Page 21 of The Neighborly Thing To Do
Finn hides that he’s a softie under all that taciturn awkwardness, but he’s actually a giant sweetheart with wings.
It must still be early, although I can’t tell, because Finn remembered to shut the curtains in here. I sit up, stretching out and reaching for my phone.
Seven. Not bad.
Unfortunately, all my clothes to change into are in my bedroom, and I’d rather eat a bug than put on dirty clothes after a shower, so I resign myself to staying in this gross outfit until whenever Finn gets up for the day.
His door is still shut, so I tiptoe past, making my way down the stairs.
That stupid end table I left in the living room yesterday is back on the landing.
I frown. He’s already told me the space is too tight for him; why the hell would he make it worse? Did he not like where I put it?
It was haphazard, I’ll give him that. I lift it and carry it down the last few steps, looking around to see where it can go. There’s no good space, but I’ll leave it on the porch before I let Finn put it back on the stairs.
I end up stuffing it in the coat closet. No one needs winter coats in August, so I have some time before I have to think about it.
There. I wipe my hands of imaginary dust. Problem solved, and now it’s time for breakfast.
I take a look around as I move, mentally preparing to clean up what we must have left out last night. But Finn closed up the house better than any closing shift I ever did when I worked at the pub. He put away the popcorn bowl, folded the blanket, and laid it carefully over the back of the couch. The crumbs I’m sure we dropped are gone. The front door is even locked.
Well, damn. He carried me to bedandcleaned before he got any sleep himself? Now I feel bad.
I go to the kitchen to see about breakfast. I have to work this morning, and I’m hoping Finn is up before I have to go. I wantto pay him back for cooking for me yesterday and taking care of me last night.
Thankfully, I hear his heavy footsteps clunking down the stairs not too long later. He stops on the landing. “What happened to the table?”
I poke my head out of the kitchen. “You said it made that space too tight for you. I moved it for a reason, Finn.” I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he gets that I’m serious about this.
He holds up a hand defensively. “I didn’t want to mess with your house, Cassidy.”
“Finn, a home is meant to benefit the people living in it.” I wave the butterknife still in my hand to emphasize my point. “You are living here. Ergo, this house needs tofityou. So, no end table. Don’t put it back.“ If he can even find it.
Then again, he found the mop yesterday. He’s clearly a pretty determined guy with absolutely no issue going through closets.
“You don’t have to think of me like that,” he mutters gruffly.
Oh,fuckno. “Like you haven’t been thinking about me?” I retort.
It takes a moment, but then his smile spreads slowly across his face, something beautiful that I don’t know what to do with. I want Finn to be smiling all the time. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m beat. I’ll leave it.”
“And you’ll mention anything else that will make this house more livable for you,” I add, feeling bold.
“I’m fine. You have big doorways, and that’s always the sticking point.”
I consider that. “Okay,” I decide, taking him at his word. “Do you want breakfast?”
“If you don’t mind. But I can make us something.”
“Too late,” I say smugly, happy to have won this little battle this morning. I have a feeling it’s going to become athing.
He walks over, and I back into the kitchen counter to get out of his way. “When did you have time to make muffins?” he asks, amused as he sits at the table.
“They don’t take too long. It’s a box mix,” I admit, going to make myself a lunch for later. “Anyway, butter and jam are already on the table.”
He looks at the jam consideringly. “Is this the one you make?”
It’s a mason jar with a little logo I doodled myself with a stupid looking dancing blackberry on it. “Mhm. It’s good, I promise. Better than the label.”
