Finn lifted his eyes to George’s, unsure of where he was going with this.
“Caitlin could use some company. I hate leaving her alone so much of the time—my travel schedule is more intense than ever, and even though she keeps pinning her hopes on things slowing down ‘after this deal,’ then ‘after that deal,’ then ‘after the next one,’ it’s not likely. And now that I’m mostly doing business in China, Hong Kong, Japan—even a short trip seems to take twice as long with all the layovers and delays and time zones and whatever else.” George glanced toward the kitchen doorway. Satisfied that Caitlin wasn’t about to reappear, he leaned in closer to Finn and lowered his voice. “She stayed here for me, you know. In Cincinnati, I mean. We’re just far enough away from where she grew up that it’s not like her old friends can meet for a quick happy hour or join the same gym, and you know as well as I do that most of your college gang ended up elsewhere. Her office is mostly these stodgy older women—she hasn’t had a hell of a lot of luck making new friends.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Finn said, himself glancing at the kitchen door she’d bounded cheerfully behind just moments before. How was he learning this about his ever-present friend from her absentee husband?
“Haven’t you ever noticed that women find her a little … well, Caitlin has very few faults—at least on the surface. Other women hate that.”
Finn hadn’t seen her in quite that light before, but he knew the second George said it that it was true. That was how she’d ended up running with him and his crew in college. To them, she’d become one of the guys. But they’d get occasional reminders—other men checking her out as they played pool in a bar, holding doors for her as they walked into the movie theater, even flirting with her at the gas station—that while she might seem like one of the guys, she definitely was not.
George cleared his throat. “Maybe you’d rather be alone these days. I don’t know.” It was the first time since Finn had moved in here that George had even indirectly referenced what had happened with Maribel, and he looked as uncomfortable as Finn felt. “But I just want you to know that if you do like having Caitlin hanging around, I wouldn’t want you to hold off on my account. Honestly, it makes me feel better, having someone look out for her—this neighborhood still has its rough spots. And I don’t want her to decide being married to me is too lonely. I try to make up for the time away when I’m home, but it’s never enough.”
Finn tried not to squirm in his seat. Everything about their life seemed like more than enough to him.
Caitlin breezed back in, carrying the desserts on a silver tray the way absolutely no one did anymore. No wonder Finn had grown fond of those old films she loved. Still, he felt more self-conscious than ever. He didn’t know if he should be grateful for George’s talk, or wary of it.
The desserts were perfect, naturally—decadent without being pretentious. Before Finn knew it, they’d polished them off, along with the rest of the wine.
Caitlin started to get to her feet. “Let me make some decaf,” she offered. “I’m not sure I can handle any more alcohol, but if you guys are still going, we’ve got Baileys or Kahlua to go with it…”
George placed a hand on her arm, pressing her gently back into her seat. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he said. “I’ll do the coffee. I brought some cigars back with me, and I admit I’d like an excuse to sneak a few puffs out back while it brews.” He smiled at Finn. “What do you say? You in?”
Finn held up his hands. “I’m good. But thanks, man. Maybe next time.”
The room fell silent when George left, and neither Caitlin nor Finn rushed to fill it. He fought a stab of guilt that he wasn’t doing a better job of small talk right now. It was just that—
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You have a funny look on your face.” For a moment, Finn debated not saying anything, but he didn’t have the energy not to. He kept so much else bottled in these days. “Nothing,” he said, trying to sound casual. “George just mentioned something about how much time we’ve been spending together, that’s all.”
Caitlin looked surprised. “Did he say it bothered him?”
“No.” Finn hesitated. “Actually, the opposite—he kind of, I don’t know, gave me his blessing.”
Caitlin sat back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. “That’s my George,” she said quietly. She twirled the stem of her empty wineglass. “You know, I’ve always gotten the feeling that no one has ever believed me that you and I didn’t hook up at some point. They’re all like, ‘Oh, come on, it had to have happened at least once!’ It’s like Billy Crystal’s theory in When Harry Met Sally—that people of the opposite sex can’t just be friends. But not George. He’s the only one who has never once hinted at that. I used to wait for it to start bothering him that other people believed it. But it’s amazing the stuff that doesn’t bother George. I think he learned that from his dad, growing up in the public eye—to choose battles carefully.” She was gazing at the spot where George had been sitting, a look of such uncomplicated and complete fondness on her face that Finn’s chest ached for the way Maribel used to look at him with that kind of affection.
Finn thought of what little he knew of George’s father’s political career. “But when a Bryce-Daniels does go to battle, look out,” he said. “Right?”
Caitlin tipped back her chair so she could see into the kitchen, making sure George was still outside. “Well, they’re not exactly master strategists,” she said, her voice low and thick with wine. “But you’ve got to hand it to them that they’re not afraid to sneak-attack.” Her smile was unwavering.
Finn cleared his throat. “What they did for me—”
She waved him away. “It might seem like a big deal to you, but I promise you, it’s small potatoes to them. Just … let’s just agree to never mention it again, okay?”
It was more than okay. It was what he wanted. He’d just needed to hear her say it.
“I do feel bad that I haven’t gotten to know George better,” he said. “Even after being in your wedding. That was my window, and I blew it. It’s just that right after I got back, that’s when I met Maribel…” His voice trailed off, and Caitlin’s eyes softened with the sympathy that she usually did such a good job of masking. Finn had to look away. He didn’t want to end on this note after Caitlin had put so much work into this dinner.
“In conclusion,” he said, hoping to salvage the mood, “George telling me it’s cool to basically step in for him when he’s not around is not one of those mind-fuck games where he says it’s okay but that’s really supposed to be my cue to stop?”