Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Finn stares at me sharply. “C’mon. You know me,” he says.
“I do. Just making sure,” I say, then pat his knee.
“The other night, I met up with my friend Tate for dinner. His daughter was there. She’s in her mid-twenties, I guess. Marilyn was there too.”
His voice is heavy, and I know where this is going.
“Did she accuse you of staring at Tate’s daughter the whole night?” I ask.
Finn taps his nose. “Bingo. And, I was not looking at her. I’m disgustingly faithful, and I just want my wife to be happy with me again. Is that so much to ask?”
Poor guy. He tries so hard. “I don’t think it’s too much,” I say.
“I don’t either. So I guess her being mad that you’re not into Ginny is her way of punishing me,” Finn says.
I’m glad he put two and two together himself. But I bite my tongue the rest of the car ride, so I don’t say something like Good luck making her happy.
But Dad doesn’t have my restraint. Over spaghetti and meatballs, he points his fork at Finn. “Is your wife still busting your balls on everything?” he asks. The man doesn’t mince words.
Finn shakes his head. “It’s fine, Pops. Nothing to worry about.”
“You sure?” No wonder he picked tonight to meet us. Mom’s busy with her book club. She’d never let him give Finn the third degree when it comes to romance.
“It’s all good,” Finn insists.
“You need a woman who understands you,” he says, stabbing a meatball.
“Dad, you need to cut back on red meat,” Finn says, shifting gears.
“I didn’t cut back on smoke inhalation for forty years at the firehouse. I don’t need to cut back on meat.”
He takes another bite. Defiantly.
Hard to argue with the salty old bastard so I don’t even try. Nor does Finn. Instead, I wrestle the conversation away from the thorny subject of romance. “Thanks again for connecting me with Jack’s kid. Kyle’s working out well,” I tell my pops.
“Good to hear. Jack appreciates what you did and so do I,” he says gratefully.
“Kyle’s a solid employee, so the appreciation is all mine,” I say.
That takes some of the heat off my brother as we catch up on Jack and Kyle, then the guys from the firehouse. Then Dad says Mom wants to know if we’ve remembered to get our flu shots.
“It’s August,” I point out with a laugh.
“Mom says the flu’s coming early this year,” Dad says, shrugging, acknowledging the request is a typical mom one.
“We’ll get them soon,” Finn says lightly.
On the way home, my brother huffs out a frustrated breath. “Dad’s wrong, isn’t he? About Marilyn?”
Ah, hell. Does he want me to lie? It’s not my place to render a verdict on my brother’s marriage, so I say, “No one truly knows a relationship except the people in it.”
Finn turns to the window, staring for a while at the buildings streaking by, the lights, the road.
When he shifts his gaze back to me, he just nods, perhaps both resolute and resigned as he says, “Yeah, that’s true.”
The car drops him off first, and I give him a clap on the shoulder. “You’re trying, Finn. That’s all you can do. Just keep trying your best.”
He’ll beat himself up for the rest of time if he thinks for one second he didn’t give something his all. Especially something as important as his marriage. “Thanks,” he says, then pushes open the door and tosses me an evil look. “Don’t think I forgot what happened at the pool.”
“I’d never think that,” I say, then he flips me the bird and leaves.
I smile, glad he’s back to himself again.
Once I’m home, I say hi to David, who’s camped out in the guest room watching a show on his laptop. With Cynthia, it seems, judging from the square icon on the corner of the screen that matches a framed photo of her on the nightstand.
“Bedroom looks good,” I say, though he didn’t do much with it. Ginny set it up, navy and white, guest-room style, and that seems to suit David’s temporary needs.
“It’s nice and rat-free,” he remarks.
“One of my favorite perks of this place.”
“Thanks again,” he says, then to the screen, he tells Cynthia he’ll be right back. He mutes himself and closes the laptop halfway. “I’ll look for a sublet this week, Dad.”
“No rush. Whatever works for you. Stay as long as you want,” I offer. It’s not his style, but damn, does it feel good to make the offer. To have the space and the means to make his life easier.
“I know,” he says with an almost embarrassed grin. “But my dad taught me to stand on my own two feet.”
Ah, hell. Way to make my heart thump with pride too. Like I have a choice but to cross to the bed and ruffle his hair. “You’re doing great, kiddo. Let me know how I can help.”