Page 52 of My Darling Girls

“I learned it from Ira’s mother. Do you like the stew? It was her signature dish.”

“I love it,” Jo says, not looking up from her meal.

They eat in silence, and when their bowls are empty, Jo gets two glasses and pours them whiskey. Finn watches her move around the kitchen, and when she sits down, he says, “I’m glad you liked my cooking. I was worried.”

Jo raises an eyebrow. “You were? Something tells me you know how well you cook.”

Finn chuckles and sips his whiskey.

“Ira told me he took you in when you were very young.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about Ira.”

“We’re talking about you.”

Twirling the glass in his hand, Finn leans back into the chair. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know all your secrets.” Jo grins and empties her glass. “Your darkest, deadliest secrets.”

Finn doesn’t say anything for a long time. Instead, he studies her face, his eyes lowering to her throat as he watches her breathe. “Is it about the wedding?” he finally asks. “It’s the reason I’m here. Well, that, and the lamb stew, of course.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here to talk about the wedding.”

“I didn’t?” His eyes are fiery, a bright-blue crystal mixed with speckles of gray and a hint of the night. “I thought I owed you an explanation because we had a connection. Was I wrong?” He’s composed, his tone almost cool, but she senses the wildness beneath the surface. It has been a long time since a man looked at her with such need. Such hunger. Had August ever looked at her that way? She’s forgotten it already. She’s also forgotten the thrill of the desire. Its burn in her blood.

“What do you want me to say, Finn?”

“How do you feel about my wedding?”

“How do you feel about it?”

He sets his glass on the table. Runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what to feel.” His voice is strained with sadness. Confusion. “Grace doesn’t want it. She’s been crying ever since Ira told us. Grace loved Sally. She needs time to heal. She doesn’t need me, and I don’t want it either.” He looks at Jo, and the way he’s looking at her, his eyes, his face—she sees it all. His grief and pain, loss and anger. And there’s longing too. It’s so strong and uninhibited, she cannot breathe.

Her lips move on their own accord. “You don’t want it?” His scent of spices and tobacco, the taut muscles of his forearms, his closeness, all pull at the edges of her need, and she’s slowly coming apart. Another pull, and she might fully unravel.

“You know I don’t,” he says in a rough voice, jaw muscles clenched. “This is Ira’s idea. I asked him why, and he said the time has come for the both of us, Grace and I, to settle down.” He’s too close. Too intense. He reaches for her hand. His fingers wrap around hers, squeezing tight. His hand is big and warm and solid, with calluses and a couple of scars. One of them is fresh. He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. It would be so easy for her to lean in and kiss him. To release all her fears and doubts into the space between them. To let the desire take control.

“Are you going to marry Grace against her wishes?”

“I don’t know what to do, Josephine.” The words cut deep, like a knife between Jo’s ribs. “Going against Ira is something I never thought about. He took me in from the streets, provided food and shelter. Taught me his trade. He’s like a father to me. I always followed his lead. But now?” Finn pushes his chair closer to Jo’s. “Now, I suddenly feel like I don’t belong with him. Not anymore.”

“Did you know Grace was planning to run away? With Sally?”

Finn nods.

“You could leave with her. The two of you. Start somewhere new. Somewhere away from your family.” She almost tells him about her own new start away from her father. The secret she has kept so long, it buzzes in her bloodstream.

“He’ll find us.”

“He can’t chase you across the country, can he?”

Finn gets to his feet and starts gathering the plates, the crumbs of bread on the table, the glasses. She watches him move around her kitchen and, with a jolt of her heart, realizes that she doesn’t mind another person, a man, sharing her space.

He stops moving and looks at her. “Take my photograph.”

“What?”

“I want you to take my photograph, Jo.”