Chapter 4
Finn
Ihate this. I hate the look on her face, the way her eyes were all empty and dead. I hate the idea of Hearthstone as the type of place that would throw her out. But most of all, I hate that she evidently thinks I’m like that, too.
Well, when have I given her reason to think otherwise?
When was the last time I spoke to Cassidy, anyway?
And I mean really spoke to her, something beyond the stilted, single-sentence exchange of neighbors.
We talk about yardwork sometimes, and she asks before she picks the blackberries on my side of the property line.
Other than those practically business-like conversations, the only other real interaction we had was almost a decade ago.
She hadn’t been here that long. She’d been so young, frazzled and overwhelmed by everything happening.
I couldn’t blame her; I’m ten or so years her senior, and I definitely didn’t consider myself ready for kids at that time.
And her kid could turn into an owl and perch up a tree when she was being stubborn, which I imagine compounded the stress.
Georgia had been eight or nine, probably grieving her parents and acting out, and she’d shifted into her owl form and gone up one of the trees in the yard and refused every one of her sister’s requests to come down.
Cassidy had tried climbing the tree, but there were no good branches for that.
I’d seen it play out from my window and gone out when I realized how close to tears Cassidy was.
I had wings, and while the little girl could out-maneuver me any day of the week, I’d been doing this a lot longer than her.
I’d caught her and brought her back down to her sister.
Cassidy had thanked me profusely, not quite able to stop the tears, hugging the now-human child like she was worried she’d never see her again. And I, being the idiot about compliments my mother always accused me of being, had grunted and gone back inside, and that had been the end of that.
The thing about Cassidy is she is good. She loves that little girl—who isn’t so little anymore, she’s off at fucking magic college now—and I know she’d fight to the ends of the Earth for her.
She makes her own blackberry jam, and she sings when she prunes her garden.
I’ve seen her help old Mrs. Lasser, who got potion ingredients in her eye twenty years ago and now can’t see so well, read labels on food products to make sure she gets the right one.
My mother thinks she’s the sweetest thing.
She’s good, and this town will be worse without her.
So no, I’m not giving her boxes, not unless she tells me she truly wants to leave.
There has to be a way to keep her in town.
I debate flying over to the mayor’s house and threatening him on her behalf.
I know what I look like. I’m big and broad, with horns that freak people out and sharp teeth.
And the wings. For some reason, people are so scared of giant wings.
But it’s hard to physically attack a ghost, so I set that plan as a last resort.
Hearthstone isn’t known for its human population, that’s true, but surely Cassidy can’t be the first. There’s no way that, in the three hundred and twelve years this town has been around, we’ve never had another human living here. I wrack my brains, trying to remember—
Cassidy’s mother. That’s the only other example I can think of.
It’d been a long time ago now. I’d been a kid myself.
But Derek Wright had bought the house next door when my cousins left town for sunnier weather, and he’d moved in with his then-wife.
She’d been pregnant, and eventually there’d been a little baby.
Cassidy. And she’d left, yes, but for a while, she had been here.
Because she’d been married to Cassidy’s father.
It’s like a bolt of lightning hit me. Yes, that’s it. That’s the answer.
Cassidy’s beat-up old clunker of a car pulled into her driveway fifteen minutes ago, which I know because I watched through the window like a creep. I give her a few minutes to settle in, and then I march across the yard like I’m on a mission.
She opens the door with a mistrustful look that marginally eases when she sees it’s only me. She’s changed since she got home, standing in her doorway in a tank top and denim shorts that show off most of her toned thighs, and I feel bad for a moment about intruding on her peace.
I’ve been vibrating with a nervous sort of energy, sure my plan is simultaneously brilliant and the worst I’ve ever had. It would work, but would she go for it? What if I make things worse for her?
“Hi,” she says, looking up and blinking her big brown eyes at me.
“I think I know how to solve your problem,” I tell her, then wince. Shit. There’s hating small-talk, and then there’s rushing into a conversation bound to freak her out, and that’s what I did here.
She quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?” Her dark ponytail swishes over her shoulder when she turns, tilting her head to take me in.
How to put this delicately? I’m well aware I’m over six and a half feet tall, three times wider than she is, with horns and giant wings and too-sharp teeth you can see on the rare occasions I smile.
I’m ten years older than her and terrible at conversation.
Nothing about who I am and who she is says this is a good idea.
“Your mother,” I say, and she winces. I stop, unsure what I stumbled on, but she straightens, expression wiped from her face.
“What about my mother?”
“She was allowed to live here.”
“Yeah, until the divorce.” She nods. Her eyes drift away from me, like she’s already done with this conversation. I have to make my point.
“So, therefore, if you were married to someone from town…” I trail off, watching her connect the dots.
She nods slowly, walking back into her house and motioning me inside.
I glance around subtly. I haven’t been here since I was a very young child and my cousins still lived here.
Cassidy has clearly gone out of her way to make it homey.
There are a few high bird perches scattered around, and I’m pretty sure the couch is made of fire retardant material.
It’s more signs that she raised a half witch, half shifter kid here.
There’s something sweet about Cassidy going out of her way to accommodate the ways Georgia is different from her.
Not that I ever had any doubt that Cassidy was an amazing big sister and guardian.
The homey living room has a staircase to the upstairs on one side, and past that is an open arch to the kitchen and dining room.
The walls are all soft, clean colors. I don’t know if Cassidy painted it or if it was like that before she moved in, but the soft blues of this room and the green of the kitchen suit her, I think.
“Sure, I guess,” she allows, standing over by her couch and squeezing her left hand in her right. “But I’m not seeing anyone, Finn.”
Anyone? She doesn’t realize that this is an offer. A clumsy one, maybe, but an offer nonetheless.
Marrying Cassidy would be no hardship. She doesn’t seem like a difficult person to get along with. I’m not sure I’d be any good at it—there’s a reason I’ve never been married, after all—but if it kept her in town, I don’t think she’d quibble about the details.
What does it say that she didn’t even think of that? Is she too honest to think of blatant deception, or am I that unappealing?
There are a lot of differences between us, I remind myself. Age, species—no wonder she didn’t immediately jump to that conclusion.
I take a deep breath. If she freaks out when I offer, then no harm, no foul. We’ll part ways. At least I’ll have tried to keep her in town.
“Sure,” I agree. “But they don’t know that.”
She turns away from the photos. “Finn, what are you saying?”
I swallow. This is it. “Cassidy—what do you say we get married?”