They got drinks—red wine for him, iced tea for her—and Ellie assembled a little platter of cheese and crackers. Finn would have never thought of a snack, or if he had, it probably would have been something salty, served straight from the bag. But Ellie laid everything out on a long red platter, and even included napkins. The night air drifted over them, lazy and warm. “You thought of everything,”
She shrugged. “Nothing special. And it’s not quite the evening you planned.”
“No, it’s not.” He picked up a cracker and a piece of cheese, and devoured them in one bite. “It’s better.”
She laughed. “How is that? There’s no musicians, no twinkling lights, no five-course meal. It’s just crackers and cheese on the balcony.”
“Done by you. Not by others. I don’t have that homemaking touch. At all.”
“I’m not exactly Betty Crocker myself. But I can assemble a hell of a crudités platter.” She laughed again. “So I take it you can’t cook?”
“Not so much as a scrambled egg. But I can order takeout like a pro. My grandmother is the real chef in the family. She doesn’t cook much now, but when I was a kid, she did everything from scratch.”
Ellie picked up her glass and took a sip of tea. “Where are you parents? Do they live in Boston?”
The question was an easy one, the kind people asked each other all the time. But for some reason, this time, it hit Finn hard and he had to take a minute to compose the answer.
“No. They don’t. Not anymore.” Finn was quiet for a moment. “My parents … died in a car accident, when I was eleven. Brody was eight, Riley was just six.”
“Oh, Finn, I’m so sorry.” She reached for him, and laid a soft hand on top of his arm. It was a simple, comforting touch, but it seemed to warm Finn to his core. He wanted to lean into that touch, to let it warm the icy spots in his heart.
But he didn’t.
“We went and lived with my grandparents,” he continued. “I think us three boys drove my grandmother nuts with all our noise and fighting.”
“I bet you three were a handful.”
He chuckled. “She called us a basketful of trouble, but she loved us. My grandmother was a stern, strict parent, but one who would surprise us at the oddest times with a new toy or a bunch of cookies.”
Ellie smiled. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She is. I think every kid needs a grandmother like that. One time, Brody and I were arguing over a toy. I can’t remember what toy it was or why. So my grandmother made us rake two ends of the yard, working toward each other. By the time we met in the middle, we had this massive pile of leaves. So we jumped in them. And the fight was forgotten.”
Ellie laughed. “Sounds like you learned some of your art of compromise from her.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. She taught me a lot.” He hadn’t shared that much of his personal life with anyone in a long, long time. Even Lucy hadn’t known much about him. They’d mainly talked about work when they were together.
Was that because she didn’t care, or because it was easier? Or was it because Finn had always reserved a corner of himself from Lucy, with some instinctual self-preservation because he knew there was something amiss in their relationship?
Was Ellie’s interest real, or was she just gathering facts for the interview? And why did he care? On his way here from the gym, he had vowed to keep this impersonal, business only. Why did he keep treading into personal waters? He knew better, damn it.
“I think every person needs someone like your grandmother in their lives,” Ellie said softly.
“Yeah,” he said. “They do.”
Damn, it was getting warm out here. He glanced over at Ellie to find her watching him. She opened her mouth, as if she was going to ask another question, to get him to open up more, but he cut her off by reaching into his pocket for a sheet of paper. He handed it to her. “I, uh, thought you’d want to know some things about me for the interview. So I wrote them down.”
She read over the sheet. “Shoe size. Suit jacket size. Car model.” Then she looked up at him. “This doesn’t tell me anything about you, except maybe what to get you for Christmas.”
“That’s all the particulars you would need right there.”
She dropped the sheet of paper onto a nearby table, then drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She’d changed into sweatpants and a soft pink T-shirt after work, and she looked as comfortable as a pile of pillows. “What a wife should know about a husband isn’t on that list, Finn.”
“Well, of course it is. A wife would know my shoe size and my car—”
“No, no. A wife would know your heart. She’d know what made you who you are. What your dreams are, your fears, your pet peeves. She’d be able to answer any question about you because she knows you as well as she knows herself.”
He shifted in his chair. The cracker felt heavy in his stomach. “No one knows me like that.”
“Why?”
It was such a simple question, just one word, but that didn’t mean Finn had an answer. “I don’t know.”
“Well, surely the woman you were engaged to got to know you like that. Like the story about your grandmother. That’s what I want to hear more of. Or tell me about your fiancée. Why did you two not work out?”
“I don’t want to talk about Lucy.”
Ellie let out a gust. “Finn, you have to talk about something. We’re supposed to know each other inside and out.”
“That’s why I gave you the list—”
“The list doesn’t tell me anything more about you than I already knew from reading the magazine article.” She let out a gust and got to her feet. For a while she stood at the railing, looking out over the darkened homes. Then she turned back to face him. “Why won’t you get close to me?” Her voice was soft and hesitant. It was the kind of sound that Finn wished he could curl into. “You take two steps forward, then three back. Why?”
“I don’t do that.” He rose and turned to the other end of the balcony, watching a neighbor taking his trash to the curb. It was all so mundane, so much of what a home should be like. Between the crackers and the cheese and the sweatpants—
Damn, it was like a real marriage.
“What are we doing here, Finn?” Ellie asked, coming around to stand beside him.
When she did, he caught the scent of her perfume. The same dark jasmine, with vanilla tones dancing just beneath the floral fragrance. It was a scent he’d already memorized, and every time he caught a whiff of those tantalizing notes, he remembered the first time he’d been close enough to smell her perfume.
He’d been kissing her. Sealing their marriage vows in Charlie’s office. And right now, all he could think about was kissing her again. And more, much more.
Damn.
“We’re pretending to be married,” he said.
“Are we?” He didn’t respond. She lifted her gaze to his. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
She let a beat pass. Another. Still her emerald gaze held his. “Why did you agree to marry me?”
“Because you said that’s what it would take. To get on board with the hospital project.”
“You are ‘the Hawk,’ Finn McKenna,” she said, putting air quotes around his nickname. “You could negotiate your way out of an underground prison. But when