck was also shiny like him, truly brand new as he had attested, with a perfect paint job, immaculate interior (besides a light dusting of sand on the floors and upholstery), and a slowly growing collection of pine tree-shaped air fresheners on his mirror.
“Cedar Point Rd?” he asked, and she tore her gaze from the lightly swinging trees.
“Yes, how do you know that?” she asked, and he just shrugged.
“Swim carpool; your house is up on the hill overlooking the cliffs with the pink shutters and the mailbox with the butterfly. Hard to miss.”
She nodded and tucked one leg up to her chest as she stared out at the bucketing rain. Her mother had painted the shutters and the butterfly. That shade of pink had been her favorite when she was 6.
As they neared her home, the storm only got worse, and just as they were approaching the turn-off to her road, Finnick’s tires gave a squeal as he slammed on the brakes. The entire road before them was flooded, murky stormwater flowing at an increasing pace.
“Flooded,” he said, eyeing the mess as she rolled her eyes.
“Thanks, captain obvious,” she muttered, and he laughed.
“There isn’t another way up though, is there?” he asked, and she shook her head, biting her lower lip. Her Dad was likely home already, wondering where she was. He was going to be so pissed.
“Just um- drive me back to Flanagan’s, I’ll stay at Mags’.”
He just scoffed, though he was already doing a U-turn in the middle of the road.
“I’m not driving you all the way back there; the roads might just get worse. My place is just a little ways back. You can just come with me.”
Oh .
~~~~~
As they pulled into the massive multi-car garage at Finnick’s, Annie had to stamp down the twinge of disgust that bubbled in her chest. It wasn’t that the home wasn’t beautiful, even through the encroaching dark and the sheets of rain, it was beautiful. The outside gleamed a pristine white with fresh siding that wasn’t peeling or faded like her home. The windows though were cavernous in their darkness, she didn’t think she had seen a single light on in the entire vast expanse of house.
As they parked, Annie shook herself from her thoughts, fetching her bag from her feet as she scrambled for the door handle to follow Finnick. They walked past a new Lexus and a BMW as they headed through the garage, wet shoes squeaking on the cement floors. Finnick armed the alarm beside the door, and then fumbled in his pocket for keys, opening the door with a flourish as he sauntered inside. A king in his castle, he tossed his keys to a waiting table as he kicked off his sneakers to the floor of the mudroom.
“Leave anything wet here,” he said, nodding to her shoes, bag, and jacket. She yanked at her jacket, leaving it hanging, dripping from a peg on the wall, and lined her shoes up with his as she padded behind him in her socks.
The inside of the home was just as impressive as the outside as Finnick went along, flicking on each light, illuminating their way to his kitchen. It was as cold inside as it looked outside, with gusting AC leaving her damp frame shivering.
“You like burgers? I can whip us up some. There should be some stuff in the fridge,” he called over his shoulder, making his way to an impressively sized fridge. He swung it open, poking around inside. It looked fully stocked, nearly untouched, and as he came forth with uncooked patties, lettuce, onion, and tomato, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her watching him. She looked down, embarrassed to have been caught.
“Sorry,” she murmured, almost unused to the attention after a near week of solitude.
“What? You’re freezing,” he muttered, walking toward her as she trembled. “I’ll be right back hold on.”
Then he was gone, and she was left standing in Finnick Odair’s kitchen, pink burgers on the counter. He returned quickly, a large sweatshirt and sweatpants in hand, which he shoved in her own roughly.
“Put these on, and I’ll get started on dinner,” he said, turning back as he readied the stove, “And I’m sorry, I like to keep the place cold, rarely others to complain.”
She frowned at this but nodded, “I’ll be right back,” she supplied instead of the questions bubbling inside her, and she retreated down the hall to a nearby bathroom she had spied on the way in.
As she shimmied out of her jean shorts and into the oversized sweats, she was struck with that aroma again of windy beach days, tall Maine trees, and learning to tie fisherman’s knots with her grandpa. Before she could stop herself, she breathed in a deep inhale of the sweatshirt. Nostalgia perfumed her in the form of a stranger, and for a moment, she felt the somber resolution of her week teeter and crack, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks in salty tears. But then she was back, breathing in deeply and stealing her lungs against the fragrance of memories of those loved. Instead, she tugged the sweatshirt on and, shorts in hand, padded back to the kitchen.
The air out there smelled of July cookouts, and Finnick was singing softly to himself at the stove, spinning around as he cooked.
“Hey,” she said weakly, trying not to startle him as she slid into a high chair at the massive granite counter.
“Do you usually cook?” she asked, peering over the counter at him as she tucked her legs up to her chest. When he turned around to reply, he paused for a second, staring at her there, sitting at the counter in his sweats, damp hair tumbling over her shoulders.
“I- um,” he said, stumbling over his words, looking utterly un-Finnick as he mused his hair with a hand, “I do, yeah, though usually only for myself.”
“Do your parents travel a lot?” she asked, and he laughed.
“If you call running off with the pool boy traveling, then yeah my mom is pretty well traveled,” Finnick said wryly and Annie flushed scarlet, “But my dad does it for work, not the bedroom kind I should clarify.”
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me to ask,” she said, ducking her head to hide her flaming face behind her equally red hair.
“Hey, I answered,” he replied with a shrug and went back to cooking his burgers. “And I should clarify it wasn’t the pool boy; it was her yoga instructor. How classic, huh?”
“Practicing flexibility in more ways than one,” she muttered, and then clapped a hand over her mouth as Finnick whirled around, eyes wide. She expected him to be mad and insulted, but he just grinned and let out a surprised laugh.
“There she is, I’ve missed you this week. Lettuce and tomato?” he asked, sliding a plated burger in front of her as he shut off the burner.
“Both, please. And what do you mean?” she replied.
“I mean, you’ve been, I don’t know, nicer this week. Going soft on me, Annie?” he asked, adding the toppings she requested as he winked.
“It’s Annabel , and no, not for a second,” she said back, sliding the burger towards her as he smiled wider.
“Bold of you to say that while wearing my sweatshirt,” he fired back, waggling his eyebrows as she groaned.
“Yes, because game is always measured in the amount of clothes you can put on a girl, right?” she quipped. “Before we eat, can I use your phone?”
He snorted again at her joke and then pointed lazily to a shell-pink receiver mounted on the wall by the fridge.
“Be my guest.”
She slipped from her chair and padded to the phone, punching the clicky buttons of her home phone in and then sighing as she listened to the dial tone. Her father answered after one ring.
“Annabel?” he asked urgently, and she smiled softly.
“Hi Dad.”
“Where are you?! It’s storming, did Mags keep you, are you at Flanagan’s or her place?’
“No, Dad, I’m at Finnick’s,” she replied, and she could hear his sharp breath on the other end.
“Odair’s? What the hell are you doing there?” he asked, and she was shocked at the bruskness of his tone.
“He offered me a ride home but the road was flooded, his house is closer to ours than Flanagan’s, so we’re just waiting it out here,” she replied.
“Annabel… I- alright. So you went back with the young man to his home right as he suggested it?”
“Dad?! We work together, what are you insinuating?” she snapped and her dad sighed again.
“Oh, Annie, I know you, sweetie, but I also know boys,” he said, voice tired but patient. “Just please, if he asks you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, you can-”
“Dad! Whatever, I can’t even have this conversation right now with you. I’ll see you as soon as the road is passable,” she said, flustered as she cut him off.
“Alright, alright. Just be careful, Annie,” he said and then the line went dead. Confused and red in the face, she hung up the receiver and turned to a curious-looking Finnick perched in the chair beside hers, mouth full of burger. As she approached, he swallowed and flashed a shit-eating grin.
“Your Dad certainly seems to think I’m charming,” he said, and she groaned, swatting his arm as she reclaimed her seat and her burger.
“Yeah, he’s also an English professor who probably has more experience with fictitious characters than real people,” she muttered.
“And you are the hapless heroine in the arms of the big bad man,” he teased her, nudging her, “shacking up in my manor.”
He said it all with an air of faux pomp and circumstance mixed with scandal. She rolled her eyes and snorted.
“I think I’m a little more of a tragic character in my father’s eyes,” she mused, picking the edge of her lettuce to bits in her hand.
“Tragic?” Finnick asked, already finished with his burger when she had barely started, angeled back in his chair now to fully look at her.
“I mean it's in the name. Annabel Lee, ring a bell, junior year English class?” she said, and she watched as his eyes lit up.
“That Poe poem! Wow, he really did set you up, huh?”
“You could say that,” she muttered back.
Just as they were finishing up, the lights flickered above them, giving Annie a second to stare up at the intricate light fixtures for just a moment before she was plunged into darkness.
“Well… only one thing to do now,” Finnick said, and abandoning their plates, still dirty, in the kitchen, he seized her hand and dragged her deeper into the darkened house.
He was making a beeline for the back, throwing open a closet door on the way, snatching up a large lantern that lit the rest of their way to an enclosed greenhouse. Finnick tossed open the door, and the thunder of the pounding rain and the roiling waves down at the near coast filled the room.
“Whenever the power went out when I was little from a storm, my mom would take me out here to watch the storm. The good drinks are also out here, so maybe that was more what she was watching,” he teased, wandering through the moonlit room, shadow long across the floor, drawn narrow and dark from the slanting of the lamplight. “Do you drink? Sometimes you strike me as a bit of a goodie-two-shoes.”
She didn’t drink, not really, but she felt the sudden compulsion to lie.
“Whiskey, neat,” she said swiftly, and he raised a brow and smiled.
“Alright,” he grabbed two glasses and began to pour over at the bar before making his way back to her. “Now for the best part.”
He guided her to the couch nearest to the glass walls, overlooking the water, and she was transfixed by the whitecaps below, higher and stronger than any she had ever seen so near.
“Cheers,” he said, passing her her glass and clinking them gently. He took a swig of his amber beverage, and she followed suit, holding in the cough that threatened her burning throat after.
“Smooth,” she said, a word she had heard her father use time and again, and he nodded appreciatively at her.
And so they sat, sipping whiskey and watching the storm. Annie could feel herself growing warm from the whiskey's effects even as the wind whipped colder as the hours grew later.
“Isn’t it ever lonely?” the warmth in her chest and face compelled her to ask, and he looked at her sidelong as if sizing her up to answer his own question.
“Sometimes,” he said first, and then he swirled the contents of his glass before nodding, “Often.”
“But… I don’t see why you would be alone, you- your family, you have so much how could you not have… I don’t know, anything?”
“You can’t buy friends Annie, that’s illegal,” he countered playfully.
“ Annabel . And, you have plenty of friends,” she pushed back, “I’ve seen you with them all over.”
“Do I?” he ask,d and she fell silent. Only he could answer that.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll make friends at school. You’re going to U Maine, right?” she said, smiling at him.
“Yeah, you too?” he asked, and her smile wavered.
“Hopefully,” was all she replied.
“Hopefully? Weren’t you in like the top ten of your class?”
“Yeah,” she continued with one-word replies, eyes suddenly distant, and he pulled back.
“Well, then I’ll have a friend there for sure,” he replied, and she grinned.
“Well, if we are friends, then I guess you can call me Annie. But you’re on a trial period,” she said, and he guffawed.
“A trial period?!”
“Mhm, so don’t fuck it up, or it will be Annabel to you for the rest of your life.”
“Those are some serious stakes,” he murmured gravely, but his dimple was flashing on his cheek.
More silence stretched between them before another question bubbled up in her chest.
“Why are you working at Flanagan’s anyways?”
“Honestly, my dad. He wants me to learn work ethic and responsibility and says I was a slacker. Said I need to be a man, I need to prove myself if I ever want to take over the family business someday. So… I got the job. Says we need to lead by intention, and so to be a hard worker, I need to do hard work.”
“Makes sense, I suppose,” she replied with a shrug, and he nodded, sipping his whiskey slowly.
“My grandpa was kind of like that, said there is intention to just about everything in the world. People, animals, nature,” she said, gesturing to the storm beyond their safe little keep. “Always said you learn the most by watching and taking it all in.”
“He’s right,” Finnick mused, watching her as she watched the waves.
“There’s never a rogue storm,” she murmured, suddenly lost in thoughts of her grandfather, and Finnick nodded again.
“No… there’s not,” he agreed, slowly shifting to stare back out at the water. “Not really.”