Grey

Eight

[RORY]

I followed Finn inside, my hands laced together as I glanced around. The house itself was beautiful - arched hallways, dark wood floors, cream-colored walls - but it was almost entirely empty.

"I should probably lend you something? Don't want you ruining your cool trousers."

Finn shuffled in his black socks, leading the way towards what I assumed was meant to be the living room. A dark leather couch was the only thing in the room, besides a few boxes stacked here and there. I smiled, seeing an acoustic guitar perched on the couch alongside a few pages of loose notebook paper covered in scribbled handwriting.

He picked up on the silence, glancing over and immediately rubbing the back of his neck. I offered him an assuring smile, knowing from our interactions so far it was a nervous habit.

"Contrary to this sad sight, I'm not a minimalist," he chuckled softly, looking out at the vast space. "I've just not had the time, and tour is about to start, so..."

"The house is beautiful," I mumbled, looking up at the wooden beams across the ceiling. "I love Spanish architecture, it's so romantic."

His shoulders eased as he smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets and following my gaze. "I know, it's sick. I told my realtor that was like, top of my wish list. She came back with this and I fell in love."

"Show me the rest," I prodded, giving him a grin. "Please?"

He sighed, though I could tell by the small smile teasing his lips I was going to win. He rubbed his lips together before offering a nod, leading me down a hallway into the kitchen. The counters were ceramic with a charming terra-cotta backsplash, adding to the warmth of the place. The clutter was nonexistent, besides a corner by the fridge completely covered with various bottles of liquor.

He read my mind, offering a shy laugh. "I swear those were all gifts. I'm really not as interesting as one would believe, most nights I drink tea."

"What's this?" I walked over towards his fridge, noticing a single piece of paper held up by a magnet. It was a drawing of a fox in orange crayon. I couldn't help but feel warm, seeing a scribbled signature in the corner. "That's so cute, your brother made this?"

"Yeah, my mates call me Finnegan Fox sometimes as a joke, Fox for short. Oli quite enjoys that."

"Fox suits you," I hummed before turning around and facing him. He was on the other side of the island, palms flat with a curious look. "Pointy face."

I laughed the minute the words left my lips, his eyebrow quirking up in amusement. His eyes danced over my face as his smile grew. I felt my cheeks flush, his gaze lingering as he spoke.

"You have the nicest smile."

I bit my bottom lip, turning back around and looking through the bottles. I saw what I was looking for, grabbing the Jack Daniels and spinning back around. "I've heard all successful painters do a shot prior."

"That so?"

He walked over, gently taking the bottle from my grip. He unscrewed the cap, making eye contact as he brought the rim to his lips and took an impressive swig. His lips formed an 'o' as he exhaled, warm whiskey-soaked breath tickling my face.

He handed the bottle back to me, "Bottoms up, my lady."

Any remaining nerves eased as the liquor made its way down my throat, leaving a warm trail in its path. Finn's eyes hovered on my lips as I swallowed, putting the cap back on. He set the bottle back in its place, motioning for me to follow him.