Page 47 of Love Bound

I can’t believe it's been this long since a man has looked at me in that way. Or, this long since I've noticed a man look at me in that way.

I'm irritated by my own giddiness, hoping it doesn't leave me stupid and babbling about a cow's prolapsed uterus or something. I am just so grateful he returned to The Inn to grab some clean clothes and a razor—it gives me time to think.

When I enter through the side door, I shed my jacket and boots and climb the stairs to the apartment.

"Aunty Claire, you look wet," says Cory as I round the corner into the kitchen.

"That's because I am wet," I say, bending down to his level.

He puts a hand on my neck, but I know Laurel's been working with him to touch people who are safe to touch. That small movement of caring, because he knows he should care, leaves a small lump in my throat. Laurel's worked so hard with him to learn these manners of the heart, and yet he can't connect with his own yet.

I brush a bit of grit from his forehead. "Been down to the beach?"

"Power's out," he announces as way of an answer.

Devon and Laurel sit by the woodstove, each curled on one of two of the small sofas facing each other.

"Glad the generator works. We're still out of power," says Laurel, sliding down into the sofa and spreading her arms out. "It’s going to be two to three business days they said on the phone."

Devon's wrapped a brown hand knitted throw our mother made around her legs. "It's going to be a hell of a winter."

"And I think you should do some to warm it up."Laurel gets up and walks over to the counter to open a bottle of wine. Her eyes hold mischief. "You're all floaty for some reason right now, anyway."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, we've discussed it," says Devon.

But I'm in the dark. "Discussed what?"

"Just fuck him," says Devon, mouthing the second word.

We all hear the downstairs door open and close, then someone hanging up a coat, the thud of boots.

My face burns red again and Laurel's eyes widen. She claps a hand over her mouth.

"Who's that?" asks Cory, one of the few questions he's asked in his life, but instead of looking at the staircase like his mother and aunts, he stares at the kitchen window.

"Who's that?" answers a much deeper voice and Finn slowly comes up from the stairwell.

"Me," says Cory.

"Well, it’s me too," says Finn and smiles.

Cory suddenly wraps his arm around Finn's leg and Laurel opens her mouth slightly but closes it when Cory looks right up into Finn's face and says, "But you're a different me."

"Yes, because we like different things and you look different," Finn says.

This is good enough for Cory. He waits for a second or two, releases Finn's leg, and plops himself down with his box of Legos and mat on the floor.

My sisters are uncharacteristically silent, just staring at him. And then I realize they’ve never seen a gorgeous man—almost a stranger—in my kitchen.

Finn's just standing there in a heavy navy-blue crew sweater, faded jeans. His torso is visible underneath his clothes, the cotton folding deftly, accommodating every inch of that body of his. It was different when there was a mess of people up here, but now it’s just him.

Well, him and a duffle bag.

"What's that?" Devon asks, eyeing the bag.

"The Inn's freezing," I offer.