Chapter 13
Cassidy
When we get home, we compromise on our earlier stand-off about chores and make dinner together. Then we sit and watch another movie—Finn seems to think he might get quizzed on the genre and needs to catch up to speed—before we go to bed.
Finn is a pleasant person to be around. Not that I thought he wouldn’t be—he’s a nice guy.
No one coaxes a scared, grieving little girl down from a tree as gently as he did to help out a virtual stranger if they’re not good.
No one rakes the lawn of a neighbor without a single word, expecting no thanks, if they’re not a nice person.
But I kind of assumed he’d keep to himself and we wouldn’t have anything in common to talk about.
I didn’t think conversations would be this easy.
Time passes quickly when we’re together. Each moment is electric. He makes me laugh with his wry questions during the movie, and he moves around me in the kitchen like we’ve been practicing this for years.
And after he drops me off at work the next morning, he does our grocery shopping with a confidence I appreciate.
He doesn’t run over to me five times to ask what we need.
He doesn’t ask me to do it. No, he just gets it done, and when he comes through my register, he has everything we need for the week.
After I ring him up and we quibble for a second over who’s paying, he leans across the counter and kisses me soundly. I blink in stupefied confusion when he pulls back, staring at his mouth.
This isn’t the first time we kissed, but every time stuns me. I haven’t kissed anyone in so long, so maybe that explains why it feels so surprisingly good.
Or maybe it’s the way this man gives his all to every kiss, like it means the world to him, like he needs to consume me. I bite my lip and look away to collect myself.
“Did you see the bulletin board by the door?” he asks, bringing me sharply back into the present.
Considering that I’m the one who updates it, of course I have. “What part of it?”
“The end of summer event. It’s soon.”
Oh, that. That flyer’s been up for a month, and it’s kind of endearing that Finn only noticed it today. “Yeah. I know about it.”
“We should go.”
I stare at him. I can’t prove it, considering I’m still looking at him, but I’d bet good money that everyone else in the store is staring at him too. Since when does Finn Delaney go to town events? I honestly couldn’t pick a single thing besides town meetings that he’s ever gone to.
“You want to go?” I double-check.
“I think we should,” he says, smiling in a way that makes my insides twist. “Since people know about us now and everything.”
Ah. It’s one more opportunity for him to help me out, for him to make this town see me as his wife. He’s exceptionally dedicated to this charade, and I do appreciate it, even if it makes me feel like a liar.
“Alright,” I agree softly, because what else can I say? He’s not wrong. Every time we’re seen together helps sell this image.
It’ll be my first town event without Georgia. I had no intention of going; there’s not much there for me without seeing her enjoy herself. But with Finn, maybe it’ll be bearable.
“Sounds good. Also, I’ll make dinner tonight,” he says, scooping up the grocery bags.
“I can help,” I say automatically.
He stops moving. “I know you can,” he agrees. “But I can do it too. You take the night off, wife. Relax a little.”
There are people in line behind him. That’s the only reason he’s talking like that, calling me wife. I have to repeat that to myself multiple times as he walks out of the store.
Finn cooks on the grill I never use, making us grilled zucchini and steak tips.
It’s still warm, so we set up on the picnic table in the yard, enjoying the late summer evening.
Finn’s long since shed his shirt, and I subtly admire the deep V of his hips under the setting sun, resting my elbow on the picnic table as we chat and the fireflies come out.
There aren’t many more days like this left; it’ll cool down soon.
Fall always comes rapidly around here. To tell the truth, I’ve been dreading the end of this summer because it would mean G is gone.
I’m so damn proud of her, but I’m at loose ends without her.
But thanks to Finn, it hasn’t been as bad as I feared.
Oh, it’s still bad. I can’t forget the looming town meeting, or the fact that we’re lying to people every day. But he’s like a little bright spot in my day, and I know I couldn’t do this without him.
Georgia has been my only partner in crime for so long now, and it’s different.
She would fistfight the town for me, do anything she could to help me, and would be my number one supporter, but G is a kid growing and learning.
She doesn’t know how to be all the things I need, and I wouldn’t want her to.
It wasn’t her job to be that for me; it was my job to take care of her.
The fact that she doesn’t know how to magically be what I need is probably the most positive sign that I did an okay job raising her.
But Finn is different. He’s there, and he buys groceries and does chores before I even think about them needing to be done. I don’t need to remind him to go to bed on time because he’s a grown man, and he never adds extra work to my plate. Not to mention the monumental way he’s stepped up for me.
“How’s work going?” he asks over dinner. He eats a truly tremendous amount of food, having already stuffed down the equivalent of my entire plate and having half his meal left to eat. “Anyone giving you trouble?”
“People are curious, Finn.” Invasively curious, maybe, but they don’t intend to be rude. “Although pretty much everyone is still shocked you chose me. I’m working to not take it as an insult.”
He snorts. “They’re wondering why someone as great as you chose me, Cassidy.”
“No, they’re not.” It’s sweet he’d say that, though.
But I know most of them are thinking exactly what Hugh thought at Donnel’s that night.
They think Finn is making a mistake, and that he’ll end up in the same situation my dad did, having a kid that turns out to be human that he’ll want nothing to do with.
I’ve been trying to not think too hard about that.
“Well, they should be,” he says stubbornly, and I can’t say how much I appreciate that, his unfailing belief that I’m some sort of catch.
“I do think the market has seen an uptick in business,” I say, smirking at the thought. “A lot of people are coming through hoping to catch up on the latest gossip.”
He chuckles. “See? We’re good for the local economy.”
I roll my eyes. “And how was your work today?” I ask. “You make progress?”
“A lot,” he agrees, eyes lighting up like they always do when I ask him about work. I love that he’s so passionate about what he does. “I should be finished in a few days. And then this piece will be moving to its new home, and I’ll be starting something else.”
“Is it sad or exciting to be done?” I ask, wondering how someone lets something go that they’ve spent so much time on.
He considers it. “More exciting, honestly,” he tells me.
“If I’m proud of it, then I want to see it out in the world.
Or, well, want to know it’s out in the world.
I can’t go see it because of all this.” He waves a hand at his form.
“Most of my sculptures sell to humans by default, because there are so many more of them. Can’t exactly go watch the installation process. ”
“How does that work? If you can’t meet with the humans?”
“It was hard at first,” he admits. “I can’t exactly go to an art gallery. But I got lucky, and eventually people wanted my art, and the reclusive artist schtick works out alright. Not for everyone—some people still want to say they met the artist. But I do okay.”
“How do you even get the sculptures to people?” I ask.
“Tate and Petra act as my delivery service.” Tate and Petra are bear shifter twins, closer to my age than Finn’s. They do a lot of odd jobs around town. “They can pass in the human world fine. I pack them up, they load them in the truck, and deliver them wherever.”
It’s an efficient system, I’ll give him that. He’s thought it all out. “How far is the fox you’re working on going?”
“About two hours south of here. Why?”
“I could ride along with the twins when they deliver it. Take some pictures for you, talk to whoever it’s going to.
It won’t be the same as you being there, obviously, but I thought it might be nice…
” It sounds foolish now, though. I’m injecting myself in his life, acting like I can cure the fact that he doesn’t get to see his art once it goes to its final home.
What, like some pictures are going to fix that?
I brace myself for him to let me down gently—Finn would only ever be gentle—when he smiles at me, sincere and soft in a way that’s unfamiliar. He smiles at me a lot for someone I so rarely saw smiling before all this, but this is different. This is almost bashful.
“You’d do that for me?”
“Yeah, of course.” This man is willing to be married to me as a favor; going to see his work and take some pictures sounds like the least I can do for him. Honestly, it’d be pretty enjoyable.
“Do the twins take your pictures for you, then?” I ask.
“To prove delivery, yeah.”
I shake my head. “I mean for marketing purposes. You know, for your socials and website and that stuff?”
His brow furrows. “I don’t really do that.”
“How do you drum up business, then?” He not only is a faceless, reclusive artist, but he literally has no presence online either? How is he selling anything?
He shrugs. “Word of mouth, at this point.”
“That seems inefficient.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it, but then I realize how obnoxious it sounds. Yes, I have an idea, but he’s the expert at this. I should shut my mouth. “Sorry, don’t mind me.”
“No, tell me,” he invites, leaning forward.
We’ve both stopped eating, too busy watching each other across the picnic table. The sun is setting, turning the world a golden orange around us. It makes him look beautiful, glowing warm in a way I didn’t expect.
“Did you know I went to college for a semester and a half? Not very long, I know, but I was studying marketing. And I didn’t learn enough to be truly useful yet, but upping your social media presence is a good place to start.”
He blinks at me, clearly taking that all in, and then smiles slowly. “Hey Cassidy, want a job?” I scoff, but his expression gets more focused. “I’m serious. I’d love to have you do that for me.”
“I’m not qualified,” I protest.
“No, I’m not qualified. You have an idea what you’re doing, which sounds great to me.”
“I don’t want to take your money.”
“Why not? The sculptures make good money. I don’t have a lot of things to spend it on. I’d love to hire you.”
“And when we divorce?” I ask, because that’s the big question. The word divorce rings like a gunshot, stilling even the chirping of birds.
“Are we friends now, Cassidy?”
That question throws me. “I’d like to think so.
” I think we are. I think Finn might be the best friend I’ve had outside of G in my entire life, which is kind of sad but nevertheless true.
My neighbor who did a kind thing and married me despite barely knowing me, and my baby sister.
It sounds even worse the more I think about it.
“Then if we divorce,” he says, voice low and even, “I’d like to think we’ll stay friends. In which case, it wouldn’t be weird at all, right?”
I think that over and have to agree. It’s not like we entered this marriage under false pretenses. We’re both perfectly aware that it will end; there can’t be any hard feelings when it goes exactly as expected, right?
And it’ll be nice to have an excuse to keep seeing him. I don’t think I could go back to grunted hellos every few weeks and nothing else; I’ve become worryingly used to Finn in such a short amount of time.
“Alright,” I say slowly. “I’ll do it. But don’t be mad when I’m not as effective at it as you’d like.”
He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You’ll be fantastic,” he predicts. “Let me know what you need from me.”
I stare at him, kind of overwhelmed by what just happened. Did I get a job? With Finn? That is at least kind of similar to the marketing degree I started and never finished?
He sounds so confident in me, too. Every time Finn talks, I get the feeling that he believes the best in me. He truly thinks I can do this job, even with the incomplete degree and all the years in between. And he’s willing to give it to me even though our relationship isn’t going to last.
If he believes in me that much, then I can’t wimp out. I have to commit. I clear my throat, thinking about what needs to be done. “Will you show me your work?” I ask him, and he grins.