Chapter Three Finn #2
“Mrrrr,” she says.
“Oh, good. We have a guest tonight. This is my friend Shelby. Can you say hello?”
“Mrrrrrow.”
“Um...hi, Marsha, nice to meet you,” Shelby says as she gives a little wave. Her eyes are wide with shock. “I...I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend. I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can figure out somewhere else to stay tonight.”
Marsha and I look at each other, her whiskers twitching in indignation. I can’t help it. I laugh and gently place her on the floor. She turns her back to us, tail raised high and flicking, and goes to the kitty door that leads to the screened in back porch. We’ve been dismissed.
“I don’t know what kind of freaky stuff you think I’m into, but Marsha’s my pet. She’s a cat. All cat. She’s not a shifter. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Shelby flushes bright red up to her hairline. “Oh! I’m sorry! The way you two were speaking to each other and the obvious affection between you, I just assumed.”
“You assumed I invited you back to my house so I could cuddle with my girlfriend while she was shifted as a pet cat in front of you?”
I like the show of spunkiness when she jams her fists on her hips.
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know how shifter stuff works. And from where I was standing after the day I had, it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
She has a point.
I’m laughing, but for a moment, my heart squeezes with pain.
How many times have human women thought me no more than a monster?
Sherry Townsend in sixth grade, who cried when I tried to hold her hand while roller skating.
Then the captain of the cheer squad my senior year of high school, who agreed to go to prom with me only to laugh at me in front of all her friends.
She only said yes as a joke. And I even matched my tie to her dress.
Ivy, of course, and I’d planned on marrying her.
This isn’t one of those times, though. I rub my chest and shake the pain away.
“Follow me.” I open the sliding glass door and enter the screened back porch overlooking the marsh and creeks.
When Shelby joins me, I put my arm around her shoulder to turn her slightly and point across the marsh to a collection of buildings and docks.
“Over there is an incredible seafood restaurant. I’ll take you there if you want.
People drop off cats there thinking they’ll have great lives.
Really, the cats are easy prey for other animals, dangerous to the birds, susceptible to disease, and breed like crazy.
There’s a group that does trapping and neutering.
They adopt out the ones they can. That’s how I got Marsha.
The feral ones that will never adapt to life as a pet are adopted as barn or dock cats. ”
My arm is still around Shelby’s shoulder, and it feels right.
It felt right on the show, too. Every interaction we shared there convinced me she was mine.
But I listened to others and doubted my instincts.
Let them tell me it was a primal urge, it was the animal in me reacting.
That it wasn’t real. So I rejected her. Let her leave me because I listened to the words of others instead of my own heart.
But now there are no cameras, no producers, no Ivy whispering poison in my ear.
I can see now—it’s the man who wants her, not some uncontrollable animal urge.
I’m not a monster who’s found his mate. I’m a man who’s found his match.
And this time, I’m not going to let her go.
She hasn’t moved away or shrugged my arm off, so I leave it there.
I don’t want to make it awkward by taking it away.
I never want to let her go. Never have her walk away from me again. She’s mine.
She looks up at me with a soft smile.
“That’s so sweet of you. Did you name her?”
I nod.
“How did you decide on Marsha?” she asks.
Sweeping a hand in front of us to indicate our surroundings, I say, “MARSH-a,” emphasizing the first syllable.
Shelby looks around and then slaps her forehead. “Marsha like the wetlands! That’s so cute!”
Marsha mumbles the feline equivalent of “duh” and settles on her side, lifting a leg to lick her nether regions. She’s not impressed with us.
Reluctantly, I remove my arm from around Shelby’s shoulders and head into the house to start preparing dinner. “I don’t need help with the cooking, but you can keep me company if you want.” In the kitchen, I take out the steak to let it rest.
“You can shove stuff off the table so we can eat there if you want, or we can take tray tables and eat on the back porch.” I give a half grin. “Please don’t let my classiness overwhelm you.”
Her smile does funny things to me. Remember, she was going to be someone else’s wife today. You had your chance, and you didn’t take it. Are you going to man up finally? I hate it when my Bigfoot butts in and reminds me of things I’d rather forget.
“Oh, please. You’re classy, you have TV trays. I have a recliner and a built-in shelf.” She uses her hands to push up her boobs and then flushes scarlet when she realizes what she did.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, looking at the floor and tracing a line on the tile with the toe of her sock. “I...I’m too crass. Always blurting things out without thinking. I’m embarrassing.”
I walk over and place a finger under her chin, then wait for her to look up. Her beautiful green eyes are swimming with tears.
“Hey, no tears and no apologies. That was funny. I’ve done the same thing. Hell, everyone’s balanced a bowl or a plate on their chest or their tummy while kicking back watching TV. If they haven’t, then they’re boring.”
A lone tear spills over, and my heart aches. This beautiful woman should never cry. I pull her into my arms and hold her as she cries against my chest. My T-shirt is damp, but I don’t care. She transitions into the hiccupping stage of her crying.
“Mrrw!” Marsha yowls, and I glare at her.
She’s never seen me with a woman and probably feels territorial.
Too bad. She’ll have to share me. My glare is returned in her golden eyes before she struts away with her brown-and-black-striped tail twitching.
I’ll have to remember to check my boots for hairballs before putting them on.
I rub Shelby’s back, making shushing noises—the only consolation I can offer. I don’t know her well enough to know if she really is crass or blurts stuff out. But even if she is, neither of those are horrible sins. I’d prefer that to someone who’s a manipulative liar.
“Shelby, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just be yourself.”
“I’m so sorry, Finn. I don’t usually cry all over strange men. It’s just...today was a lot. The last few months have been a lot. I’m a bit of a mess right now.”
She shakes her head. I don’t think she realizes she’s wiping her nose against my shirt. Oh well.
“What if being myself isn’t good enough? My grandparents would always shush me because I’d laugh too loudly. Konner was always embarrassed because I’d say what I was thinking. I don’t have a filter. I try... ” She ends with a whisper, and my heart breaks.
I know how she feels when she worries about not being good enough.
I dealt with this after Bigfoot Finds a Bride.
I thought I was in love with Ivy and there was something wrong with me when she didn’t love me back.
Fortunately, I had some sense of self-worth and my family to help me gain perspective.
I’m too trusting, too much of a romantic, and Ivy told me what I wanted to hear even though she knew she didn’t love me or want the future I did.
She knew what she was doing. My fault was believing her act, believing the lies she whispered out of “concern.” It was my fault for not listening to what people who truly cared about me were saying.
My parents were wary of Ivy’s motivations, but I let her convince me my parents had a bias against her for not being a Bigfoot shifter.
Even the other women tried to warn me, and I thought they were jealous and trying to tarnish her reputation. Afterward, I felt like such a fool.
“Then you aren’t with the right people,” I assure Shelby. “No one is perfect. The right person isn’t blind to imperfections but accepts them. Maybe even tries to help with them if you want to change, but doesn’t require it.”
“You say that like it’s easy to find the right people,” she mumbles.
Adjusting my embrace to hold her tighter, I run a hand up and down her back.
My hand is huge compared to her dainty figure.
My palm almost spans her back and, when she’s tucked against me, the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder.
It’s not that she’s tiny—she’s average for a human woman.
It’s just female Bigfoot shifters like my mother and my sister, Violet, are taller and more substantial.
Both are feminine, and I think they’re beautiful, but neither would ever be called delicate.
“I know.” Some urge has me pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Her shampoo smells like lemons and happiness. “Sometimes you need to be your own right person.”
That makes her wriggle out of my grasp with mirthless laughter. “Tell me you’ve never been truly alone without telling me you’ve never been truly alone, Finn.”
She walks away and rips a paper towel off the roll to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
“Under the sink,” I advise when she looks for a trash can. “The door has a Marsha lock on it.”
She opens the child-and-cat-proof latch and tosses her towel.
“What do you mean?” I ask. Of course I’ve been alone. I live alone. I wanted to be married, but here I am...alone. I talk to my cat. How much more alone can I get?
“Do you have a family?”
Nodding, I say, “Yeah, my parents, my brother and sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.”
“Friends?”
“Some.” I get beers with some coworkers, get invited to poker nights, go to sporting events in Philly.