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Finn scoffed, “Aoife, I handle it. Don’t worry. You need her for the bakery. I get it.”
When he started to walk away, shocked, I almost watched him go, then I called out, “That means she does make inappropriate comments!”
You need her for the bakery. I get it.
What was that supposed to mean?
He looked at me over his shoulder. “You have nothing to be jealous about.”
“I’m not jealous,” I disregarded.
“Well, then? What’s the problem?” he retorted, no longer looking back at me, just heading to bed.
Uneasily, I watched him go.
My husband was a beautiful man. I knew women looked at him. I knew they wanted him, but I wasn’t jealous because he never gave me reason to be.
He hadn’t done a damn thing to encourage Louise; if anything, his scowl should have had her running for the hills. But the idea that she’d been drooling over him for a while was creepy. At least, it sure as hell creeped me out.
Turning off the lights, I dashed down the hall too. When I found him getting into bed, I demanded, “What inappropriate things has she said?”
“Aoife, I’m a grown man. I can handle this.”
His tired tone just pissed me off even more. “Finn, answer the damn question.”
His stare turned bewildered. “I’ll answer yours if you answer mine.”
“Fine,” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest.
“Did you notice that she’s made herself look like you?”
“What?”
“She was blonde before, now she’s a redhead. She wears green contacts—”
“Lots of people wear colored contacts and have dyed their hair.”
He studied me a second then shook his head. “I asked, you answered. Your turn.”
“Is she coming onto you?”
“What do you think when she looks at me like she’s a starving dachshund and I’m a steak? And no, I’m not interested.” He punched the pillow a couple times before he rammed it beneath his head and turned away from me. “The day I met you was the day I stopped seeing other women.”
Another man might mean that in the figurative sense. That he didn’t date anymore.
Not Finn.
He was being literal.
He didn’t see other women because I was all he saw.
The simplicity of his statement packed more of a punch than Hiroshima. It had me closing my eyes a second as I hovered there, torn between anger and concern and a desperate need to go to him. To feel his arms close around me.
When the tears came, I didn’t know. But I stood there, bawling my eyes out for no particular reason aside from the other million reasons I had to weep.
It took him less than thirty seconds to register what was happening, and once he did, he was out of the bed and storming toward me.
When he dipped down and grabbed a hold of me, I let him. I climbed him like a tree, legs around his hips, arms around his shoulders, and I burrowed my face in his throat.
