Page 25 of Cain

From the way she hemmed and hawed which one to go with first, I had a feeling that her beater of a car wasn’t the only evidence of her being financially strapped.

Which was why I took it upon myself to walk up to the girl handing out the kits and got two of each kind before she could even stop looking at the samples.

“This is too much.”

“I think my door at the clubhouse could use some fall decor. And I don’t have a coaster for my nightstand.”

“And the keychain?” she asked, knowing what I was doing but following me to one of the picnic tables anyway.

“Been carrying around a plain keychain for way too long.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man willing to sit and do crafts,” she admitted as she arranged her kits around her, going with the coaster first.

“No? Know a bunch.”

“In the club?”

“Yep. Sully, one of my club brothers, was dating this girl who is really into crafts. He set up a whole craft fair in the clubhouse—different tables with all kinds of activities for them to work on.”

“Huh,” she said, watching me with furrowed brows.

“Doesn’t go with the idea you have in your head about bikers.”

“I probably shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I think we’re all a little rough around the edges, but there are unexpected sides to a lot of the guys.”

“Like what else?” she asked as she took the little stone and applied the clear round rubber feet to the bottom.

“Well, Dezi is a lunatic. But he’s got this hilarious obsession with sweets. Can eat a dozen donuts all by himself.”

“He and I have that in common,” Georgie said, shooting me a little smile. “What else?”

“There’s Perish.”

“Perish?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, that’s his government name. From birth. But Perish is a tank. A brick wall of a man. And he’s fucking obsessed with the lawn. And feeding the birds. I made him a few new bird feeders this summer.”

“That’s really cute. So when I eventually get my own place, I can commission you to make some birdhouses for my balcony?”

“I’d make you some as a housewarming present.”

But also, what the fuck?

She didn’t even have an apartment of her own? She was, what, living in those extended-stay type motels?

While her husband drove a car that could pay rent at a nice apartment for five fucking years? And feasted on dinners that likely cost more than her whole weekly grocery shopping?

But maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

“Are you staying with a friend?”

“I don’t really have any of those. Any friends I had were Perry’s friends. I don’t really think any of them liked me when we were together. I can’t imagine I’m in their favor now. I’m staying at one of those long-term stay places,” she said, shrugging as she carefully placed a toadstool sticker onto her coaster.

Just as I suspected then.

What kind of man would let their wife—even the wife they are in the process of dissolving a marriage with—stay at one of those places?