“What’s that?”
“The connection we form with another person, it’s not one single bond. Think of a construction cable. It’s strong because it’s made up of hundreds and hundreds of smaller wires bound together. That’s human connection. It’s a million feelings and moments and touches.” She held up her hand to stay him. “And yes, I know your time with Charlotte was brief, but I know you’re already thinking of each thread that snaked out and linked you—that ice cream cone you shared or the cab ride. Where was your first kiss?” she asked.
“Under an awning near the corner of Spring and West Broadway. Northeast corner. 9:43 p.m.”
She looked at him for a long moment, pleased. “So you see, your cable is not broken. It’s just frayed.” May rested a hand on Finn’s forearm. “A love like that, true love, it never dies. Sure, it changes over time, gets kicked, gets scarred.” May gestured to his damaged cheek. “But finding your twin flame? That’s forever. So you can either work to mend the harm you’ve caused…”
“Or?” he pressed.
“Or spend the rest of your life like Venable, locked away with half a heart.”
Finn patted May’s hand, stood, and took his dishes to the kitchen. Opening the cabinet below the sink to fetch the dish soap, he commented absently. “This pipe is leaking. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
“The projects never seem to end.” May arranged the throw pillow on the couch.
“We’ll just keep working on it. You won’t recognize this house when I’m done with it.”
May joined him at the sink and rinsed out her mug. “I barely recognize it now. You’ve made a lot of headway.”
Aware that May was referring to more than just the house, Finn grabbed his jacket off the chair and pulled open the kitchen door. “See you in the morning.”