The memory of Finn's hands guiding his through book restoration made his chest ache in the best possible way. The way Finn had stood close enough for River to catch his scent—lemon oil and old paper and something warmer, more personal. How Finn had actually listened when River talked about his work, like it mattered to someone outside the academic bubble.
River dragged himself out of bed and stumbled toward the kitchen, muscle memory handling the coffee routine while his brain stayed fixed on auburn hair catching afternoon light and brown eyes that seemed to hold depths worth exploring. The percolator gurgled to life, echoing through the cottage's small rooms like a heartbeat.
On the kitchen table, that weird letter sat exactly where he'd left it. River spread it out next to his coffee and read it again, now able to match the elegant handwriting to the man who'd sworn he couldn't remember writing it. Finn's confusion had seemed completely real, not performed.
But the details were still impossible to explain.
River tried applying his scientific training to the mystery, approaching it like any research problem. When could Finn have watched his routines closely enough to write such specific descriptions? The harbor overlook had clear views of Crescent Beach—someone with binoculars could track his diving patterns. Public records had info about his research grants. Local papers had covered his dad's death.
But the emotional stuff in the letter went way beyond simple observation. The way it captured his internal voice, his thought patterns, the specific guilt that made him take stupid risks during storms. That kind of understanding required either a really deep personal relationship or something beyond normal human perception.
River folded the letter and shoved it back in the desk drawer, but its presence kept nagging at him. Whatever weird circumstances had created it, the mystery had led him to Finn, and that connection felt way more important than any rational explanation.
The research station at Crescent Beach welcomed River with its familiar chaos of equipment and marine samples, but his usual absorption in the work felt disrupted by thoughts that kept drifting toward a certain bookshop owner. River unpacked hisgear on autopilot while his mind replayed Finn's smile, the way his eyes had lit up when discussing restoration techniques.
Data collection demanded his complete attention—water temperature, pH measurements, photos of marine life recovery in designated grid sections. But River found himself working faster than usual, driven by restless energy that had replaced his normal methodical pace. The tide pools seemed more vibrant today, their colors more intense. Everything felt heightened, like his growing connection with Finn had somehow sharpened his perception of beauty everywhere.
“Someone's in a good mood today,” Jake's voice cut through his distracted observations, and River looked up to find his friend approaching with a knowing grin.
“Just a good day for field work,” River replied, attempting casual dismissal while privately acknowledging Jake was right. He did feel lighter today, more engaged, less weighed down by the grief that had become his constant companion.
Jake settled beside the research station and started organizing tools. “Right. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with whatever put that particular expression on your face.”
“What expression?”
“The one that says you've been thinking about someone instead of marine biology for the first time in two years.” Jake's grin widened as River's innocent confusion failed completely. “Come on, man. You're practically glowing. Either you discovered a new species or you met someone interesting.”
River focused intently on his underwater camera settings, buying time. Jake had been pushing him toward social connection for months, encouraging him to emerge from the isolation that followed his dad's death. But discussing Finn felt too new and fragile to survive Jake's well-meaning analysis.
“Met the owner of that bookshop in the historic district,” River said finally, aiming for casual. “Interesting guy. Knowsabout preservation techniques that might be relevant to equipment maintenance.”
“Bookshop owner.” Jake's tone suggested he wasn't buying the professional framing.
River kept his focus on equipment, but he could feel Jake's attention sharpening. “Finn Torres. Specializes in maritime history and rare book restoration.”
“And you're interested in him because of his restoration techniques.”
River finally looked up, meeting Jake's knowing expression with resignation. His friend had always been able to read him too easily.
“Mostly,” River admitted. “But he's also smart, passionate about his work, easy to talk with. We had coffee yesterday afternoon, and it was... really nice.”
“Nice enough that you're thinking about him instead of focusing on your research?”
“I'm focusing fine.”
“You just tried to measure water temperature with your dive light.”
River looked down and realized Jake was right. He'd been so absorbed in thoughts of Finn that his equipment handling had gone completely automatic. The kind of distraction that could be dangerous during actual diving.
“Okay, maybe I'm a little distracted,” River conceded. “But it's not necessarily bad. When's the last time you saw me excited about anything outside this research station?”
Jake's expression shifted from teasing to genuine concern mixed with hope. “It's been way too long. I was starting to worry you'd forgotten how to connect with people who aren't marine invertebrates.”
“I haven't forgotten. Just haven't found anyone worth the effort.” River returned to his equipment checks, movementsmore deliberate now. “Finn's different. He gets the importance of preservation work, the patience it requires. And he listens like my research actually matters.”
“When are you seeing him again?”
The question hung between them, and River realized he'd been avoiding thinking about it directly. Yesterday had ended with mutual interest in continuing their acquaintance, but no specific plans. River found himself wanting to return to “Between the Lines” but struggling to identify a legitimate reason that wouldn't seem too eager.
