Or against a wall. Or in the back of a car. Or in the shower.
He blinked as he realised he was staring at Sweeney and she was staring right back and he was aware all over again, as he had been in the kitchen, that she didn’t have a bra on under that shirt but shedidhave on his body wash. The body wash she appliedin the shower.
Neither of them were smiling anymore and he absently wondered why all the good words started with F.
Jesus, dude. What is the matter with you?Do not put Sweeney anywhere near a thought bubble full of F words. The only F word he needed to be thinking about around Sweeney was friend.
His oldest, dearest friend.
Dragging his gaze back to the phone, Fin flailed around mentally for a change in topic. Thankfully Sweeney jumped in for him.
‘I’ll email those pics over to you soon,’ she said.
‘Oh, that would be super, thanks, Sweeney.’
‘Of course. No problems.’
Fin could have kissed her for veering things back onto safer ground. Except not. Of course. Because she wasSweeney.Dumb ass…
‘I was thinking, Fin,’ his mother said, ‘that before you leave we’ll have to get all those photos organised into some kind of album. An actual album. Print the photos out. Nobody does that anymore. Do you think you could help me with that?’
Fin wanted to help with that about as much as he wanted to staple his dick to the nearby wall. It wasn’t that he objected to working on a project with his mother—he just knew from The Great Wall of Wool that had threatened to topple on him that first couple of nights, before he’d moved into his mother’s room after she’d decamped down the road, that she was the creative one and he was spreadsheet guy.
He didn’t have the patience to faff around with making thingspretty.
‘Well… I’m not sure—’
‘I think that’s abrilliantidea, Rhonda,’ Sweeney interrupted. ‘Teamwork.’
‘Teamwork makes the dream work,’ his mother chirped. Fin shot death rays from his eyes at Sweeney, which clearly had zero effect as she stifled a laugh.
‘Another thing before I go.’
Oh god. Fin braced himself. What next? She wanted to get Team Murphy t-shirts? Run a marathon together? Form a mother/son partnership and go onThe Block?
‘I’m so sorry, I’ve only just remembered. What with your surprise visit and the surprise engagement.’
Surprise engagement? The audacity of that statement. Like he’d been the one to spring it on them rather than the other way around?
‘And with the Banshees,’ she continued, ‘and all the associated crazy internet business, it had completely slipped my mind.’
A serious edge had crept into his mother’s voice, which shot an itch up Fin’s spine. He frowned at the phone. ‘What slipped your mind?’
‘There are two boxes of your father’s stuff in the garage that I kept for you when I was sorting through everything. Just some things I thought he’d probably want you to have, and other stuff that I thought you might like to keep. You don’t have to.’ Her tone softened. ‘If you’re not ready.’
Oh.Oh.
Fin hadn’t been expecting that and it punched him hard in the throat, his breath catching as it rasped through his crippled larynx. How had they gone from smut-princess-polly to boxes of his dead father’s things?
Washe ready?
‘Darling?’ Ronnie said after a while, a quiver of concern husking her voice. ‘Are you there?’
Fin wasn’t sure how long he’d stared at the phone, but obviously long enough for his mother to prompt. Something nudged his arm, bringing him out of his mental quagmire, and he glanced down to identify the touch.
Sweeney.
She’d reached across the gap that divided them and was sliding her hand over the top of his and squeezing. Absently, he met her gaze and she gave him a small, encouraging nod and smile. Without thinking, he turned his hand over and her fingers—and his—automatically interlinked, their palms pressed together.
