Chapter 13
Thirteen
Chess
Finn’s gone when I wake. Not surprising since he’s an early riser. After a shower, I head out in search of coffee.
Sean, who I still want to call Captain Mannus or sir, is in the kitchen pulling what looks like turnovers from the oven.
“Meat pies,” he tells me as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Try one.”
He puts a golden pie on a plate and hands me silverware and a napkin before setting my meal on the kitchen island. I settle
on a metal stool and cut myself a bite.
“Delicious,” I say around the hot, buttery pastry filled with savory meat and vegetables.
“There will be more where that came from this afternoon.” With elegant efficiency, he moves around the kitchen, putting turnovers
on cooling racks, setting another tray of them into the oven.
Having never spent time around military men, I wasn’t certain what to expect from Finn’s dad. I thought perhaps he’d be hard,
a stern man who kept to himself or grunted behind the newspaper he was reading.
It certainly wasn’t this man who exudes a quiet calm that makes you want to please him, who wears a “Good Lookin’ is Cookin’”
apron while preparing a holiday meal for his family.
“Finn got you that apron, didn’t he?” I say.
The lines at the corners of Sean’s eyes deepen. “Yes, ma’am, he did.” He glances up from his work. “You know my son well.”
I shrug and finish another bite of turnover. “His humor anyway.”
Sean grabs a kitchen towel and wipes his hands. The more I watch him, the more I see a lifetime of military training in him.
Not a single movement is wasted or hesitant. He manages to be utterly graceful, yet proudly commanding.
He reminds me of a less impulsive Finn.
“You haven’t asked where my son is,” Sean remarks.
“If I had to guess, I’d say he was out running.”
Sean’s lips curl in a smile that is very reminiscent of Finn’s when he has something on me.
“It’s eleven,” I feel obliged to point out. “He always exercises at ten. Before returning starving and in search of food—”
Finn breezes into the kitchen, sweaty and flush. Gym shorts ride low on his hips, the white tank he’s wearing sticking damply
to his skin. “Do I smell meat pies? Man, I could eat a dozen.”
Sean catches my eye before grabbing another plate from the cabinet.
Finn pours himself a massive glass of orange juice and comes over to stand beside me. He smells of sun and sea and sweat.
“Chester.” He kisses my cheek, a sweet gesture that makes my skin tingle. Memories of being wrapped up with his long, hard
body flutter through my mind, and it’s all I can do not to lean into him.
From the speculative look he’s giving me, I’m guessing he’s remembering things as well. “I see Dad’s taking care of you.”
“Very well,” I agree, focusing on my coffee.
His gaze slides to the food on my plate and turns covetous. Rolling my eyes, I offer him a bite, which he takes without hesitation.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he says with a little groan that I find way too appealing, given that it’s over food.
“You’re stinking up my galley, Finnegan,” Sean says mildly. “You know the drill. Shower before meal service.”
“Aye aye, Cap!” With a waggle of his brows to me, Finn grabs his glass and hustles off.
I’m left alone with Sean, who looks at me as if he knows something I don’t. He’s astute enough to keep silent. But inside,
I am a storm of guilt and uncertainty.
Finn’s family adores him. Their joy over him being in a relationship is so lovely it threatens to break my heart. I don’t
want to lie to them.
But I don’t get to discuss it with Finn. We are effectively swept up in family activities, starting with putting up the Christmas
tree.
Gathered around in the big living room, Meg, Emily, and I watch as the men pull sections of a white artificial tree out of
boxes. Sean’s quiet commands keep Finn and Glenn from arguing while they try to figure out what goes where. Soon, the ten-foot
tree is assembled before the picture window and plugged in to glow in softly lit splendor.
“I know fresh trees have that lovely scent,” Meg says to me. “And some traditionalists sneer at artificial, but I just love
my white tree.”
I take a picture of Finn and Sean adjusting a few branches. “I have a silver tree. Or had one. I suppose it’s melted now.”
My laugh sounds brittle, even to my ears. Meg gives me a gentle squeeze around the shoulders, a move so much like her son’s
that it’s eerie. “Well, I’m glad you’re here to enjoy this tree.”
I almost don’t know what to do with the Mannus brand of tactile affection. My mother would have recited a poem about loss
and patted my hand before drifting off. As new as it is for me to be cuddled and hugged, I find it comforting. Especially
since they never cling or make me feel pathetic.
Meg announces that she’s going to make her “special nog,” which has Finn and Glenn snickering, and I really don’t want to know why.
“You shouldn’t be working,” Emily tells me, as she starts opening ornament boxes. “Come relax and trim the tree.”
Glenn’s wife is petite, her curly hair so dark brown it’s almost black, her skin a deep, even tan that speaks of Hispanic
descent. Silver bangles around her wrist tinkle as she works.
“I actually prefer this,” I tell her. “Putting up ornaments makes me tense. I’m never satisfied with where I place them.”
“Glenn is the same.”
My expression must convey my surprise because she gives me a wry smile. “He’s a landscaper. Everything has to be just so,
the visual balance just right, or he’s twitchy. Whereas, I teach fifth grade students, so I’ve learned to go with the flow.”
I glance at Finn’s older brother, who is currently trying to get Finn in a headlock. I take a picture of that. “You’ve been
with Glenn for a while.”
“How can you tell?”
“The way you two interact with each other. It’s fluid. Like you’ve been together so long that you know which way the other
will go before one of you even moves.”
Emily beams. “That’s lovely.”
“Just an observation.”
Finn walks up with a glass of nog for me, and a glass of what smells like hot cider for Emily. “Sorry, Em. Meg’s special sauce
is not good for the baby.”
Emily laughs. “It isn’t good for anyone.” She glances at me. “Watch yourself. That stuff is lethal.”
When she heads toward the tree, I lean closer to Finn. “I like your family.”
“Good. They like you, too.”
We’re alone now, off to the side of the action, but I keep my voice low. “I like them too much to lie to them.”
Finn does a double take at that. “You aren’t.”
“I am.”
He doesn’t roll his eyes, but his tone implies he wants to. “Have you said to them, I’m in love with your son and we are having
wild monkey sex?”
“Who says crazy crap like that to someone’s family?”
The corners of his lips twitch. “Well, it would be kind of awkward, I’ll give you that.”
“You are annoying me. Stop being purposely obtuse. I came here playing the role of your girlfriend.”
This time he actually does roll his eyes. “I’m trying to make it simple. Stop thinking of it as playing a role.”
“But it is a role.” I take a drink of nog to keep from yelling at him and immediately regret it. “Holy lighter fluid, what the hell is
in this drink?”
“Fireball cinnamon whiskey.” Finn calmly pats my back. “You’re here because you’re my girl. Sex doesn’t change that fact.”
Throat burning, heart threatening to turn to mush, I can only look at him and sigh. “Finn, what am I going to do with you?”
His smile is an easy glide, but his eyes hold mine a beat too long. “Keep me. I’m pretty sure I’m good for no one else.”
Before I can answer, he’s off again, helping with the tree, joking with Emily and Glenn. I take pictures, eat the stuffed
mushroom caps that Meg sets out on the sideboard, and gingerly sip my nog from hell.
My tongue turns pleasantly numb and my limbs nice and warm. I’m taking a close-up of the little elf man who lives on the shelf—why
kids want an elf who’s supposed to come alive at night, hanging out in their house is beyond me—when Finn peeks over my shoulder
to look at the camera screen.
I nearly yelp but settle down, trying my best not to lean into him. He smells like cinnamon and spiked eggnog, which I find
exceedingly delicious at present.
His breath tickles the sensitive skin on my neck. “Can you do selfies with that thing?”
“With a bit of awkward juggling,” I concede.
“That’s what I thought.” The warm wall of his chest presses against my back as he swings his arm in front of us, holding his
phone. “Say, hey!” He snaps a picture. “And the humble iPhone triumphs over the fancy Nikon.”
I’m still blinking as he brings the phone up to look at the picture and utters a quickly stifled laugh.
I catch a glimpse. “Ack! No!” One of my eyes is closed, and my mouth is open.
Finn hums under his breath. “You look like a confused fish.”
I make a grab for the phone, but he holds it away, chuckling. “How on earth did you manage that, Chester?”
“Delete it or die, Mannus.”
“All right, but I need another one to replace it with.” Finn’s grinning face is so close, the flecks of navy in his irises
are visible. Those happy eyes full of mischief. That smiling mouth that I find endless fascinating.
“Okay,” I say. “Do it again.”
He adjusts his grip on the phone, lifting it right in front of us. As soon as I feel his arm tense to take the picture, I
kiss his cheek.
Finn gives a small start, his breath hitching. Before I can move away, he turns, his eyes a little wide. I’ve shocked him,
making first contact.
A smile wavers on my lips. “How was that—?”
Finn presses his mouth to mine. The kiss is sweet and swift, a touch of lips to lips, a slight exchange of air. And it still
manages to stop my heart and send heat flaring up my thighs.
He backs away just enough to meet my eyes. For one tight second, we stare at each other, breathing a bit faster, deeper, as
if we’re not sure what just happened. And then he kisses me again. Another soft peck as if to make certain this time is real.