Page 23 of Finn's Future

I nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

He passed it over, our fingers brushing briefly and heat flickered through me before I could stop it. I focused back on the pan quickly, hoping he thought the red in my cheeks was from the heat off the cooking.

“You cook a lot?” he asked after a minute.

“Used to,” I replied. “Before Noah.”

“And after?”

I laughed. “Now it’s more like whatever I can throw together one-handed while holding him.”

His mouth twitched slightly. “Sounds about right.”

“What about you?” I glanced at him. “You survive off takeout?”

“Mostly,” he admitted. “Or whatever Maria throws at me at the clubhouse.”

“Explains a lot.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I smiled despite myself. “There wasn’t much in the fridge.”

He looked down at himself thoughtfully. “Pretty sure I’m still alive.”

“Barely,” I muttered.

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“So,” Finn said after a moment, “what were you doing before all this?”

The knife slowed slightly in my hand.

Before.

Before running and constantly checking over my shoulder.

“Bar work,” I said. “Some kitchen stuff. Nothing exciting.”

“That where you met Caleb?”

“Yeah.”

The ache hit.

“He was kind,” I said. “Not what people expected from a rough-looking out-of-towner.”

Finn nodded once slowly. “Yeah. That was him.”

I glanced towards him carefully. “You miss him.”

“I didn’t really know him properly,” he answered finally. “He left the same month I came out.”

“But,” he continued, leaning back against the counter slightly, “he was one of ours. That’s enough.”

Something in his voice warmed.

Loyalty.