Chapter 9
Finn
“What the hell is that?” Henry’s voice was tight and horrified, making Finn turn to find him looking at the jar that now sat proudly in the center of his island.
“Exactly what it looks like,” Finn said, exhaling hard.
“Those are teeth. You have a jar of teeth on your counter.”
“Indeed, I do. Fangs too. She’s an equal opportunity collector.”
“This is Iris’s doing?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t discover some new obsession with teeth all of a sudden.” He wasn’t even going to bring up the torture device that was sitting next to their toothbrushes in the bathroom, which had been used to keep mouths open in early dentistry.
“But why?”
“Good question. If you ask her, can you also try to figure out why she’s taken up entomology too?”
“Entomology?”
“She collects dead bugs and pins them to a board. I suspect she only got into it because I told her I didn’t think there was anywhere nearby that taught taxidermy classes.”
“When did this all happen?” Henry asked.
“Seems like she got a whole life going while we were out of town for that golf tournament.” He wasn’t sure if he was freaked out, intrigued, or completely charmed by it, to be honest. On the one hand, he loved how she was settling in and finding hobbies and interests.
On the other, he did kind of wish her interests weren’t so unsettling.
It had only been two and a half days. But that was long enough for Iris to really spread out.
And Finn wanted her to feel comfortable, to start to think of his apartment as her home as well.
To that end, he found himself charmed by the piles of books all around, her coral comb that was always left somewhere random after one of her many daily hair brushings, and her random kicked-off clothes on the bedroom or bathroom floor.
Those things were familiar and domestic.
The teeth and bugs, though, that was just as creepy as an undead subway rat making eye contact.
To be completely honest, he had purposely not done the research on the taxidermy thing. He wasn’t sure he could stomach coming home to find a bunch of stiff, dead animals scattered all around his home, staring at him with unnerving glass eyes.
“I thought mermaids were supposed to collect shiny things,” Henry said.
“Whatever you do, don’t say that to her.”
“Why not?”
“Because I made that mistake right when I got home and saw them. She told me I was being speciesist and ran to the bathroom and cried. Loudly. For hours.”
It was strange how fragile she seemed to be. This woman in his apartment, integrated in his life, barely resembled the fiery-eyed woman who’d dumped a drink on his head when he’d come off as a bit of a jerk at their first meeting.
“Well, could you lightly encourage less morbid hobbies?”
“I barely know the woman, Henry. I can’t start dictating what she does for fun.”
“Well, maybe you need to get to know her more. Take her to an art class. Or pickleball. Anything but this,” he said, shaking the jar of teeth. “You have no engagements until tomorrow afternoon. See what you can do with that time.”
With that, Henry was off.
“Do we have any more push pins?” Iris called, walking into the apartment a few minutes later, holding a dead caterpillar in her hand. “Willow found this around the roots of her tree, so she gave it to me.”
Great.
Another dead bug.
This one was huge, too.
“I think we’re out. Maybe we can just set this guy outside for the birds to eat.”
“Why? Don’t you think he’s beautiful?” she asked, shoving the thing in Finn’s face.
It took every bit of media training Henry had forced him through not to wince. Or gag. Possibly both.
“Yeah, it’s a … fine caterpillar.”
“Fine?” she asked, her face falling, her eyes hardening.
He wasn’t sure what about his words had such a dramatic transformation overtaking her, but all the warmth and sweetness he’d come to know her for—creepy hobbies aside—disappeared.
“Well, fine. I’ll just throw him away, then.”
She stormed over toward the cabinet where the trash can lived.
Finn was quicker, grabbing her wrist to stop her from throwing out the fat green caterpillar.
“I will order more push pins,” he said. “Why don’t we stick him in one of those food containers you saved until then?”
It wasn’t just teeth and bugs she collected, but every single plastic container that takeaway food came in. Usually, she could be found scrubbing them while bumbling to herself about plastic pollution and careless humans.
If Finn hadn’t been watching her so closely, he might have missed the look of disappointment that crossed her gorgeous face.
But no.
That made no sense.
He was giving her what she wanted. Why would she be disappointed by that?
Maybe he was just bad at reading her. Perhaps mermaids emoted differently. He really needed to find some time to do a deep dive—as it were—into her culture. If he came from a place of understanding, maybe they could avoid some of the growing pains they seemed to be dealing with.
“I have an idea,” he said as he dropped her arm, so he didn’t give in to the desire to run his thumb across the nearly translucent skin there.
“An idea?” she prompted as he produced a small to-go container into which she quickly dropped the caterpillar. Almost as if it grossed her out to hold it. She even quickly turned to wash her hands.
Finn’s brows pinched as he watched her. “Do you have any plans tonight?”
“Monty is off with his new friends. Why? What did you have in mind?”
“I’m going to keep it a secret.”
Iris’s head tipped to the side, interest clear in those sea glass eyes of hers. Like she was drawn to the spontaneity.
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“Not even your shoes if you don’t want to.”
As much as she hated shoes, she did slip into them before following him out of the apartment, into the elevator, then down, down, down.
He wasn’t sure Iris even knew about the basement of the building. If she did, he felt like she would be spending a lot more time there than in the apartment.
“Wait … where are we?” she asked as his hand pressed to the small of her back, leading her out of the elevator.
“That thriller you’re reading giving you all sorts of ideas about basements, huh?” Finn asked.
“No one mentioned a basement.”
“Because Monty is too busy trying to rub shoulders with the elite. And Willow wants nothing to do with more concrete. Right through here,” Finn said, typing his passcode into the locked door and then pulling it open.
“Is this some sort of—oh.”
Finn was captivated by the surprise and pleasure on her face as her gaze landed on the Olympic-sized saltwater swimming pool.
He watched, too, as tears flooded her eyes when she stepped closer, kicking off her shoe and dipping her toe into the water.
She had nothing else to say right then as she reached down, shoving her shorts to the ground and then reaching to yank up her top.
He knew he should excuse himself, give her privacy. At the very least, look away.
But his feet stayed rooted in the same spot. And the world could have started to fall apart around them, and nothing would have made him look away as Iris pulled off her camisole and, finally, her panties.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted more—to touch her, or to deserve to.
She was so free, so unguarded. Like she didn’t know her body could be a weapon. Or maybe she did, and didn’t care.
Either way, it made him feel clumsy and crude by comparison. Like every glance was a violation.
Her long waves protected most of her modesty, but, God, he memorized each inch of exposed skin.
His palms itched with the urge to reach out, to run his hand over that subtle curve of her hip, up over her ribs, cup one of her full breasts as she …
No.
He had to stop.
But before he could even begin to clear his mind, Iris dove into the pool, disappearing under the water with a splash that coated his clothes.
For a moment, all he could see were the ripples of the water and her long pink hair.
But then her tail flashed.
That same urge to reach out and touch overcame him again, but this time in a less sensual way. He wanted to know what that tail felt like, if it was cold or warm like her skin. If she’d react to him touching it the way she did when he rubbed her feet.
Iris swam from one end to the other and back again before she surfaced, her face a mask of pure pleasure as the water cascaded down her face.
Wet, the scales near her hairline were more prominent and colorful. And the marks on her neck that looked like scars had split into subtle gills.
The shell bra, though? That was apparently something mermaids put on. Because she was bare from the waist up. He tried like hell to keep his gaze on the area of her above the water.
“You’ve been keeping this from me?” she asked, her voice even more musical in her mermaid form. Sure, she sounded sad that he’d kept the one thing from her that called to her blood, even if a salted pool was a poor replacement for the sea.
“Honestly, I forgot,” Finn admitted. “I’ve never been down here except when I had a tour of the building before I moved in.”
“You don’t like to swim?” she asked, her tone suggesting that didn’t seem possible.
“I can’t swim,” he corrected.
“What? What do you mean?” she asked, her brows furrowed.
“I mean I was born and raised in Manhattan. I was never really near water.”
“Manhattan is surrounded by water.”
“Yes,” Finn agreed, “but no one swims in that water.”
“Are you afraid of the water?”
“I think I have a healthy fear of anything that could be dangerous. Large bodies of water, heights, too-fast vehicles …”
“You could just put your legs in,” Iris suggested. “It’s the perfect temperature.”
She seemed determined to see him enjoying the water. And some part of him really wanted to please her.
“I can do that.”