CHAPTER 10
MARY
Sleepless Nights
(Or How Warm Milk and Seventy-Percent Dark Chocolate Cookies Can Fix Almost Anything)
I always have trouble sleeping after family dinners, but this one officially wins first place in the Hall of Emotional Disasters.
I lie flat on my bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling of my room in the guesthouse like I’m waiting for it to hand me some kind of divine revelation. To my right, my digital clock glows a merciless 11:47 p.m. in bright green numbers. To my left, my phone buzzes for the fourth time in a matter of minutes.
I glance at the screen.
Keira
So? What do you think of him?
I ignore it. Again.
Because honestly, what exactly am I supposed to answer?
I think Grandma is manipulating us like puppets and I’m too exhausted to process any of it?
I roll onto one side. Then the other. Then back onto my back again.
Three hours later, the ceiling is still mocking me. I still haven’t slept a second. My brain has turned into a vicious carousel replaying every embarrassing moment from dinner on an endless loop: Maggie interrogating Finn like he was the prime suspect in a murder mystery, Isobel asking when I was finally going to “settle down,” Ragnar planting himself at Finn’s feet like he’d found his soulmate.
And then there was that conversation outside.
“You do realize she’s manipulating us, right?”
I don’t even know why I said it. The words just slipped out, probably because my brain was too tired to keep pretending all evening. And even though it’s true—even though my grandmother is absolutely playing matchmaker again—I still feel guilty for saying it to Finn.
Ugh. Damn inherited family loyalty.
With a sigh, I shove off the blankets and sit up. Staying in bed is pointless when my brain refuses to shut up.
I pull on my robe—the fluffy one that makes me look like a polar bear—and my fleece slippers to match. If I can’t sleep, I might as well do something productive.
Like drink warm milk.
Or eat cookies.
Or both.
I slip quietly out of my room and tiptoe down the hallway of the guesthouse. The last thing I need is waking my lovely roommate, who’s already grumpy enough under normal circumstances. He’s probably sleeping like the dead in his room at the other end of the floor.
The shared kitchen is completely dark when I walk in. I fumble for the light switch, and the second the light flicks on, I nearly scream.
Finn is sitting at the table.
In pajamas.
Blue plaid flannel pajamas that make him look weirdly... human.
He startles when he sees me and almost spills his mug.
“Jesus, Mary. You scared me.”
