Page 17 of Cabin Fever

“Okay, I get it. I need to . . .” I shake out my hands. How long had they been clenched like that? “I’ll try.”

Dahlia glances back at Devon, standing at the back with his equipment cart. “You don’t need to figure out who put those pictures in. Not for my sake anyway.”

“But what if detective work is fun for me?”

She barks a laugh. “That’s what you said about running the wedding. I’m starting to wonder⁠—”

“Don’t say it.” I stalk in the other direction. The last thing I need to hear is that I’ve forgotten what the word “fun” even means.

* * *

By eleven, the party's dead. Finn and I walk back to 6042 through hallways that hum like the inside of a refrigerator. I tried to escape without him noticing, but no dice.

Neither of us talks in the elevator. In the cabin, we orbit each other. I change in the bathroom. He changes while I'm in there. I come out in the tank top and inside-out sweats. He's sitting against his headboard in those unholy boxer briefs with his reading light on, and it's all so weirdly domestic that my chest aches.

This is Dahlia’s life. Coming home to someone who feels comfortable. A witness to her life. All I have is the stray cat that sometimes stops by on my porch.

I get in my bed and pick up my book, but before I can open it, Finn says, “I don’t have a problem with Dahlia marrying Theo.”

I perk up. Okay, so not deflecting.

Finn sets his phone down. “I have a problem with the timing.”

“The timing? They've been together for four years.”

“That's not the kind of timing I mean.”

I wait. He doesn't elaborate. He laces his fingers behind his head and studies the ceiling. Finally, he continues, “You've seen the numbers on this wedding closer than anyone. Nothing about the last few months strikes you as . . . off?” He sets that word down like he's walking on a finished floor in work boots.

I frown. “Off how? Like with the budget?”

He waits.

I think back through the planning sessions I had with Dahlia. There wasn’t any hesitation there. They’d been saving up for years, and Mom was pitching in a little. But . . . “I guess it was a little strange that they suddenly started worrying about everything a week before. Like⁠—”

“With the cabins,” Finn finishes.

Yes. Exactly what I was thinking. He and I were only sitting here because Mom and Dahlia were suddenly tightening the purse strings. “Wait, did Theo lose his job or something?” Dahlia would’ve told me about something that serious, wouldn’t she?

“No.” Finn adjusts on the bed, and I work to keep my eyes above his midpoint.

“Then what?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

I scoff. “Seriously? You’re going to tell me there’s this big issue, and⁠—”

“I didn’t say⁠—”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” I slump back onto the bed and pick up my book. This doesn’t even matter. If he has some issue with Theo and Dahlia’s timing, it’s a moot point. Yet, with the images of him chatting away with Marisol and Sadie all night, I can’t quite let it go. “You have no problem talking to everyone else, but when it comes to me?” I shake my head.

“What?”

I give him a look. “Nothing. Never mind.”

His jaw tightens. “What did I do to make you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.”