Kissing Frogs
Page 17
“How exactly is it not insurmountable?” Was he completely out of touch with reality?
“Let’s get dressed and go see your Grandma Fiona.”
I stared at him in complete surprise, my eyebrows shooting into my hairline.
Well, that wasn’t what I expected to hear.
It was another hour before we managed to get ourselves out of bed. Finn spent that hour showing me exactly what I’d been missing in my life. It was slow and sweet and I finally understood the appeal of chick flicks and books. He wrapped his arms around me, murmuring sweet nothings in a language I didn’t understand and it didn’t matter. It took everything in me to move away so we could shower and go to Grandma Fiona’s house.
Showering together seemed like a good idea at the time, a time saver. Good for the environment. But it didn’t quite work out that way and we left the shower a little more tired and a whole lot happier. The man was capable of things in cramped spaces that I had never imagined even in my wildest fantasies.
Against all odds, we finally managed to leave the house. Grandma Fi usually had a far more active social life than I did, so I was surprised that my last minute phone call found her free for as long as we needed. Most of the time, I had to call at least a week in advance for her to be able to pencil me into her busy schedule. More surprising was the fact that she asked me if I was bringing my new young man. How in the hell does she know?
“My witch skills are strong, granddaughter. You should know that by now. How else would I know I needed to be available this morning?”
What could I say to that? I stammered my way through the rest of the conversation. My discomfort just fed my grandmother’s smug amusement.
Finn and I made several necessary stops before beginning the drive to her house. After our shower, Finn remembered one important thing about his conversion from frog to human. And that was the fact that he hadn't exactly shown up with a toothbrush and a wardrobe. Frog-to-human conversions weren’t something I dealt with on a regular basis, so I had no idea how it all worked. But it seemed that all that came with him when he turned human again was whatever he had on the moment he turned froggy. A handy rule, but one I thought could be dicey if one happened to be in the shower or otherwise occupied at the moment of conversion.
I had inadvertently solved the hygiene issue the night I showed him the guest room, the basket filled with bath and body things. A toothbrush tucked into the basket of bath and body things on the dresser staved off morning breath, but clothing was a problem. He had been wearing the same clothes for going on two days and I didn’t think my clothes were going to help him any. So, our first stop was a necessary trip to the mall for clothes and other necessities.
The second stop was to the pet shop. Finn the Frog was gone and I had no idea how I was going to break that news to Kyra. And I especially didn’t want to break that news over the phone. So, we bought a Finn replacement, as well as a new terrarium to replace the one he decimated. The irony of that didn’t escape me. I hadn’t been thrilled about hosting a frog in the first place and now I had one I voluntarily bought.
We took all of the frog gear home and set up Finn version 2.0 in style. I had never put so much effort into what amounted to little more than an elaborate lie. And I didn’t feel very good about it. Finally, it was done and we left with my dog tucked under Finn’s arm, two more stops to make on the way to Grandma Fi’s.
The next stop was the flower shop. Grandma Fi was old-school. Gentlemen didn’t come calling for any reason without some kind of flowers or plant. Jack spent most of his time there, so her house was filled with growing things, but, according to my grandmother, there was no such thing as too much. So, buckled into the backseat of my truck was a huge, potted shamrock plant.
His choice would earn Finn points. My grandmother's latest rescue cat had decided her last shamrock made an excellent litter box, which was not good for the longevity of plants of any kind. We still hadn’t figured out how the tiny black kitten managed that feat. The plant had been high on top of a cabinet with no discernible way to it. Sorcery, a theory Finn agreed with when I proposed it. So, my grandmother would be pleased to have a new plant.
Our last stop was almost as vital as the flower shop. An early morning trip to the liquor store to fulfill another one of my grandmother’s rules. Grandma Fiona felt that a visit by any gender required a gift and flowers didn't count. After years of training, I knew that the preferred gift was a bottle of her favorite Irish whiskey. From time to time, she enjoyed a shot of Jameson's in her coffee or tea.
A man’s voice called to us with a merry greeting as we walked inside. Its owner was invisible inside one of the walk-in coolers along one side of the store. I yelled back as I made my way around a huge display of beer, stacked to look like the ski jump at the old Olympic Village in Lake Placid, an hour or so away. When we got to the counter, the owner of the voice, and the owner of the store, was waiting by the register.
It was Mr. Anderson, Taylor’s dad. A smile crossed his face when he saw me, quickly turning to concern when he got a look at my face. My makeup job didn’t entirely hide the hot mess that was my bruised face. Concern warred with curiosity when he saw Finn next to me and he stared at our joined hands. He was a great guy, but he wasn’t known for his subtlety and discretion.
“I don’t know where to start, little girl,” he paused, reaching out to examine my nose with gentle fingers. “What the hell happened here? And do I need to punch someone?” He pointedly looked from me to Finn.
“No punching necessary, Mr. A. I promise. Nothing more than my usual gracefulness. I tripped and kissed the wall. It’s not broken, but it hurts like a bitch.”
He raised an eyebrow and looked once again at Finn before examining my face again. Whatever he saw in our faces must have satisfied him because he shook his head in mock disgust and heaved a loud, dramatic sigh before he continued.
“I bet. So… who’s your friend, Cassie? I don’t think Taylor’s mentioned that you had a new,” he paused for dramatic effect, “friend.”
Mr. Anderson was the only person in the world who got away with calling me “Cassie.” Nothing I said or did would ever get him to stop, so it was a good thing I loved him like another dad. But as much as I adored him, there was no getting around the fact that he was also the world’s nosiest person.
His nosiness was the unavoidable side effect of being in the business of booze. He not only owned the liquor store, but the most popular pub in the tri-town area. He spent a lot of time listening to inebriated people telling him all their dark secrets. Years of this left him with the insatiable need to know all the juicy gossip. But I had been sucked into Mr. Anderson's traps before. I learned long ago that if I told him anything before I told Taylor, it wouldn’t end well for me when she found out about it.
“Nope. Nice try, Mr. A.” I turned to Finn to explain. “His daughter is my best friend.” I turned back to him and waggled my finger. “You and I both know Taylor would kick my ass and have it for dinner if I told you anything before I told her. So, you’ll have to live in suspense. Sorry.”
“Can’t I at least get an introduction? Or is that breaking some ‘girl code’ rule that I, the manly man that I am, know nothing about?”
I rolled my eyes before answering. “Finn, this is Scott Anderson. Taylor’s dad, but my adopted dad, too. Mr. A, this is Finneas O’Malley.”
The two men shook hands and I watched Mr. Anderson look Finn up and down. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was checking him out, but to his credit, Finn didn’t bat an eye. He simply let Mr. Anderson take his measure. It was a long awkward moment that ended with Mr. Anderson looking Finn in the eye for what seemed like forever. Finn still didn’t flinch.
“Well, since Cassie won’t tell me anything,” he said with a mock glare directed at me. “I don’t quite know what to make of you. So, all I’ll say is this. We love our Cassie and you should know that if you hurt her any way, you’ll have to answer for it. If
not to her father or Taylor, then definitely to me. Understood, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Understood, sir.” With grave seriousness, the two men shook hands again. “Trust me when I tell you that hurting Cassidy is the last thing I would ever want to do.”
I couldn’t handle it any more. “Okay, gentlemen. The testosterone is killing me. I love you, Mr. A, but it’s time for us to visit Grandma Fi.” I went around the counter and gave him a kiss and a hug before grabbing Finn by the hand and escaped back to my idling truck.
“Thanks for being cool with Mr. A. I know he can be a little, well, direct, but he means well.”
“I don’t mind, a ghrá. He obviously loves you and wants to protect you. I get that. I don’t know everything you’ve been through, but I know enough.”
I snuck peeks at him as I drove, musing about what a constant surprise he was. He was the epitome of that old saying about not judging a book by its cover. Tattooed and full of steel, he looked more like a badass biker than a pirate with ooey, gooey insides. But there was a depth to Finn that was a breath of fresh air after Luke. It made me fall just a little bit harder for him. Terrifying. And my mutt clearly loved him, judging from the fact that she was all over him in the passenger seat.
“So, Captain Finn. Exactly why are we going to see my grandmother?”
“Because she was raised in the old country. You told me she raised you and your sister on the lore of Ireland and that she still bides by the laws of the aes sídhe, right? Of all your family, she’s the most likely to believe my story, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, that's true. My parents are pragmatic to say the least. They scoff at my grandmother’s claims of witchiness. Mac and Tom aren't quite so bad, but they're pretty close. The truth is… Grandma Fi's going to feel vindicated after years of none of us really believing her stories. Of course, I could be wrong. She could decide we’re both nuts.”
“I don’t think she’s going to decide we’re daft. Don’t forget, a ghrá, it’s more than superstitions and stories to her. It’s a part of life, a part of her reality. While I didn’t believe in the unseen until the curse that took over my life, I’ve spent centuries under its effect. That would make a believer out of even the most hardened.
“And even you, love, even as much as you say you don’t believe, I’ve seen things that prove otherwise. Some of your grandmother’s ways have spilled over to you. I saw the amethyst and the quartz all over your house. I saw the fairy garden in your yard. I saw the candles, the herbs, and the altar in your bedroom. You don’t even realize all the things you do because they’ve become so much a part of you.”
He’s got me there. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But you still haven't answered my question. What are you expecting her to do for us?”
“I don’t know that she'll be able to do anything, but I think having her in our corner could go a long way with your family, don’t you? You don’t want me in jail or yourself in a padded room. Those are big priorities for me, too. I’ve been locked inside a frog’s skin for most of the last three centuries. I don’t fancy being locked inside a cell now that I’m finally free.”
“No, I imagine not,” I said with sarcasm as I turned onto a graveled road. “We’re almost there. She’s at the end of the lane.”
A few minutes later, her house came into view and I felt the same calmness fall over me that I felt every time I visited. I loved the big, red stone house in every season. In the spring and summer, the stone was covered with ivy that turned gold and red in the fall. Flowers grew in a riot of colors in beds that surrounded the house and they only disappeared in the last days of fall before the snow began. Winter brought snow-laden trees and the dark slate of the roof blanketed in more snow, edged in glittering icicles. It was picturesque, like a painting.
The front door opened as we drove towards the house, my grandmother standing framed in the oversized doorway. She was a woman who had a nose for juicy gossip and she had caught the scent. Grandma Fi and Mr. A could rival each other when it came to nosiness. They were good-hearted people, but they had a pathological need to know everything. So, there she stood, waiting impatiently just so she could get a look at my new love. Her words to me when I called, not mine, although I’d be hard-pressed to deny them if she asked. And I knew she would.
“Your grandmother seems to be happy to see you.” Finn’s voice was amused and I glanced over to see a wry smile as he looked back at her through the windshield. He didn’t seem to mind her scrutiny in the least, which was a very good sign for immediate future.
I snorted. “More like happy to see you. Common courtesy tends to disappear when faced with a juicy tidbit.” I stuck out my tongue at my grandmother, who waved an dismissive hand at me. It was impossible to be annoyed at her. She was too damn adorable.
“Are you referring to me as the ‘juicy tidbit,’ or the situation?” I heard the laughter in his voice and, once again, it struck me how different he and Luke were. Finn was teasing; Luke wouldn’t have been.
“I would like to say the situation, pirate, but I’m well aware that she’s going to find you a juicy little morsel as well. Let’s just say that Grandma Fiona and I, despite the half century or so age difference, share similar tastes in men. Yet another reason why her choices for Operation Marry Cassidy were questionable.”
“Operation Marry Cassidy. You’ve mentioned this before. What exactly is it?”
“That, my pirate, would be exactly what it sounds like. A campaign spearheaded by my mom and my sister to find me a suitable mate. Taylor and Grandma Fi were co-conspirators. All four of them suck at matchmaking, not that I've done much better on my own.
“There hasn’t been a single guy they’ve thrown at me that wasn’t at least partially nuts or a candidate for long-term incarceration. It was a wide variety of crazy, too. Stalkers, cross-dressers, thieves, arrogant hipsters, you name it. There was one who was more into wearing my underwear than he was into me wearing my underwear. One of my personal favorites lived in his mama’s basement while she took care of his every need and I am pretty sure there were no restrictions on what needs that entailed. He suggested I take responsibility for some of those needs within mere moments of having met. I did not agree and his family jewels might have been involved in a violent way.” I ended my words with a visually graphic clenching and twisting of my hand.
He winced. “Ouch. Remind me not to anger you. You’ve obviously inherited the wild Irish fire of your people.” He grinned at me as he toyed with a strand of my hair.
“Or I just don’t take being man-handled without my consent,” I said with an evil grin.
“My fiery Irish warrior goddess. You have a touch of the Morrigan in you, don’t you? I promise on my honor as a pirate that I’ll never man-handle you.”
I lifted an eyebrow as I considered his words. “I hadn’t realized that pirates had a code of honor. Besides, I’m willing for you to man-handle me any time you want.” I licked my upper lip, slowly and deliberately, before drawing my lower lip between my teeth. His eyes were riveted on my lips and I watched them darken with heat.
“You should not say these things, a ghrá, not when we’re about to visit your grandmother. You might recall that we pirates are not known for our patience.”
Oh, I know. I had learned that lesson well last night. “You’ll survive. Think of it as anticipation.”
“That is a promise I’ll hold you to. Think about this while we’re talking to your sweet grandmother.” His hand had been resting lightly on my knee, but as he spoke, he dragged his fingers along my thigh. He held my gaze as his fingers followed the seam of my jeans between my legs, pressing hard enough to make me moan with desire. I almost drove us off the driveway into the trees.
Evil. Just plain evil. I knew I’d started it, but he could have had the decency to let it go. What could be more awkward than chatting with your grandmother while being completely hot and bothered by the man sitting next to you? That’s exactly what I had to look forward to.
After the hugging was over to her satisfaction, she grabbed me by the hand and tugged me inside so hard I almost face-planted on the hardwood floor. Finn followed, snickering as I stumbled after her. The house smelled delicious. It was all I could do to keep from salivating as she dragged me down the hall to the kitchen.
It was still summer, barely, but the day was uncharacteristically chilly, so the fire that crackled merrily in the stone fireplace was welcome. Grandma Fi bustled about, setting the table in front of the fireplace. It was moments like this when I almost believed in her self-proclaimed witchy powers. There was no other way to explain all the yumminess spread across the kitchen. She'd only known we were coming for a couple of hours, but somehow she still managed to bake up a storm.
I spied a cake plate sitting on the counter, waiting to be taken to the table. On it was a pile of her homemade raspberry turnovers, my favorites. My mouth immediately began to water and I moved toward it with laser-like focus. But my fingers barely grazed one when Grandma Fi delivered a sharp slap to my hand. I yelped and rubbed the back of my hand as my grandmother admonished me.