Chapter 18
“Hmm. Morning.” Finn’s arms wrapped around Effie’s waist, hugging her from behind. His voice was rough with sleep, his speech a little slow. “What did I do to deserve this?”
She smiled and squeezed his forearms, tilting her head to the side so that he could better kiss her neck.
“You looked cozy, so Bea and I decided to let you sleep in. She went down for her nap about half an hour ago.” She hovered her palm over the cast iron skillet, checking if it was hot enough. It was. “I thought I’d make breakfast.”
Finn huffed softly against the side of her throat, a near laugh.
“Sorry, let me say that differently.” He stepped back, letting her go, and cocked a hip against the counter, facing her.
There were pillow lines creased into his skin, his left brow a little fluffy when he arched it.
“Heaven help me, what did I do to deserve this?”
A subtle alteration in his delivery made all the difference, turning the sweet question into a plaintive ask that made her scowl.
She crossed her arms, the T-shirt she’d borrowed rising from her knees to the middle of her thighs. “Excuse me?”
“Baby.” He laughed. “You can’t boil an egg.”
“That’s a rather bold assumption for someone who’s never seen me try.
” She gestured to the ingredients laid out on the counter.
Eggs beaten, cheese grated, green onion chopped, butter, salt and pepper.
The bread was already sitting in the toaster.
“I’m no chef, but I’ll have you know I am perfectly adequate in the kitchen. ”
He squinted at her for a moment, then smiled ruefully.
“Sorry. You’re right. I guess I did assume.
” He paused, looking to the left, then down to the floor, his chin dipping slightly.
He looked back up at her through his lashes.
“Since cooking isn’t something you have to do. But that was unfair. Forgive me?”
He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm. His hand was still bandaged and would be for some time.
She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t actually upset.
“You’re not entirely wrong. I used to be—well, disaster would be a good word for it.
” She added a small dab of butter to the hot pan, tilting it so it would slide around.
“See, we had cooks, excellent ones, at Dunvegan and at Dunscaith, so no one ever taught me. Being put to work scrubbing and peeling potatoes as a child was pretty much the extent of my tutelage in the kitchen. It wasn’t a skill anyone expected me to learn. ”
Once the butter had melted, looking slightly foamy, she poured the scrambled eggs into the pan, making it sizzle.
“I don’t know what possessed me to try one day.
We were married, and…I guess it was a rare day when you had other duties to attend to, a meeting with tacksmen from the clan or some such, and I got it in my head to lend a hand down in the kitchen.
” She gave the eggs a gentle swirl with the spatula.
“I didn’t know you could ruin porridge, but apparently, at that, I was quite capable. ”
“Glue?” Finn guessed.
“Yup. And way too much salt.” She smiled, heart squeezing at the memory.
“You, stupid man, choked down a whole bowl and told me you loved it. I would never have known how god-awful it was if it weren’t for your brother, Ian.
He had no qualms about hurting my feelings.
” She gave the eggs another stir, then added the cheese.
“I picked up a thing or two over the years. Nothing fancy, mind, but…I suppose it felt wasteful to have all this time and not spend some of it acquiring a skill here and there.”
He nodded to the pan. “Egg scramble.”
“Egg scramble,” she agreed. “And I can play the piano.”
He huffed a laugh. “ ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’?”
She scoffed. “Please. ‘Chopsticks.’ ”
He whistled. “Color me impressed.”
“I can change a tire.”
“Hey, now, that’s an important life skill.”
“Not that I can imagine when it would ever come in handy.”
“Huh. I guess you could just poof a new tire on.”
“Poof?” She laughed.
He waved his hand. “You know what I mean.”
“I actually meant I don’t drive.” She sprinkled the green onions onto the eggs, then turned off the heat. “That’s one thing I never learned how to do.”
Finn stared at her. “You can’t drive?”
“I said I never learned, not that I can’t.” She shrugged. “I bet I could. But I have no need.” She bumped him with her hip. “I can poof.”
“Mm-mm, nope.” He shook his head. “I am teaching you to drive.”
She snorted. “If you think I’m wasting a day behind the wheel, you’ve got another think coming.”
She divvied the eggs between two plates and grabbed a fork off the counter.
“A day?” He snickered. “Confident, much?”
“Hush and eat your breakfast.”
Finn took the plate from her with a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
She waited until he’d taken a bite to ask, “So? How is it?”
He finished swallowing, then nodded. “Good. Really good.”
“Yeah?” She took a bite and promptly spit it out into a paper towel. “Finley.”
“What?” He chuckled. “Okay, so you still use too much salt.”
Absurdly enough, he made that sound like a compliment.
She plucked the plate out of Finn’s hands and brought it to the trash, the eggs beyond saving.
“Hey! I was gonna eat that.”
“Heart disease is on the rise among adults under forty.”
Once she’d finished scraping the plate, she set it in the sink full of soapy water. Finn was staring at her with a silly grin that made his eyes crinkle.
“What?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do I have something on my face?”
He shook his head. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve said to me.”
“What, that I don’t want you to have a heart attack?” A lump rose in her throat. “That’s not something to joke about, Finley.”
Humans lived, on average, what, seventy, eighty years?
Longer than they used to, but still always with one foot in the grave, whether they knew it or not, most of them ignorant of how remarkably fragile they were.
Several of their biological processes were ill-designed, and like any machine, be it made of metal or flesh, fixing one problem often created others.
Infections, fevers, blood clots, too much salt or not enough, something even as simple as a slip and fall could snuff out a life.
However many lives Finn had lived, he’d died just as many times.
Just as many minus one. He wasn’t immortal like she was, wasn’t indestructible.
After he renounced his vows, that would…
that would be it. No more lives, no more do-overs, no more reincarnating.
After he…Well, he would move on. For real this time.
“I’m not joking about dying. I was saying I like that you care.”
“Of course I care.” Did he think she didn’t? “Finn, I—” The words lodged in her throat. “I mean, you have to think about Beatrix. She needs you, you know? You humans think you’re so indestructible, but you’re not.”
It was easier to talk about what Bea needed than to say how she felt.
To tell him that whether they were married or not, whether she was here or gone, whether it was today or sixty years in the future when, god willing, Finn was old and gray, was immaterial.
Her feelings for him were and would forever remain constant.
She’d never stopped caring about him and never would.
“Effie.” He stood straighter, his jaw tight with determination. “There’s something I need to—”
The doorbell rang, cutting him off mid-sentence. She wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a shame.
“Were you expecting someone?”
He shook his head and started to speak when Bea cried out.
“You go,” she said, glancing at the clock above the microwave. “I’ll check on her.”
Finn had gotten Bea on a pretty consistent sleep schedule, napping three times a day, with roughly two-and-a-half-hour wake windows in between. The doorbell had disturbed her, but she resettled on her own with no fuss.
Effie stepped out into the hall at the same time Finn returned from checking the door.
“Who was it?”
“Jehovah’s Witness, I think,” he said.
“They’re still doing that? Going door-to-door?” Huh. “Seems antiquated, but what do I know?”
“Because proselytizing on Reddit is so much more efficient?”
“I corrupt, I don’t convert. Though, social media’s definitely been a boon for MLMs and cults. Recruitment numbers are up; I don’t see why it should be any different for organized religion.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Pushy.” She tutted. “Are you sure it was a Jehovah’s Witness?”
Finn scratched his jaw, casting a glance over his shoulder at the front of the house. “I looked through the peephole. Saw a guy wearing a suit and didn’t recognize him. Who else is knocking on doors on a Tuesday morning?”
She frowned. “What did he look like?”
“Black suit. Clean-cut. Blond. Big.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Looked kind of like he could have been a Skarsg?rd. You know, when you think you’ve seen ’em all, up pops another.”
Oh, fuck. She dragged a hand over her face, her stomach twisting. The doorbell rang for a third time, and she hung her head with a groan as Bea started to wail. Damn it. “That’s not a Jehovah’s Witness.”
“You think you know who it is?”
“Unfortunately.” She slipped past him with a sigh. “Just stay back here with Bea. I’ll handle this.”
She didn’t check the peephole. She didn’t need to. Demons had a sixth sense for one another, and by the time she reached the door, hers was screaming.
“Belphegor.” She crossed her arms. “This is a surprise. What are you doing here?”
“Effie.” He looked as thrilled to be standing on Finn’s front porch as she was to see him there. “We need to talk.”
“Let me see if I am understanding this correctly.”
A month ago, if someone had told Effie she’d one day find herself sitting between Belphegor, her fiancé, and Finley, her long-lost, reincarnated husband, while they glowered at each other from across a small kitchen table, she’d have—