Page 89 of Stirring Up Love
“Allow me, Your Highness.” He reached over her and flipped on the faucet, but the spray nozzle was on, and it sent water shooting all over his shirt, the counter, the floor ... Alisha doubled over with laughter, and Finn gripped the edge of the sink, fighting his own laughter. He raised a finger to his lips. “Shh!”
“Ali, what in the heck?” a man’s voice demanded.
Alisha raised wide eyes to his. “Uh-oh.”
“The grandparentals?” he asked under his breath, and Alisha dissolved into giggles again, clutching his arm and nodding.
“Grand who?”
Finn turned around, and an elderly white man who must’ve been Simone’s grandfather crossed his arms. In that moment, he regretted every single word he’d ever uttered against Honey and Hickory.
“Hello, sir.” He tried to do the dude-nod thing but realized with devastation he’d dipped into another curtsy. Stupid whiskey.
Wayne Blake was not amused, judging by the set of his jaw, which was a ringer for Simone’s when she was pissed. That only made Finn more terrified—he was well acquainted with the wrath of a displeased Blake.
“Alisha Marianne, your groom is upstairs sleeping at this moment,” her grandfather said. “What’re you playing at, bringing home another man two days before your wedding?”
Finn opened his mouth, but Simone’s pouf appeared over the man’s shoulder. “He’s mine.” Her grandpa’s eyes shot wide, and she amended, “I mean, he’s with me.”
She’d claimed him? Qualified it afterward, but still. His heart warmed, but it cooled just as quickly under their grandpa’s gaze.
“I’m just here as the bride’s escort.” The words replayed in his mind, and his cheeks flamed. “Er, notescortescort. More like a bodyguard? Or—”
“What he means is”—Simone cut off his rambling as smoothly as a karate chop to the windpipe—“your beloved eldest granddaughter is drunk, and Finn came in to make sure she didn’t get up to any trouble while I grabbed these.” She held aloft a stack of DVDs with handwriting scrawled on the spines.
“But what’s a man doing at Ali’s bachelorette party?” The question of the evening, apparently. Simone’s grandfather fixed him with a glare. “And is this the meddling barbecue man?”
“It is,” he said, happy to have an answer. “That’s me. The meddler.”
Alisha giggled. “Finn Meddler.”
“Ignore these two.” Simone stepped past her grandpa. “Meg was pouring.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned in Wayne’s dark-blue eyes.
A tiny woman who looked very much like a fairy godmother appeared at the entrance to the kitchen with a stack of bedding in her arms. “Would the young man like to stay here for the night?”
He shook his head. No, the young man would not like to stay the night. The young man would prefer not to wake up dead after being smothered in his sleep.
“It’s okay, Gran,” said Simone, who at the very least had proved her desire to keep him alive. “He’s gonna crash at my house.”
“No, he’ll stay here.” Her grandmother’s flinty gaze hadn’t left his face, and he had the distinct feeling if he made a run for it, she’d trip him flat out with zero qualms.
He took the stack of blankets from her. “The couch sounds great.”
CHAPTER 31
FINN
Finn cracked his eyes open and instantly regretted it. Sunlight reflected off dazzling white snowbanks outside a bay window across from him, the curtains drawn wide. These Blakes had a thing for excessive light. He closed his eyes, biting back a groan.
“Tried to keep up with Meg, huh?”
He shot up, his pounding skull an admonishment for the quick movement. A tall Black man sat in the recliner in the corner, holding a steaming cup of coffee. In the corner next to him stood a three-foot-tall statue of an angel. Avenging or guardian, he couldn’t be sure.
On the tail end of a nod, Finn let his head fall back into his hands. “Yes.” His throat scratched like he’d gulped down another lungful of canyon river water.
The guy laughed. “I made that mistake last summer and haven’t been the same man since. Fireball?”
