Chapter 10 Two Tweedles
CHAPTER TEN
TWO TWEEDLES
Ihave a portion of Finlo’s closet now. I could continue dreaming about every aspect of Erotsy and my trip with him, but I can’t keep dwelling on it.
He got me all the dresses I wanted, treated me to lunch, and even bought me rainbow cakes, which were terrific.
The ride home was quiet but comfortable, and I watched the mice work on Thunder and Jett long after Finlo excused himself.
I haven’t seen him since, but I put all my clothes away and came out in time to see the mice pulling dinner from the oven.
One mouse, in particular, seems to be in charge. She’s on the counter, ordering the others this way and that with a stern but slight tone.
“Good evening,” I say to her, holding out my hand on instinct, then pocketing it in my robe, as I realize my hand is far too large for her to shake.
She turns and looks me up and down, her nose twitching and moving her whiskers as her beady eyes seem to judge every inch of me. “Good evening to you, mistress.”
I laugh. “That’s too formal for my liking. Call me Eleanor, please.”
“Very well. Eleanor.”
I sit on a stool, coming closer to her. “And you are?”
“Mitzy,” she replies tentatively.
“Mitzy. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Same to you.” She gives me the barest smile, but I don’t honestly know if mice can smile, so I don’t think on it too long, then turn back to the chaos of mice getting the pans from the oven to the counter.
“Can I help? I have larger hands. It would make much more sense.”
“A mortal, the mistress of this house, touching the dishes? I think not!” She’s clearly offended, and guilt eats at me as I swallow over a lump that’s lodging in my throat.
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”
“Whether or not meant, I took it.”
“I’m so sorry again. I’ll just get out of your hair.”
“My hair?!”
“Fur? I’m sorry.” I rush from the room, no longer hungry from the scents of roasting meat. My stomach churns with disbelief at how unbearably wrong that conversation went before I realize Finlo’s in the living room, staring at me.
He’s got a stretcher in one hand and a hat in the other. He’s been working hard on an order for someone in town all week. It looks like he’s in the final stages.
“Your face is flushed. You’re hot! I can open a window.
Daft man, she needs air,” he scolds himself, dropping what he was doing and flinging open windows.
“You know women with large, beautiful heads need air. What’s the matter with you?
” His continued muttering has me feeling far less awkward about what transpired in the kitchen.
“I’m fine, Fin. Really. I had a run-in with Mitzy in the kitchen. She talked circles around me, and I’m pretty sure I offended her.”
“Mm. Mitzy is very disagreeable, but puts on a fine tea party.”
That only makes me feel worse.
I feel the flush in my face worsen as I drop beside Finlo on the bright orange couch. It’s weathered and has patches of fabric that Finlo’s sewn in over the years. I find I rather like it. “Distract me.”
“What?” His green eyes widen. He’d returned to his task and likely forgotten about my issue with Mitzy.
I’ve noticed he doesn’t dwell on things. Especially not when he’s fixated on something. He can only see what’s before him, even if his world is on fire. It’s a skill, but it’s also a downfall.
“Distract me from everything. Take my mind off what happened with Mitzy.”
“A chef’s toque has 100 folds.”
My brain immediately stops worrying that I offended a kitchen mouse, and I’m thankful. “What?”
He nods as if affirming his statement. “A chef’s toque has 100 folds. It’s said that it represents all the ways one can prepare an egg.”
“Wow.” I’m taken aback by the random fact and the fact that he’d actually done what I asked. I’m distracted.
“Have you made many of them?”
“Only a few. I can’t make one for Mitzy because her head is simply too small.”
Mitzy chooses this moment to scurry into the living room.
I sit straighter beside Finlo, and his grin is taunting.
“Dinner is served, sir.”
“Thank you, Mitzy.”
“My head is also rather large for a mouse, sir. I still say you could attain the feat of hatting me. After all, you are the best in Wonderland.”
Her flattery falls flat as Finlo sighs. “It simply can’t be done. That’s that. No mouse will wear a hat as long as I’m the one to design the hat.”
Mitzy huffs, rolling her eyes before giving me a dirty look and dropping to all fours to exit out of a small door I hadn’t realized was carved into the base of the front door. She went with such fervor that the slight opening swung back and forth a few times before stopping and sealing.
“I agree with her. I think you could do it.”
“You think too much. It’s why your head is so large.” Tossing what he was doing on a table beside the couch, he strides out of the room.
“You know,” I say, following him. “You should decide if my head is too large or beautiful. I don’t think it can be both. You’re giving me mixed signals.”
He looks up from where he’s plucking a biscuit onto his plate, rolling his eyes at me. “Of course, a head can be large and also beautiful.”
“I know one woman with a colossal head, and it’s most assuredly not beautiful.”
Finlo drops his plate, rushing me as he’s done before. His hand claps over my lips, even as his twist up in a menacing smile. “One shouldn’t say such things.”
“Sorry,” I utter breathlessly as he takes his hand away.
He winks at me, returning to the food plating, and I’m left bereft.
There are moments when I think the man is off his rocker. Then, there are these moments where he seems like the most sane person around—which is startling. His charisma is shocking, and I’m thankful he doesn’t know how to use it well because I’d be a goner.
I can only hope he doesn’t learn.
Dinner was delicious, and after cleaning everything up, much to Finlo’s dismay, I’m sitting up in bed as he reads from a book. The story is about a toad, or maybe it was a frog? I can’t remember.
All I can do is stare at him. He has readers on the tip of his nose. It makes him even hotter than he usually is, so I’m finding it very hard to focus on anything going on in the story he’s reading.
Finally, he shuts it and says, “The end.”
I clap, to which he smiles.
Leaning over, he blows out the candle on his bedside table, and I do the same. He added one to my side yesterday, and the gesture made me melt, worrying me I’ve been overlooking how badly I’ve been treated if that small of a gesture caused me to gush over a man.
In complete silence, we lie there for a while, Finlo shifting beneath the covers. Me, trying not to fall asleep because I never know which type of dream I’ll have when my eyes shut.
Sometimes, they’re flashbacks from our day, especially if tea and unhinged conversations are involved. Usually, they’re memories that flood me in little bits and pieces.
“Day after tomorrow, we must return to the palace and hat the queen. You can stay home if you’d like.”
His referring to his home as my home twists my stomach and reminds me I’m meant to be trying to find a way back to the mortal world. However, the longer I’m here, the more I don’t know why I want to return.
It’s logical, right? Pining to go home when one is lost?
I don’t feel lost, however.
“Did you hear me?” Finlo asks when I don’t reply.
“I did. Sorry. I was lost in my head.”
“Such a vast place to get lost in.”
“Is that your way of calling my head big?” I ask him, turning on my side.
The moon’s glow illuminates the room enough to see him smile as he mirrors my position on the bed. “No. I only meant the mind is a wondrous, vast place. It’s easy to get lost there.”
“Ahh.”
A beat of silence stretches on. “You know, in one of my memories about the queen, there were these two bald boys…”
“The Queen’s Tweedles.”
“Her what?”
“I don’t want to talk about two bald boys,” he answers.
“Alright. What do you want to talk about?”
“Certainly not the weather.”
I snort, feeling close to losing my mind the longer I’m here. But also, the longer I’m here, the more I don’t want to leave.
It feels like home.
That’s worrisome.
The air between us sizzles as Finlo leans in. My lungs burn, begging me to inhale, but I don’t want to scare him off.
“Was it positively awful?” he whispers, a hair’s breadth from my lips.
I can’t think. I can’t focus.
He’s asked me this question before. It’s like he’s seeking some resolution to the question, but I don’t know how to answer yet.
“Was what awful?” I reply breathlessly.
“Wonderland.”
“I don’t know yet. I need to know the end of the story. Will you tell me?”
“I cannot. To live something so horrible once is enough, don’t you think?”
I want to argue that he’s doing that to me by making me live the memories alone, but I can’t.
His hand lifts off the bed, his thumb brushing my bottom lip.
My lips dropping open, I exhale shakily. “Fin?”
“Everything about new you is so…”
God, please say alluring.
The longer I’m in Wonderland and with Finlo, the more I realize something is growing between us, but before tonight, I thought it was just me feeling it.
The dilation of his pupils tells another story.
“So, what?” I ask, prodding him along.
“I don’t think I have a word for it yet.”
I smile against his thumb, and his lips lift in answer. “When you do, let me know, yeah?”
He seems to like me using his words against him, as his smile widens. “I shall.”
We spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing. I learn that Finlo not only loves to hat, but he loves to paint, too.
He finishes our conversation by warning me about the queen, pleading with me to behave myself, which I promise to try.
I remain wide awake long after Finlo falls asleep, my mind whirling with thoughts of everything I can’t control. Finally, deciding that I can’t dwell on that which I can’t maintain, I close my eyes and roll into Finlo.