“Let me guess,” he says. “You haven’t been to the zoo either.”

“I haven’t been to a zoo since grade school.”

“Where you from, Chess? You’ve never said.”

“Neither have you.”

“La Jolla, California,” Finn says with pride.

“Wow. Surfer boy, eh?”

“How do you think I developed my awe inspiring balance and sense of timing?”

“That ego of yours inspires something. But I believe it’s heartburn.”

He slings an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “We’ll get you an antacid inside. Now tell me where you grew up.”

“Brooklyn, New York.”

“No shit?”

“Yep. But my dad is from here. He bought my loft as an investment property, but gave it to me after I graduated.” It is the one big surprise from them that I actually found myself extremely grateful for. Usually their gifts were well-meaning, but involved some sort of drama that I’d need to clean up. “I took out some equity on the loft to pay for my camera and equipment, which really helped as well.”

“Your parents still in New York?” Finn asks.

“No. I think they’re in Oregon right now. Or Idaho. I can’t remember. They sold their townhouse and bought one of those tiny houses that you can tow all over the place.”

A startled laugh escapes him. “Really? You ever watch that show with the tiny house buyers?”

Cringing, I can’t meet his eyes. “Mom and Dad are on an episode.”

“Holy shit. Which one?”

“Nope. Not telling.”

“I’ll just do a search on their last name,” he warns.

“Damn it.”

Snickering, he gives my shoulder another squeeze before he looks me over. “So, Brooklyn, I’m guessing you know how to handle yourself in a rowdy crowd.”

There’s something in his tone that has my steps slowing as we reach the main aquarium lobby. “What are you up to, Mannus?”

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing much. Just that you’ll have a couple of chaperones on this outing.”

And by a couple, he means thirty. Ranging from the ages of six to thirteen, the crowd of school children give a big cheer and cry, “Manny!” when we round the corner.

For his part, Finn gives them all high fives, learning each one of their names. Then he turns, surrounded by kids, the tallest one barely reaching the center of his chest, and beams at me. “Guys, meet my friend Chess. She’s never been to the aquarium, so we’ll have to make sure she doesn’t get lost. Let’s give her a big welcome.”

Feebly, I wave as all of them shout, “Hi Chess” with various levels of enthusiasm.

Finn winks at me before turning his attention back to the kids. And I grin like a loon because he’s adorable with them, like an overgrown kid as excited as they are at the prospect of seeing a shark or maybe petting a stingray.

A blond woman in skinny jeans and a t-shirt with a schoolhouse logo on it comes to stand by me. “I’m Ally, the program director. Thanks for joining us.”

“Sure. Although I don’t really know what all of this is about.”

“We’re an after-school sports program for children, sponsored and funded by Mr. Mannus…” She flushes a bit. “Finn, I mean. He keeps telling me to call him Finn. Anyway, this outing is one of many Finn takes the kids on throughout the year.”

We chat as Finn leads his crew to find the sharks. But as soon as we stop, I find myself pulled into his orbit. His big hand engulfs mine, as he tells the kids that his favorite shark is the hammerhead. This is met with much approval.

“What’s your favorite, Ms. Chess?” a boy, who’s probably around eight, asks me.

“Hmm…” I pretend to think about it. “I’m going with the whale shark.”

The kid looks unimpressed, but a couple of others pipe up to agree that the whale shark is awesome.

They race on to the next viewing window. Finn and I follow. He hasn’t let go of my hand. But I don’t mind. His is big and warm, the strength in his fingers tempered now by a gentle clasp. A hand worth around fifty million dollars in the eyes of pro-football. And it’s holding on to me as though I’m the valuable one.

“Sorry I didn’t warn you,” he says at my ear.

Little shivers dance along my skin. I ignore them. “I’m beginning to think you like surprises.”

“I do.”

“Thanks for letting me be a part of this. You’re great with them.”

“Kids are easy. Completely unfiltered and ready to have fun. Kind of like football players.” He gives my fingers a light squeeze. “So you don’t want to run away screaming?”

I’m not certain if he’s referring to the kids or football players. Either way, the answer is the same. “Only if you try to get me to touch a stingray.”

“Now, Chess, that’s basically a dare.”

Before I can answer, we’re swarmed by the kids, who’ve realized their hero isn’t in their midst anymore. Finn doesn’t let me go, and I’m swept up along with him.

By the time we’re done, I know more about fish and sea life than I probably need to, and have been infected by a bit of Finn Mannus hero worship myself. How can I not be? When he lifts each kid who asks up for a better view. When he takes the time to shake employee’s hands and put them at ease when they get flustered.

Parents show up, and Finn takes a picture with anyone who asks. Each time, he grins wide as if he’s standing next to a good friend.

Finn might hate posing for professional cameras. But he clearly loves this part of his life.

He ends the tour by handing out t-shirts with his jersey number on them.

“You didn’t give one to your girlfriend,” a solemn six-year-old boy points out. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”

I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth it to clarify that I’m not Finn’s girlfriend and my feelings won’t be hurt, when Finn catches my eye. A teasing smile plays on his lips. “You’re right, David. But I’m out of shirts.” He takes off his baseball cap with his team logo splashed over the front. “Think she’ll be okay with this?”

“If she doesn’t want it,” an older kid drawls, “I’ll take it!”