Chapter 12
Finn
Iswallow, sliding my chair closer to her, watching carefully for any sign she’s unsure. Anything at all, and I’ll back off.
She watches me with those mahogany eyes, daring me to do it. When I hesitate a second too long, her eyes dart down and she murmurs, “You don’t have to. Maybe we’re a couple who doesn’t believe in PDA.”
Fuck that. If I was really married to Cassidy, I’d sure as shit believe in PDA. I’d want everyone in the entire world to know that this woman is mine. I’d follow her around like a lost dog, panting after her, waiting for her to deign to give me some attention.
That’s the kind of man Cassidy deserves. That’s the kind of man this town should see her with.
I cup her cheek, tilt her face, lean in those last few inches, and kiss her.
Like at our wedding, it starts as the barest brush of lips. A barely there kiss, more of a promise than anything else. But then she pushes forward, and my hand slides around to her hair, tilting her head back so I can deepen the kiss.
Cassidy tastes like that blackberry jam and mint toothpaste, and she kisses like she’s hungry for it. One of her hands comes up to my chest, and I wish that I hadn’t bothered with a shirt today.
Kissing Cassidy is simultaneously exactly what I thought it’d be and completely unexpected. It’s like standing outside in a thunderstorm and still being surprised when you get hit by lightning: shocking, but with an air of inevitability.
I pull back slowly, not wanting to end the kiss immediately, but needing to remind myself that this is all fake. We’re practicing for a marriage that is only real on paper.
Cassidy looks at me with heavy eyes, and I’m a weaker man than I thought, because I almost lean in and kiss her again.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, that should convince people,” I say, my voice coming out hoarser than expected.
Do I imagine her licking her lips? I must imagine it. “Yeah,” she agrees, eyes still trained on me.
Cassidy is a dangerous woman. She’s going to tempt me into doing something stupid, I know it. I’m already leaning closer to her, my whole body aching for her. She touched my horn and got me hard, but anyone could do that; one kiss from her and I want to beg her to let me come in her. Fuck.
“What time do you work?” I ask her, squeezing my fist so I don’t reach up and stroke her hair again.
She turns her head, finally breaking the eye contact that felt like it was drowning me in the best way. With a quick glance at the microwave clock, she says, “I have about thirty minutes.” She glances down at herself. “And I still need to shower and change.”
“Go change, then. And I’ll bring you to work when you’re done.”
She stares at me for another minute, then scampers out of the room like she’s running from something.
I don’t think anyone could see the enthusiasm in Cassidy’s eyes when she flies with me and not conclude that she’s enjoying the hell out of herself. It’s entirely for the experience and not for me, but the people spying on us when we land don’t have to know that.
I land in front of the store, carefully setting her on her feet. Kissing her again feels like tempting fate in the worst way, so I restrain myself and brush a kiss across her forehead, gentle and tender.
She blinks up at me, and I don’t know if the staring into my eyes is play-acting or genuine. I don’t take the time to sort it out. If I do, I worry that I’ll make her late.
“I’ll be back at the end of your shift,” I promise her, and then I take off again.
I go straight home, not bothering with the long way around that I’ve been flying with Cassidy. I don’t need a nice view; I need to be out of the public eye.
When I get to the workshop, Dad is already there, chiseling at a gravestone and completely ignoring me. Same thing as always, then.
We’re good now, but when I’d first started taking on less and less of the family business in favor of my art, it had been tense.
He’d taught me everything I know, after all, and I had felt like I spurned the gift, turning away from the craft passed down to him by his father.
He was as silent as ever, leaving me unsure about where I stood.
But he doesn’t have to talk for me to know; he gave me half the space in this workshop.
He helped me build the apartment upstairs so I could stay here.
He gives the most honest, no-frills critique of what I’m working on whenever I ask for it.
He isn’t effusive with praise, but he isn’t overly harsh, either.
My father is an honest man, and a quiet one, and we’ve settled into an understanding.
Or at least, I thought we did. Today he looks up from his stone. “How’s your wife?” he grunts.
She’s scared and too hard on herself. She’s beautiful and I can’t forget how her lips tasted. I don’t know which of those answers he wants. “She’s okay.”
“You taking care of her?”
I stare. My dad has never asked that about any of my girlfriends in the past. “Of course,” I tell him, but inside I’m doubting it. I’m trying to take care of her, but she makes it hard.
Not that I’m blaming her. She’s lived a life that doesn’t lend itself well to letting other people take care of her. And the amount of shit life has dumped on her recently absolutely isn’t her fault. I just wish I could make her feel better. I wish I was more helpful to her.
“Good.” He chips away at his work in silence for a minute, long enough for me to drift over toward my area and study the fox that’s almost done. “Marriage takes work, Finn. You have to put in the work. Treat her right.”
“Dad… you heard me when I told Mom that this is fake, right?” I hesitantly ask.
He grunts. “Marriage isn’t fake. You married this girl, Finn. Take this seriously.” He turns away from his work to look me in the eye, tilting his head. That’s the thing about my dad; he doesn’t say much, but he sees everything. “But I think you’re already doing that, hm?”
I look down, unable to look him in the eye when I admit, “I’m in way over my head, Dad.” I’m thirty-nine years old, well-off, and not inexperienced. I shouldn’t feel like a floundering kid right now, but I do.
My mother asked if I was going to get hurt by this, and I’d suspected she was right. Now, I’m beginning to think she was catastrophically, unavoidably right. The truth is Cassidy wrecks me. I want to kiss her on the public street and the thought of taking her on a date makes my heart skip.
It’s all for show. I can remind myself of that as often as I’d like, but it doesn’t change how my traitorous heart feels. I want Cassidy. I want this relationship and this future with her.
My dad’s footsteps crack across the floor, and then he’s in front of me and his hand is on my shoulder. “You can do it, son,” he says emphatically. “It takes work, but it’s work you can do.” He glances away. “I’m going to go home. You always need to work in silence when your mind gets like this.”
How long has he known that? How many times has he left me alone when my brain is too loud? Although I don’t think it’s ever been as loud as right now.
He’s gone before I can say something, walking right out of the workshop and no doubt home to Mom. I stare after him, touched by his confidence in me but wishing he had slightly more actionable advice.
This marriage might be sending me spinning, but the reality is that Cassidy is in it for what it can get her.
Cassidy wants her house and she wants to feel safe here in town.
She wants to be treated respectfully. She doesn’t want a man ten years older than her who she didn’t even choose for herself.
I need to get my shit together. We have the town meeting coming up, and after that, her house will be secure.
I refuse to entertain another outcome. And we shouldn’t instantly dissolve our marriage, not when it’s all so fresh in everyone’s mind, but eventually, that’ll be the goal.
She’ll want out. She’ll want to get back to her real life.
And I can’t get in too deep before that happens, no matter what my dad says.
Ignoring the fox sculpture entirely, I sit down at my drafting table. I have my pencil in hand before I even know what I’m doing, tracing the lines of a familiar form across a blank sheet of paper.
Something tells me that Cassidy would kill me if I actually sculpted her. She doesn’t seem like the type of woman to appreciate that kind of attention. And I never sculpt humanoid figures, anyway. She would be outside of my skill set.
Even so, I begin to trace out her outline, setting her figure to paper. It’s like I can’t help myself, my hands moving before I even know what I’m doing. She’s kind of perfect in a way I can’t explain, and if I don’t commit her to some sort of permanent form, then I’ll lose my mind.
It’s stupid and probably hurting me more. I’m digging myself in deeper into something that’s not real. But I can’t help myself.
When I’m done, it’s about time to pick Cassidy up at work. I got no work done on the actual sculpture I’m being paid to make today, and I’m not even sure if my progress on the sketch makes me feel any better. I’m still consumed by that kiss, unable to escape it.
I tuck the sketch into the bottom of my pile of sketches and plans. Not that there’s any reason for Cassidy to come in here, but I don’t want to risk it. It screams obsessed in a way that’s not appropriate for our relationship as it currently stands.
Before I fly to the store, I go to her house and set everything I’ll need for dinner on the counter. We’re running low on food and will need to do the shopping soon. Maybe I can do it when I drop her off at work tomorrow.
By the time I’m landing in front of the store, Cassidy is already walking out. I study her carefully, noting how tired she looks.
She walks right up to me, puts her hands on my forearms, and leans up. She can’t reach my face on her own, not unless she plans to climb me like a tree—and that is an image I’ll have to put away for later—so I bend down to her, letting her kiss me like she’s genuinely missed me all day long.
My arm curls around her waist, pulling her closer to me. There’s a part of me that needs every inch of her touching every inch of me. There’s another part that remembers where we are and why we’re in this position, but that part is getting quieter.
“Hi,” she murmurs, smiling softly up at me when she finally pulls back.
“Hey yourself.” My voice comes out distractingly rough. I clear my throat. “Ready to go?”
She nods. “Let’s go home.”
Home. The word sends a jolt of lightning straight through me, almost as powerful as her kiss. Cassidy is trying to kill me.
I scoop her up before I can do something stupid, like tell her how I’m feeling. She laughs, not expecting me to move so fast, and I’m in the air before she can say anything, a powerful beat of my wings taking us up and over the town.
“It must be so nice to be able to fly whenever you want,” she says, sighing and relaxing in my arms.
I hold her a little tighter. “I’ll take you flying any time you want, Cassidy.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I’m hungry to know what she’s thinking about. “Thanks, Finn.” she murmurs, giving nothing away.
The way she says my name does something to me. Everything she does does something to me, to be honest. Cassidy is devastating in a way I didn’t expect and I’m growing more and more worried that she’s going to ruin me entirely.