But it’s after midnight and…she’s off.
“You couldn’t sleep?” I ask softly.
A pause then, “Something like that.”
I lean back against the island. “So this is…stress baking?”
She slants a tiny smile my direction. “Maybe.” Then she shocks the shit out of me by asking, “What was she like?”
I still, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“Your wife,” she clarifies softly. “I, um, it’s okay to not want to talk about her. I just…I’ve seen the pictures and Chloe’s mentioned her a few times, and I was”—her eyes come to mine for a second then drift back to the bowl—“I guess I’m just curious.”
I glance down at my hands.
No.
At mylefthand.
My wedding ring gleams in the fluorescent lights overhead, and when I glance back up, it’s to see that Finn’s expression has gentled.
“In her pictures,” Finn murmurs. “She looked kind.”
“She was.”
I think of the first time I ever met Anna—I’d dropped my wallet and she ran down the street to stop me so she could return it.
I think of her catching spiders and taking them outside because she didn’t have the heart to squish them.
I think of her cooking dinner for our neighbors when they had a baby, and giving a stranger her brand-new coat because she had a perfectly good one at home and taking the time to coax a scared dog out from the bushes so she could reunite it with its owners.
“And she was patient,” I murmur. “So much more patient than I ever was—with Chloe, with me, with my career, with stupid small things like ill-timed signals and delayed flights.”
I think of her laugh, of her face when she held Chloe close.
I think of her with flour in her hair and demanding I measure the brown sugar correctly.
“She was tough, too—would go toe-to-toe with me when it mattered.” My mouth curves. “She made the best pancakes,” I say. “And she was so damned sweet ninety-nine percent of the time, but when it came to cooking for the holidays, she turned into Gordon Ramsey, bossing me around and demanding perfection—and it was worth it. Everything always came out exactly right. Not just the food, but the whole holiday. It was…” I sigh.
“Perfect,” Finn whispers.
“It really was. And I miss her,” I say. “But nowadays, I miss the potential of her more, you know?”
Finn’s voice is soft when she says, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“She never got to see Chloe grow up, and we didn’t get to celebrate our ten-year wedding anniversary. She won’t get any more Christmases or visits to the Easter Bunny or…anything,” I push out, my voice going a little hoarse. “And I hate that Chloe doesn’t get to know her. Not really. Yes, I share all I can—talk about all of the things that made AnnaAnna.But I’m worried I’ll forget things and Chloe will never understand how truly great her mom was—evenifher favorite candy bar was an Almond Joy.”
Finn wrinkles her nose.
“See?” I laugh softly. “She had the worst taste in candy. Clearly Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups are superior.”
“That’s true enough.” She winks. “Though I think this is where you’re supposed to say, she might have had bad taste in candy, but excellent taste in men.”
I snort at the teasing question.
Finn’s eyes are gentle, her mouth tipped up at the edges.
“That’s questionable,” I mutter.
