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Hugh lost track of the conversation again. When he came to, no one was speaking anymore.
The atrium was still and silent, but Finch was there. He’d positioned Hugh so his head was
resting on Finch’s lap, which was a sweet gesture in and of itself, but was made sweeter yet
by the way Finch was running his fingers through Hugh’s hair. He didn’t notice Hugh wake
up—he was looking elsewhere, eyes distant.
“Finch?” Hugh asked in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been asleep?”
Finch looked down on him and smiled, but it was a small, depleted thing that made Hugh feel
guilty. “Four hours, sir.”
“What are you still doing here?”
“I promised you I wouldn’t leave.”
Oh, sweet Finch. Hugh frowned. His guilt grew. “I’m sorry.”
“Never be sorry, sir. It’s my choice to be here.” Finch’s smile gained sincerity. “I’m proud to be
under your employ even when you kidnap the host of a children’s birthday party and demand
his Funfetti recipe as ransom. Which I’ve obtained, by the way. When Ignatius stopped by to
check on us, I asked him for it. He claims to have used the Pillsbury mix. I’ve already notified
the staff. There should be several boxes of it waiting upon our return home.”
Hugh had forgotten about the cake. The events of that afternoon were lost to the fog of his
mind—only glimpses of it remained.
“You spoil me, Finch.” Hugh rolled onto his side and buried his face against Finch’s thigh. “I
think I’m ready to say goodbye to everyone and leave. I’m in need of another nap, preferably
somewhere soft and familiar.”
Finch never stopped stroking his hair. “Of course, sir.”
“Will you come with me? To nap, I mean. It feels nice to have you near.”
“If you’d like.”
“I would.”
“Then I will.” Finch stroked Hugh’s hair back from his head, then stilled his hand. “Do you need
help up, sir, or are you feeling capable?”
“Let’s see.”
Hugh stood, but even though the ground beneath his feet was no longer uneven, he wobbled
a little. It was for show. Like he’d hoped, Finch rose and tucked himself under Hugh’s arm to
