Free Scintillate by Tracy Clark

have left.”
    We all stood there, awkwardly.
    “So, how long are you planning to be in America?”
    I slipped my arm in Finn’s. “Smooth, Dad. Nice to meet you. When are you leaving? ” Both Finn and my dad laughed uneasily. I kissed Dad’s cheek and pulled Finn out the door to say good-bye.
    “Sorry about that. My dad’s a scientist. Right now, he’s experimenting with new ways to heighten awkward feelings in people.”
    “You never did give me an answer about our”—he inclined his head and whispered—“date.”
    “Is tomorrow too soon to go?”

Nine
    A
    t my request, Finn and I agreed to meet at Full Belly Deli at the base of Felton Highway. I questioned my brilliant idea of putting a dab of maple extract behind my ears—I didn’t own perfume—when a man on the bus looked at me like he hadn’t had pancakes in years. I scooted closer to the window.
    Finn was already at the deli when I arrived, waiting for me at a booth in the corner. He sipped a soda and looked distractedly out the window. I paused a moment, my nerve faltering at the sight of him, unbearably handsome with his full lips and classical nose. But it was the rough of him, the unpolished bits, that made my blood run hot. That messy blue-black hair, the scruff of beard, the spiral tattoo peeking out of his collar that teased me with mysteries carved in stones in the fog-drenched moss of Ireland.
    His hand relaxed on the aluminum table, long fingers splayed out on the shiny surface. I could see the reflection of it underneath, like two hands resting together. I wished it were my palm pressed flat against his.
    I willed myself to move forward. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
    Finn’s head jerked up. A smile tugged at the corner of one side of his mouth, making his dimple show. He stood and ran his hands down the back of my arms, sending warmth through my body, then motioned for me to sit. “Are you hungry?”
    “No, thanks. I brought some snacks for us,” I said, hoping it’d be a nice surprise. “There’s something I want to show you.”
    We walked outside to the blue Mustang. The top was down. It was a great day for a convertible. The morning mist had burned off, leaving a brilliant and clear late May afternoon. I got in and stretched my arms over my head.
    Finn flashed his charismatic smile at my pleasure. “What?” I asked, leaning my head back and looking at the limitless sky. “I’ve never been in a convertible before. And it’s perfect for where we’re going.”
    He started the car. “I’m intrigued.”
    I directed him up the winding canyon. Sun gave way to shade as a canopy of trees arched over our heads. With the top down, it was easy to smell the shift from the grit of the city streets to the dank, earthy richness of the forest.
    Finn’s hand tickled the back of my neck. “I love it when your hair is up like that. You have a beautiful neck.”
    Okay, wow. “Not bad on the swoon-o-meter.” I wanted to resist the bait, yet I longed to turn my cheek into the warmth of his palm.
    “Turn here,” I instructed when we reached Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. We drove past the wide green meadow of the redwood park entrance. I bubbled with excitement at showing Finn something most people would never see in their lifetime.
    We walked side by side to the trailhead. “This,” I said, gesturing to the path that wound through the redwood grove, “is one of my favorite places in the universe.”
    He craned his neck back and gaped at the towering sentinels above us. “They’re bloody enormous. I never imagined trees so large. How often do you come here?”
    “A couple times a month. But I usually come alone.”
    He reached tentatively for my hand so that just our fingertips touched. The small contact sent a delicious thrill through me. “And you brought me . I’m flattered.” He pulled my hand all the way into his. I wondered if he felt the tickling pulse of energy like a soft feather pressed between our