Chapter 7
CAMERON
We were still in the hospital parking lot, the afternoon light rapidly fading, when I said, “You should probably tell me where you live.”
Finn’s face did something complicated. “I thought we were going to your place?”
“Why would we be going to my place?”
“Asshole,” he said.
“I just asked a question!” I snapped. It was probably rude of me, but I was more shaken than I wanted to admit by my close call, and it didn’t seem fair that Finn was insulting me when I’d just agreed to take care of him.
Maybe his head injury was worse than I’d thought, and this was a symptom.
But he let out a soft laugh. “Your cat. I assume she needs someone to feed her, right?”
And now I was the asshole, because between the drama and my rattled nerves, I’d completely forgotten I even owned a cat.
And what Finn said made sense. I wasn’t going to collect the cat and take her to Finn’s place.
Asshole didn’t travel well—one of many, many reasons I’d inherited her when I bought the house.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked. “I know you’d rather be in your own space.”
He snorted. “I’ve only lived there a month. It’s hardly ‘my space.’” He made air quotes. “I’m still trying to remember where all the light switches are.”
Finn was right. I couldn’t abandon the cat. I thought briefly of pointing out that there was only one bed, but in the end I didn’t bother. I could sleep on the couch for a night.
It looked like we were going to my place.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, Finn said, “Hey, it might be a good idea to stop at the bake sale, just to let them know I’m okay and get you off the list of Sugar Hollow’s top ten villains.”
“How is it that you’re the one with the head injury but you’re having all the good ideas?” I said, taking the turn that led toward town.
“Wow,” Finn said drily. “That almost sounded like a compliment. If you’re not careful, I’ll think you like me.”
“I mean, I don’t hate you,” I said and was pleased to discover it was true. A warm sensation bubbled up in my chest when Finn shot me a pleased grin, and it lasted for the whole drive back to town.
The bake sale was winding down when we arrived, but Sherri waved us over to her table, which was right near the door.
She gave me a death stare and fussed over Finn, trying to load him up with a basket of what she called recovery muffins, until he assured her he was mostly fine.
“The whole thing was my fault. What kind of idiot steps in front of a moving car, anyway?”
“It was an accident,” I said again.
“I suppose,” Sherri said. She didn’t sound all that convinced, but at least she’d stopped looking at me like I’d kicked her cat.
“Seems like the sale went fine without us,” Finn said, letting his gaze sweep the room where there were still clusters of people gathering around the displays. Christmas music played merrily in the background. “Did you find someone to man the tables?”
“I put your cookies together on one table and Brady ran it,” Sherri said, brightening. “It sold out within the hour!”
Of course it did. My baked goods were famous, and Finn’s little blue and white penguin cookies were cute as fuck. Still, I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “That’s so great! For the animal shelter,” I added quickly.
I noticed Finn had gone quiet, and he was holding himself very still. “Do we need to go?” I asked him.
He nodded carefully.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t still be at the hospital?” Sherri asked, hands fluttering against the sleeve of Finn’s jacket.
“The doctor said he can go home as long as he rests and someone keeps an eye on him, so I’m watching him tonight,” I said.
Sherri’s eyes widened. She looked like there were a thousand things she wanted to say and I could guess at least half of them, but to her credit all she said was, “That’s very decent of you, Cameron.”
“We’d better go,” I said. “We just wanted to let people know Finn was okay.”
We escaped into the freezing night air, and Finn seemed to brighten once we were outside, but I kept a careful eye on him as I drove. The color slowly returned to his cheeks, though, and I guessed he must have been feeling better when he asked, “So what kind of cat is Asshole?”
“She’s just a regular cat,” I said.
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “I was expecting something majestic, like a Maine Coon or a Bengal.”
“Oh, if you ask her, she’s the queen of all cats. It’s just that she’s disguised as a black and white domestic shorthair.”
The snow was falling steadily now, and the tree branches gleamed as my headlights bounced off them.
It was a gorgeous sight, and it reminded me why I loved living here.
I had the radio turned down low, the familiar strains of Christmas music and the rhythmic thud of my windshield wipers providing gentle background noise.
A comfortable silence settled between us as I concentrated on navigating my way through the falling snow, and when I glanced over to make sure Finn was awake, I found him staring out the window, a soft smile on his face.
“It’s so pretty,” he said. “So clean, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I love Vermont at this time of year.” I paused. “Apart from the cold.”
Finn laughed. “You don’t get the pretty without the cold, Cameron.”
I rounded the curve that led up the long driveway to my cabin, and as the headlights swept over the front of the house, Finn gasped. I pulled up in front of the cabin and turned to him, instantly concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Oh my god! You live here?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, my cheeks warming and heat crawling up the back of my neck.
Sure, my cabin was small and maybe it wasn’t the fanciest house out there, but it wasn’t like it was an abandoned shack from a slasher flick or anything.
It was just a standard cabin, with a wraparound porch, wide front windows, and a weathered wooden porch swing.
Finn stared at me, wide-eyed. “Why would you think there’s anything wrong with it? It’s gorgeous! Tell me you’ve made a gingerbread model of it? Please?”
My cheeks flushed again, with pleasure this time. “I haven’t lived here long enough,” I said. “But yeah, I think it’s pretty okay.” I tried not to think too hard about why Finn Kelly liking my house made me blush like a teenager with his first crush.
We escaped with only a light dusting of snow as we dashed up onto the covered porch.
Before I opened the door, I said, “Asshole’s not really good with people she doesn’t know, so don’t take it personally if she hisses at you like a demon from Supernatural.
Also, it might be kind of a mess. I slept in this morning. Don’t judge.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Finn said, raising an amused eyebrow.
I opened the door and we went inside, and I breathed a secret sigh of relief when I flicked on a couple of lamps and found the place wasn’t as messy as I’d imagined it.
Sure, there was an empty popcorn bowl on the floor that I was pretty sure had been on the coffee table when I left this morning and a basket of unfolded laundry in the corner, but the soft lighting hid a multitude of sins, and the house smelled faintly of ginger and syrup and not of Asshole’s litter box, so it wasn’t giving off sad single cat guy vibes or anything.
Finn pulled his jacket close and hugged himself, a shiver running through him, and I hurried to turn up the heating.
Warm tendrils of air started to flow through the room almost immediately, and I took my jacket off and hung it on a hook near the front door.
Once the room was a more comfortable temperature, Finn shed his outer layers as well, his gaze sweeping over the combined living and dining room. “It’s nice. Cozy.”
“Thanks.” I liked to think I’d made the compact space my own, with my grandmother’s rag rug adding a splash of color to the wood floor, a knitted throw draped over the back of the couch, and an overflowing bookshelf along one wall.
There was even a small Christmas tree in the corner, although it was missing all the decorations from the lower half.
Finn nodded toward it, grinning. “Let me guess. Asshole?”
I laughed. “Yeah. I didn’t realize when I set it up that she’d think it was a giant cat toy. And now I don’t have the heart to take it away.”
“Aww,” Finn said, “you’re secretly a marshmallow under that grumpy exterior, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have a grumpy exterior!” I protested—right before I caught him biting back a smile and realized he was teasing. It didn’t feel like he was doing it to be mean, though, more like it was a shared joke. It occurred to me that maybe Finn had been laughing with me and not at me this whole time.
Huh.
I pulled the curtains closed to hold in the heat, and when my stomach growled, echoing in the quiet, I remembered that I hadn’t eaten all day—and, I realized belatedly, Finn probably hadn’t either. I gestured toward the couch. “Sit down and I’ll make us some dinner.”
Finn sank onto the couch and tilted his head back, his eyes closing.
He’d gone quiet. Was he about to pass out again? I prodded his shoulder gently. “Finn? You didn’t faint again did you?”
His eyelids fluttered open and I found myself staring into warm brown eyes.
He gave a wry smile. “You can stop asking me that. I barely fainted the first time. It’s been a long day, that’s all.
And dinner sounds great.” He gave me another smile, more certain this time.
Since I was confident it was safe to leave him, I went to see what I had in the refrigerator.
There was a block of sharp cheddar in there, along with a container of tomato soup that I’d made earlier in the week.
I put the soup on to heat and set about making grilled cheese sandwiches.
It wasn’t anything fancy but it was fast, and since my stomach felt like it was trying to turn inside out, speed was my priority.
Once everything was ready, I carried it over to my small dining table, and Finn joined me there.
“Oh, that looks amazing,” he said. I glanced up to see if he was being sarcastic, but he was eyeing the sandwiches with the same hungry gaze I reserved for pictures of Ryan Reynolds, so I guessed he meant it.
Finn took a bite of soup and hummed, a tiny, pleased noise. I’d always been handy in the kitchen, but I didn’t get to cook for someone else very often. It was nice to see someone appreciating my efforts, and Finn’s obvious enjoyment of the food had warmth flooding me.
When he took a bite of his sandwich, the groan he let out was almost filthy. His tongue darted out and traced over his lower lip, chasing the glistening traces of butter that lingered there.
Did he even know how hot he was?
Finn glanced up and caught me watching him, and his cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink. “This is really good.”
“Thanks,” I said, dragging my gaze away from his mouth. “My ex never appreciated my cooking. He considered anything other than salt and ketchup too exotic for his tastes.” I let out a humorless laugh.
“Well, it sounds like he had zero taste,” Finn said before biting into his sandwich again.
“Because he dated me? Thanks very much.”
“No,” Finn said slowly, “because he stopped dating you. Why wouldn’t he want to be with a cute guy who’s clever and a great cook?”
Now it was my turn to blush. And for once I didn’t say anything dumb and spoil the moment. I just took the compliment and ate my sandwich.
Once we were both done, I stood and gathered the empty plates. “Dessert? I have some maple crunch cookies.”
“I’ll always say yes to cookies,” Finn said with a smile.
I grabbed the container and set it between us on the table, and I won’t lie, I felt a flutter of nerves when Finn took his first bite.
I mean I thought they were pretty good but he was a professional, you know?
What if he went full Gordon Ramsay on me and demanded I justify my “crispy edge to chewy center” ratio?
But he didn’t. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and said, “If I eat all of these and get a stomachache, I’m blaming you for making something so fucking delicious.”
I let out a soft laugh and snatched two cookies for myself, stupidly pleased at gaining his approval. “I’m glad you like them, but you still have to share.”
Finn reached out and took another cookie, and his hand was halfway to his mouth when he let out a high-pitched yelp, the cookie flying in the air.
Fuck. Was he having a stroke?
A second later he ducked under the table, and when he reappeared he gave a shaky laugh. “Your cat almost gave me a heart attack rubbing up against my legs.”
It was my turn to duck under the table and look. Asshole was curling around Finn’s ankles, purring and giving me a look that clearly said what?
I got up, walked over to the living room window, and pulled the curtain aside, looking skyward. At Finn’s confused expression, I said, “I was just checking.”
“Checking?”
“For flying pigs. Or signs of the apocalypse. Asshole never talks to strangers.”
Finn’s smile turned into that teasing grin, the one I was coming to realize meant yes, he was laughing with me. “Maybe I’m special.”
And as I took in the sight of him, with his red hair and bright smile and laughing eyes, I had to admit that, yeah.
Maybe he was.