CHAPTER 20
Josie
There’s a chicken roasting in the oven and a pot of boiling potatoes on the stove.
The lemon’s been zested and the zest has been pressed into butter that’s softening in a ramekin.
The potatoes are on a baking sheet, coated in olive oil and sea salt, and the green beans are blanched and waiting in an ice bath.
I’m putting my entire attention into this dinner because if I don’t, I’ll start thinking about the meeting that’s going to occur before Finn and I sit down to eat.
I cut a few sprigs of rosemary from the little terra-cotta pot on the windowsill and wash them at the sink.
“Thirty minutes, tops” is how long Finn said the meeting would last.
And that’s the extent of my knowledge.
I know Connie and Marcus are coming by any moment now, and Finn said he needed thirty minutes alone with them to “go over things.” It’s for a run the crew is going to do. He admitted that much to me when we were in Occidental Park.
I don’t know the details, and I don’t want to know them. I’m going to stay in the kitchen and pretend they’re just having a meeting about an art shipment coming into the gallery.
Yeah… that’s what I’ll pretend.
This is the new foundation of my life. I won’t ask questions and Finn won’t volunteer answers about the run.
We’ve built a wall down the middle of what we share, and on the other side of that wall is the part of him that’s still a smuggler and the part of me who still works to put criminals away.
We shake hands politely across the bricks when one of us touches the edge of the other’s professional life and it works. For now.
Well, it works in the way a tourniquet works, but it’s not meant to stay in place forever or else the blood flow could get cut off and result in death.
The doorbell chimes and I hear Finn trotting down the stairs. He shoots me a wink before cutting to the front door to let Connie and Marcus in.
I finely dice the rosemary and sprinkle it over the potatoes before wiping my hands on a towel, and by the time I’m setting it back in place over a cabinet hook, I’m facing Marcus with a perfectly composed smile.
To my surprise, he walks around the island and gives me a quick hug. “Josie… whatever you’re making, I want to live in it.”
I catch Finn’s eyes and note he has a fond smile in place. Almost as if he’s grateful for Marcus’s acceptance of me. “Just roasted chicken. There’s enough for an army, so you’re welcome to join us.” And then my eyes meet Connie’s where she walks behind Finn. “And you too, Connie.”
“No can do,” Marcus says with a squeeze to my upper arm. “Connie and I have work to do tonight.”
Of course they do. They’re getting ready to smuggle illegal art tomorrow night.
Connie lifts her chin to me. “Appreciate the invite, but as the second boss man says, got work to do.”
Hmm. That was actually… polite. I give her a blinding smile in return.
She nods at the stove. “What did you name your chicken?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, completely confused.
“All the great chefs name their poultry. It’s a thing.”
“Oh… I didn’t know that.” I consider a good name. “I guess I’d name it—”
Connie barks a laugh. “It’s not a thing. I’m fucking with you. The chicken smells excellent.” She winks. She actually winks at me. “But we gotta go because Finn’s getting itchy.”
I look over to him.
“I’m not itchy,” Finn says.
“You’re so itchy. Look at you. You’re standing there checking your watch like a hostage.”
Marcus snorts and shakes his head and Finn shoots him a look that should kill him on the spot.
The three of them have an easy, genuine rhythm that’s come from years of knowing someone on a deep level.
I imagine Connie’s been ribbing Finn since they were teenagers and Marcus has probably been refereeing this dynamic for as long as he’s known them.
“All right,” Finn says. “Patio. Let’s get this done so you can leave and I can eat this wonderful meal cooked by my woman.”
My woman.
The phrase hits me like a warm punch to my gut, not painful but present. It’s a bold statement to make and my eyes cut to Connie to see if it bothers her.
But she just rolls her eyes. “I’m so charmed by your hospitality.”
“Martha Stewart I am not,” Finn drawls.
And yeah… she seems okay.
I think things are okay.
The three of them go out through the slider and pull it shut behind them. Connie tips her head back, laughs at something Finn says before they’ve even fully sat down.
I exhale and decide to pour myself a glass of wine. Despite that being a relatively friendly exchange with Connie, now that she’s not in my proximity, I realize that I’m tense.
I take a sip and set the wineglass aside, putting the potatoes in the oven and getting a pan ready to sauté the green beans. I won’t hit them until about ten minutes prior to serving.
Finn won’t be on the run tomorrow and I was surprised to learn that he rarely goes. The night he rescued me was an unusual occurrence. It’s usually Connie and Marcus moving the goods through the waterways, under his direction.
So I’ll be here tomorrow night with Finn, on the face a normal night, but in reality, two dangerous worlds still lurking. The Russians are looking for me, even if Connie hasn’t given me up, and Finn’s boat and his people are getting ready to commit crimes on the seas.
My life has gotten very weird lately, but when I look at Finn sitting out there on the patio, so charming, dashing and heroic, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
I check the chicken and baste it again. I walk a slow loop around the island just to move.
Through the windows, Finn, Marcus and Connie are leaning over what I assume is a chart on the table.
Finn’s pointing at something, Connie’s nodding and Marcus rubs at his jaw in contemplation.
They look like three colleagues having a perfectly normal Monday-night work meeting.
I place the skillet on a burner, turn on the gas and swirl olive oil in the pan. I’ve got sliced garlic on a cutting board ready to drop when the patio door slides open. My head lifts, a welcome smile on my face at whoever walks in, and I see it’s Connie.
Instantly, I’m forced to hold the smile in place as it wants to waver, and I have no idea why. There’s something about her that puts me on edge, and it doesn’t have to do with her unrequited feelings for Finn.
“Don’t mind me,” she says breezily. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”
“There’s one off the entry, down the hall on the left,” I say and then wince as I realize… that was dumb. Connie’s been in this house more than me.
And she lets me know it. “I think I know where it is considering I helped pick out the tile.”
Ouch.
Connie walks past me, through the great room and disappears around the corner, but it’s confirmed. That little display of being cool with me when she arrived was for Finn’s benefit. If it’s just the two of us, it’s clear… she doesn’t like me.
I stand at the island with my wine.
I helped pick out the tile.
It’s a small thing. A tiny flare. But she’s clearly marking territory and she’s not being subtle about it.
Which is fine.
It seems like an agonizingly long period of time but in just a few minutes, Connie’s moving back through the great room. Rather than heading straight for the patio, she moves into the kitchen, leaning a hip against the island. She crosses her arms over her chest and I brace.
“How are you holding up?” she asks, sounding friendly enough but I don’t trust it.
“Holding up?” I repeat, intentionally bewildered.
“You know… this.” She gestures with a vague wave at the kitchen and at the great room and out through the glass at Finn and Marcus on the patio.
“All of it. Moving into a man’s house weeks after meeting him.
Finding out what he does for a living. Reconciling it with what you do for a living. That’d be a lot for anybody.”
“Oh, and let’s not forget Russian sex traffickers are after me too,” I say coolly and watch her very carefully for her reaction.
Her face is blank as she returns my stare. “You’re tougher than you look. I’ll give you that.”
“I’m tough enough for this conversation.”
Connie tilts her head and gives me a smile that’s almost rueful, almost sad. It’s a beautiful piece of acting. “Okay. I’m going to say one thing, and then I’m going to go back out there, and you can do with it what you want.”
“I’m all ears.”
Connie unfolds her arms, turns to face me fully and places her palms on the counter. “Finn matters to me and I think if I were you, I’d want somebody to be straight with me, even if it stung.”
Oh, so this is the tack she’s going to take. I can feel it coming… the whole He’s really not that into you thing.
“He’s not going to leave this life for you, Josie.”
I hold my silence because I want to hear every bit of it. I want to hear her entire ploy.
“He’s said he might. I’m sure he’s said it. He probably meant it when he said it. But I’ve watched him for eighteen years and I’m telling you, he’s not going to walk away. This isn’t a hobby for him. He’s not going to dismantle who he is for a woman, no matter how good it feels right now.”
I understand Connie’s trying to get me to walk before Finn might, and I also understand it’s entirely self-serving. I should just nod and let her be on her way.
But I find myself challenging her. “I’m curious, Connie… how many women in Finn’s life have you had this conversation with?”
She flinches because I struck her where it hurt. She’s never seen Finn fall for another woman before.
She covers it inside of half a second and I can see the lie before I hear it.
“More than I’d like to count. He’s a charming man, Josie.
Charming men have a type and they cycle through it.
The type is intelligent, accomplished, a little wounded.
The cycle is six to eight months. I know what I’m watching because I’ve watched it before. ”
I sip my wine. I watch her over the rim of the glass and she thinks I’m absorbing it.
But I’m cataloguing it and there’s a big difference.
“Connie. I’m going to do you the courtesy of being direct with you, because I think direct is the only language you and I are going to have.
” Her eyes flash and I can tell the only expectation she had was for me to turn tail and run.
Metaphorically, that is. “You’re not wrong that this is hard and I’m fully aware that Finn’s built an identity around a thing he may not be able to walk away from easily.
You’re not wrong that there’s a version of this story where it ends badly.
I have thought about all of that. I’m an intelligence analyst and sitting with hard possibilities is the job. ”
“Good. So you understand—”
“I’m not done. The part you’re wrong about is the part where you think any of that is news to me.
I’m not a woman he’s dazzled into not seeing clearly.
I see Finn very clearly. I see him with all the complications still in the room.
And I’m here anyway, because I’ve spent enough time with him to know the difference between a man who’s putting on a performance for a six-month cycle and a man who’s reasoning with his life out loud in front of me.
You’ve never seen that version of him because that version of him didn’t exist before.
But I’m watching it in real time, and I don’t need you to manage my expectations. I’ve got it fully covered.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. She looks like a gasping fish and her cheeks turn red. I keep going, because I don’t want her to be the one who decides when I’m done.
“And one more thing. I also notice you. You think you’re warning me, but you’re not.
You’re telling me what you wish. You want me to believe that there’s a version of Finn who will ultimately resent me because that’s the version of Finn who may one day be available to you.
I get it and I don’t begrudge you the feeling.
I begrudge you doing it in his kitchen, while I’m cooking him dinner, pretending it’s for my benefit. ”
Connie blanches, then stammers, “I’m just trying to look out for him.”
“No. You’re not.”
I leave it at that and she holds my eyes intently before looking away. Then she pushes off the counter with one hand and walks back toward the slider door without another word.
When she’s gone, I exhale a long breath. That was stupid of me to do that. Connie could still be a threat and I just threw down the gauntlet.
I watch as she sits down, her jaw set stubbornly as she rejoins the conversation. She doesn’t laugh and she doesn’t joke with Finn or Marcus.
I can tell she’s not engaged.
No, she’s thinking about what I just told her, and she’s ruminating on the fact that I’m a threat to her that isn’t going away.
I stand at the island, take a long sip of wine, and let my hand go to the granite to steady myself, because the hand has just started shaking and I would rather not be shaking when Finn walks back in.
The oven timer goes off, blessedly distracting me. I pull the chicken out and I set it on the stovetop to rest, and I think about whether I’m going to tell Finn what happened in this kitchen.
The answer comes to me immediately and I decide to hold it to myself. I’ll wait, not because I’m afraid of the conversation but because tomorrow night is the run, and the morning after will be soon enough for me to tell Finn that his oldest friend tried to talk me out of him in his own kitchen.