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Her eyes dropped to her hand, and she made an attempt to hide it. “Oh, yeah.”
“Did you cut yourself?”
“No…I peeled myself.”
“Ah. Does that mean we’ll be eatin’ Maisie Stew tonight?”
She shuddered, pulling up a look of disgust. “Ew, no. I cleaned up and sanitized everything—all without your mom and grandma knowing, so I’d prefer to keep it that way. No point broadcasting my failure to them.”
“I’ll keep it to meself, then. So long as you allow me the chance to look at it for you.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But it really is nothing.”
She held up her hands and removed the paper towel, blood instantly pooling from the skinned thumb before sliding down.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll help you dress it.”
Finn disappeared into the bathroom, and Maisie hesitated a minute before following him just a few steps to stand in the doorway.
The overall color of the bathroom was a resounding pink. Pink floral curtains, pink tile, pink wallpaper. There was even a pink doily on the back of the toilet to hold an extra toilet roll.
The whole space was charming, even for a bathroom, and Maisie was again reminded of how much care Niamh put into her home.
Finn maneuvered around the bathroom, opening the small, rectangular mirror to reveal a cabinet filled with bottles, lotions, and toothbrushes.
“Alright,” he mused, pulling out a bandage and a couple tubes of ointment and disinfectant.
“So what was your plan comin’ up here?” he asked, laying out the items across the pink counter. “Were you plannin’ on comin’ up here and rummagin’ through me ma’s cupboard?”
Maisie paused. The thought had crossed her mind, though she didn’t care to admit it. “I was just hoping to have a second to stop the blood without anyone seeing it.”
“Ma wouldn’t have judged you for the mistake,” he said, facing her. “No one would.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m just trying to make a good impression.”
His gaze softened as he looked down at her, then he held out his hand toward her. “Give us your hand, then.”
Maisie did as she was told, and Finn unfolded the paper towel to reveal her thumb once again. Another drop trailed down her skin, but he caught it just in time, propping her fingers on his free hand.
His gentle touch sent her mind into a frenzy, her senses spiraling and pleasant chills running up her arm. Fortunately, he seemed more focused dressing her wound than on the reaction he’d caused within her.
“I can do this, you know,” she said, motioning to her cut.
“I know,” he said. “But I’ve been friends with Matthew for so long, his knightly behavior’s rubbin’ off on me.”
He dabbed softly at the wound with a cold cloth, the bleeding lessening after a few minutes before he cleaned it with disinfectant. She twitched at the sharp pain it caused.
“Sorry,” he said with a wince.
As if she even cared that it hurt. She would endure a lot more pain if she could enjoy this kind of attention from him again.
He focused on her injury, and she took the opportunity to observe his features, the way his smile lines splayed away from his eyes like sunbeams. But those sunbeams weren’t as deep or bright as usual.
Her mind strayed to the tail-end of the conversation she’d overheard between him and his father—Mr. O’Meara apologizing for something she hadn’t heard.
She had known she shouldn’t be listening in, so she’d retreated down the stairs, only to hear Mr. O’Meara following her. After a split-second decision, she turned back around to head up the stairs, grateful when Mr. O’Meara merely greeted her with a silent nod before she’d made the rest of the way up.
She hoped Finn hadn’t thought that she’d been eavesdropping. But all she wanted to do was ask him about his feelings because she’d never seen him look so burdened.
