Finn survived the facials and the pedicures and I learned he was ticklish when a pumice stone was scrubbed along the bottom of his foot. He wasn't expecting it and almost took the poor technician out with his foot. 

He had a glow about him when we entered the tea room and he seemed more relaxed and settled into his surroundings. 

"How do you feel?" I ask with a coy smile as we wait for our table. He looks down at me and takes in a deep breath. 

"I didn't hate it." 

 I giggle, "I'll take it! That was the bar I set for today." I reach up and stroke his short dark beard with my hand. 

"So soft." He follows my lead and slides his hand down the side of his face. "Do you ever shave all this off or do you look weird without the stubble?" 

"I clean up for occasions, it just grows so fast it's pointless to shave every day." 

"That's how I feel about my leg hair," I mumble and he glances toward my legs. I laugh again and shake my head, "I obviously shaved for today. I was getting everything lasered off for a while, but I missed my last appointment."

"Lasered?" He asks skeptically. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Like a bitch. Especially the bikini area. So worth it though, you'll see," I say with a wink and he just smiles and shakes his head at me. I really am a tease. 

The hostess comes over and leads us over to a low table only about two feet off the ground and instructs us to get cozy on the pillows piled around the floor. Finn's massive legs barely tuck under him and I suppress a laugh as he tries to fit under the small table. 

"I didn't know tea was served like this," I tell him and he looks way too big for the space. There is no way his legs are going to sit criss-cross applesauce. 

"We drink tea here? Like this?" He asks, once again with an expression that makes it seem like he thinks the idea is nuts. 

"Yes, and we have little sandwiches and scones. Tiny little desserts."

"I'm shocked you are eating any of that," he says and attempts to readjust his legs again. 

"I know, cucumber sandwiches are normally served on white bread with cream cheese, but they are my weakness. I can eat like forty of them."

"I know what I will meal prep for next week then," he jokes but I would actually be stoked to have a pile of cucumber sandwiches waiting for me in the fridge every time I opened it. 

Our server drops off the tea menu and after scanning the four pages, Finn looks at me and says, "Just pick one for me."

"Well, what do you like? Fruity? Spicy? Minty?" 

He stares off and then says, "It's tea. It all tastes like weird water."

I gasp dramatically as I place my hand over my heart. 

"Finn I don't-know-your-middle-name Weston, how can you say that?" I joke and he shrugs. "Tea is unique and delicious. Why do you think there are four pages of it in here."

"I like iced tea. No sweet tea though," he says and then adds, "And it's Andrew." 

"Finn Andrew Weston. I like it." 

"It's actually Finnigan Andrew Weston," he confesses and I eye him in surprise. He nods, "Yep, and Cade is Caden and Mel is Melanie. No idea why my mother wanted us to have longer names, but never call us by them." 

"My mother named me after my grandmother because she said she was so hopped up on pain meds during birth, she couldn't remember any other name. She just kept calling me Sadie during labor and it stuck."

He smiles, "Seriously? What is your middle name then?"

This is where I can start being honest. I can start to drop the nuggets of truth right here so it's easier later. 

"Alabama."

"Hmm," he says, surprised at my answer. "Sadie Alabama Melvin. Where did she get Alabama from?"

"A movie. I guess she and my father went and saw True Romance together the weekend he knocked her up. That's the only hint I have as to who he is and she said it's the only memory she really has of that weekend."

He stares at me as he digests what I told him and Mark gave me a similar look when I told him the same thing years ago. I have no idea what look he'll give me when I finally confess to him that Alabama is not just my middle name anymore but my entire alter-ago. 

The waitress comes over to take our order and I decide on a simple orange white tea for Finn and I order a jasmine green. I hand her our little booklets and she saunters off to go prepare our teapots. 

I look at Finn and say, "Strawberry Days is tomorrow. What should I expect?"

He leans back into his mound of sage-colored pillows while he thinks. 

"Well, that's a great question for a couple of reasons because I also want to know how you want to play this." He points between him and me. 

"What do you mean?"

"Am I picking you up and taking you as a date? Do you want me to come to your grandmother's thing?"

I hadn't thought about it. We'll be in front of everyone and their prying eyes tomorrow. 

"I definitely don't want to do the bench thing alone," I state and then think about how I want to walk around with Finn tomorrow. I have no real reason why we can't be how we are. Hand holders and smitten kittens. I then shrug and ask, "I don't know. Is your family going to be there? Friends? Do you want to hang with me or..."

"Of course I do, but yeah, my family is going to be there and my sister will pester you with a million questions because that's what Mel does. I just don't want you to feel like I am having you meet my family you know?" 

Of course he doesn't. That would be a boyfriend thing to do. Something that implies we're serious enough to meet the family and parade me around town as his. Summer flings don't meet the family.

"Oh, no I don't see it that way. I mean, I already met Cade. You can now tell him that we are friends and he'll believe you," I joke and Finn nods but he doesn't smile. I quickly add, "But it's also whatever you are comfortable with. If you want to play this casual and play some games together I am good with that too."

"No Sades, we have to win the games," he says and his playful tone is back. I don't know where he went in his head for that brief moment, but I wonder if he also felt me meeting the family was too serious of a thing for him. I guess we'll see how he interacts with me in front of them tomorrow. And in front of Layla and Matty. If he suddenly only seems handsy in front of those two I might flip out. 

"So I should probably not wear wedges then tomorrow?" I ask and point toward my feet. 

"Definitely not. Wear tennis shoes, your little short shorts, and something you won't melt in because it's going to be hell hot tomorrow."

The waitress interrupts by dropping our teapots down in front of us and Finn looks at it like it's a foreign object. She starts the steeping timers and then another waitress appears behind her with our three-tiered tea tray. 

She points to the bottom tier and points out the different scones with jams, then moves to the middle tier to point out the cucumber sandwiches cut into neat triangles and chicken salad sandwiches cut into perfect squares. She then moves to the top and names all the little cakes, macarons, and custards that sit elegantly on the small plate. 

"I heard chicken," Finn jokes and then reaches for a small sandwich. "I might need twelve of these trays if the sandwiches are this small."

"The scones are always surprisingly filling," I tell him and then reach for the one she said was blueberry. "Now there is a proper way to eat this by the way." I slide the clotted cream and jam over to me and show him how to layer the spreads properly. I pop it into my mouth and pretend to have an orgasm. 

"Guess I gotta prep cucumber sandwiches and blueberry scones," he says with a grin and I nod in agreement. "Are you going to really learn how to make jam from Donna Quinn? Seems like you need it for your scones."

"I actually would like to learn how to make jam. That can be the one thing of Sadie's that I can pass on." I pop another chunk of scone into my mouth and it really is good. 

"Does her name stop with you then?" He asks as he digs into another sandwich. I swipe a cucumber one and before I bite into it I nod, "Yeah, maybe as a middle name, but I am not naming my daughter Sadie. No matter how hopped up I am on pain pills."

He grins and with a smile playing on his lips he says, "For some reason, I was obsessed with the name Frank when I was little. I called everything Frank and said I was going to name my son Frank when I had one. I would never name my son Frank now."

I laugh as I lean back into my pillows and say, "No, I don't think I can imagine calling a teenie baby boy, Frank." 

"As a thirty-three-year-old, I wouldn't want to be called Frank." 

Before I reach for another triangle, I cautiously ask, "Do you see yourself with kids? Or is your niece enough for you?"

He slides a scone out as he says, "Oof, I dunno. It depends if I could find a woman I could commit to for eighteen years. That's the part that seems impossible." My ovaries quickly deflate and I won't push the topic again. "But you want kids right? That was a big factor in the divorce?"

I wonder how to answer this question so he doesn't think I am on a mission to make him a baby daddy. Even though his dark hair paired with my green eyes and lashes would be a beautiful baby. 

"Yeah, I do. When the time is right. I'm in no rush, but, my thirtieth birthday is looming so I know I need to start taking the idea more seriously."

"When do you turn thirty?" 

"August third."

"Are you going to be in Arkansas for that or are your friends throwing you a big thing back home?" He asks and I hadn't thought about it. Bellamy and Drew mentioned Mexico or Greece to celebrate but that was before I knew I inherited the house. Since then, a dirty thirty hasn't been mentioned. 

"I don't know. My court date is August tenth. So, it might just depend if I am ready to be back in L.A by then. Or wait a week and celebrate it out here. Maybe bingo night will be that week."

He looks at me reluctantly and then asks, "You want to spend your thirtieth birthday at a bingo hall with a dozen senior citizens? I don't even think they allow alcohol in."

"Well, I haven't seen a Chuck E. Cheese yet," I kid and pluck the glass custard jar off the top rack. 

"If you decide to stay in Magnolia for your birthday, we'll have to think of something cool to do. Unless your heart is set on bingo," he teases and then snatches the small brownie off the tray. I raise an eyebrow at him and my spoon full of lemon custard hovers next to my lips as I say, "You think you'll still like me enough in a month to come to my birthday party?"

He leans against the pillows with a blueberry scone in his hand as he replies, "I worry I am going to like you too much by then. Can you imagine me trying to find you a present?"

I giggle, surprised by his answer. 

"Life Alert seemed to be something you were eager to get me."

"Ah yes, done. I'll make sure to put a bow on it." He grins at me and downs another brownie. 

"Did you just eat the last brownie?" I gasp as I glance at the dessert tier. His guilty expression answers my question. "Finn!"

"You said you don't eat sugar! Which also is going to make it impossible to get you a birthday cake."

"I sometimes dabble in sugar."

"Oh, you dabble? Like it's a drug or a hobby?"

I snatch the raspberry macaron away before his meaty hands can grab it and say, "Sugar is like a drug for me. Which is why I usually stay far away from it."

"But today is a special occasion? Or you just like mini desserts?"

"I discovered you are ticklish, your imaginary son is called Frank, you have like twenty tattoos, and you are kind of sort of starting to like me," I list out and then add, "Today is special."

"Hey whatever gets you to eat," he says and then I stuff the macaron in my mouth. It's so fucking good. Sometimes I wish I could just not care about what I eat. Just eat the fucking brownie without counting calories or grams of sugar. 

As I am sipping my tea to wash down the sweets, Finn's eyes pop over to me and he says, "And Sadie?"

I look at him with my teacup covering half of my face. 

"I'm sitting on the floor, eating miniature foods, slathered in about twelve different oils drinking orange water. I more than kind of sort of like you." I swallow hard and he picks up his own cup, not holding it by the dainty handle but as if it were a pint glass. His confession surprises me. Maybe I am more than just someone he wants to hook up with. Maybe all this energy he is putting into this isn't just about getting me into his bed for the summer. 

"I wore rubber pants and am going to play lawn games with you tomorrow in reasonable shoes. I think I might more than kind of sort of like you too."

"Well obviously," he jokes. "I made you a weeks worth of food and proved your attic isn't haunted. I bet you're head over heels." I want to agree with him and tell him I am about there but instead, I poke him a bit more and say, "I let you rub mud on my boobs and fish for three hours alone in silence. I know you're drooling."

"Oh none of that is what got me drooling," he teases back and he leans forward into the table. I set my teacup on the saucer, intrigued, and ask, "Oh no? Then what was it? The short shorts?" 

He grins, "No." He is enjoying watching me squirm in the suspense and I eye him again, begging for him to spill. "It was listening to you sing so off-key on the way to the river." My jaw drops as a stunned laugh escapes me. 

"I wasn't off-key!"

"Oh baby, you were so off-key. And I loved it." I lean against the pillows as I die of laughter and embarrassment. I wasn't trying to sing well! I was just singing along to the songs. 

"So not the boobs or the shorts. It's my awful singing voice that did you in?" I jokingly ask as I shake my head. "Glad to know you're not all about my looks then."

He grabs another sandwich before saying, "Oh, you're hot as fuck but no, I just like that you are you. You're not trying to be anyone else. And I never know what is going to come out of your mouth."

My smile falters a little as I look away from him. He has no idea this version of me only exists here. I am not this helpless, clumsy, small-town living person in L.A. He has no idea how I've been living my life for the past nine years. 

Shit, and he likes this version of me. Not the slutty, influencer on Instagram who gets paid to model clothing from online boutiques. Not the rich blonde who has a famous husband. And not the socialite who spends her extra time covered in designer labels, drinking champagne on rooftops. He just likes little, off-key, unemployed Sadie Melvin from Magnolia, Arkansas. 

Fuck, telling him the truth now is only going to be that much harder.