Finn (The Casella Cousins Book 3) Read online

  He’d felt compelled to read the opening of this one, though there were more chapters finished.

  From all appearances, Mick Gallagher’s life was perfect. He went to the private school, the best in New York, then on to Columbia College. But in reality, he’d been unhappy for as long as he could remember, trying to deal with his home life. The only place he felt good was out on his boat, The Freedom Flyer. It took him away from his mother in the Hamptons. After his brother Riker abandoned him when Mick was 14, he and his sister suffered even more from her manipulation.

  Kiera, her name, would say when he was little, “Come here, my boy. You’re the only one who loves me enough.”

  His father, Martin, would clap him on the back. “Son, you need to come out of yourself, if you hope to succeed.”

  Succeed? Hell, he’d just wanted to survive.

  Finn stopped reading. The text sounded like a Philip Roth novel, Portnoy’s Complaint, where the character was whiny, self-aggrandizing, and narcissistic. He’d best delete every word of this stupid thing.

  But he didn’t. He’d just clicked out of the mess that was his first book when the back door opened. Millie walked to the doorway. He pushed out his chair and turned to her. Them. “Hey, Finn.”

  “Hi, there.”

  “This is my friend Emerson.” The man with her was tall and slim, about her age and wore ancient jeans and a T-shirt. His blondish hair was shoulder length and his face shadowed with scruff. Why women found that sexy was beyond him.

  “Finn?”

  “Sorry.” He stood. “Hello.” He shook the guy’s hand. “Finn Casella.”

  “Emerson Clark.”

  “After Ralph Waldo?”

  “Absolutely. Hippie parents.”

  Their son took after them.

  “Emerson’s the director of the soup kitchen. We discussed some ideas for Fitzgerald’s helping to get donations.”

  “Huh. Then take a seat.” He motioned to the break room, which he put in when he bought more space. The employees sometimes ate meals there. Millie went in behind the guy. He’d seen her with her hair down, of course, but it had gotten a lot longer, and fell in auburn waves way down her back. For a moment, he found himself mesmerized by it.

  When they were seated, Emerson began, “Mr. Casella. The Broome Street Soup Kitchen needs your help.”

  Mr. Casella. Now that made Finn feel old.

  Which was nothing new.

  * * *

  In her cousin’s swank New York apartment, Alessia Casella Benatti sat at a table facing a panoramic view of the city. It was absolutely beautiful. And the size of this place! Wow! As she admired the sights outside the window, she heard the front door open, keys jangle and turned. Finn walked in.

  “Hey, Finn.”

  His face lit some. He was one of the most sober men she knew. Not that she’d known that many of male species. Either generally or in the Biblical sense. “Hey, Ali. Nice to see you. We seem to be ships passing in the night.”

  “I hope so. You were kind to offer your place when I had to be on campus.” She was finishing her degree at City College in New York.

  “I like having you here, Ali. I mean it. Are you going back to campus tonight?”

  “No, I’m done for the day. I’m staying over, though. Did you want to do something?”

  “I had a long day, so no. Thanks, though.” He got halfway to his suite, when she stood and called to him.

  “Don’t go yet. I worry about you burying yourself alone in your suite.”

  “You do?” His brows rose in genuine puzzlement. “Why?”

  “It’s customary to spend time with people, Finn. Come into the living room and talk to me for bit.”

  “Aren’t you studying?”

  “No. I’m finished. The course is easy for me.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s Adolescent Psychology. Something I know a lot about.”

  “All right. Let’s have wine, then?”

  “I’d love some.”

  Once they were settled on the teal leather couch facing the windows, too, with their glasses of Chardonnay, he said, “How’s Petey?”

  “Watch your tongue,” she said with mock humor. “It’s Pete now. And if I slip, he stomps out of the room.”

  “Typical teen behavior?”

  “Yes, from what I’ve read, and what my friends tell me.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s this guy in my class who has twin girls Pete’s age. He commiserates with me.”

  “Must be hard since Billy died.”

  “Yeah.” She looked down at her glass, feeling the slice of pain at the mention of his name. “I never planned on raising a teenage boy without him.”

  Alessia’s husband, the love of her life and high school sweetheart, had died six years ago, while she was pregnant with twins.

  Reaching out, he squeezed her hand. “I bet it is. Do you still miss him as much?”

  “I’ll always miss him. Always love him. But now I need more in my life.”

  “Which is why you went back to college, right?”

  She tucked a wayward strand of her dark hair behind her ear. She’d let it grow long again. “I want a career.”

  He gave her a rare smile. Her cousin was attractive, with dirty blond hair and eyes the color of jade, but when he smiled, he went from an eight to a ten plus. “Have there been any men in your life?”

  “None. That ship has sailed, I think. I already had the love of my life once.”

  “You’re only thirty-four, and pretty by the way.”

  “You’re only thirty-five. Don’t you want to settle down and have kids?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen to me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just never wanted any.”

  “It’s something, isn’t it? Seth and Hayley are getting married and having kids at practically the same time.”

  “Yeah. Sounds like them, doesn’t it?”

  She frowned. “I wish we’d been that close, Finn.”

  He watched her. “That was my fault. I was so introverted then. Sometimes being around all of you was overwhelming for me.” He shook himself. “But I wish we’d been closer, too.”

  “That’s nice to hear.” Her expression was heartfelt. “Do you want to talk to me about why you kept to yourself so much?”

  “No. I don’t. But I am hungry. How about if I cook for you?”

  “Really? Nobody ever cooks but me in my house. I’d love that.”

  He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, cuz. Let’s see what’s in the fridge.”

  “You’re on.”

  * * *

  “Hello. I’m home.”

  “We’re in here.”

  She heard the clatter of nails on wood as soon as she called out, and eighty pounds of a chocolate lab came leaping toward her. Dropping to her knees, she said, “Hello, Scout, good boy.” Wet kisses covered her face. Only four, he was named after a character in her favorite novel, To Kill a Mockingbird.

  When he let her, she stood and walked into the sitting room of her grandparents’ house, which was not far from where the former first lady Bailey O’Neil had once lived. St. Patrick’s Street real estate was astronomical now, but some of the neighbors and her great-great grandparents had bought their homes in the forties for an affordable price.

  Several generations of Morrisons had resided in the separate apartment on the top floor. She and her parents had lived upstairs but when they died, Millie had gone to stay with her grandparents for two years and then took back the apartment. But she always detoured past her private entrance to stop in here first to see if her grandparents needed anything. Tonight, too, they had Scout.

  She found Enid and Henry Morrison watching Jeopardy. Both of them were still as fit in body as they were in mind and had a busy social life. Papa had a full head of gray hair, but Grandma’s was still at least half dark. And was styled every day, as she’d been a hairdresser in her younger years.

  Millie angled her head t
o the TV. “How’s the game going?”

  “Slam dunk for the female.” Grandpa put the program on pause, stood and kissed her cheek. “Hello, girl.”

  He always called her that. “Hello, Papa.” Sometimes she used the old nickname.

  “There’s chicken in the oven for you,” he said motioning to the kitchen. “Want to eat here or should I wrap it up for you?”

  “Wrap it up. I need a bath and some quiet, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course, it is.” Scout followed him to the kitchen.

  Grandma patted the couch. “How was your day?”

  “Up and down.”

  “That boss of yours giving you trouble again?”

  “Yep.” But now that she was pretty much over her crush, things were easier. “What did you do today?”

  “I walked my three thousand steps for a mile. Henry came with me this time. Tomorrow is our gym day.”

  “That’s so healthy for you.” Millie often walked with her friend Erin in the mornings. And after work with her dog.

  She chatted with her grandmother, who she adored, until grandpa came back with her dinner and Scout. The scent of fried chicken made her mouth water. She’d bet there was potato salad and corn in the bag, too.

  “You sure it’s all right if I don’t stay?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Grandma told her. “Take the food to your apartment. Eat and rest.”

  Grandpa added, “We love visiting with you, but not at the expense of your health.”

  “I will go up. I’ll zonk out early. Which means I’ll wake up when you do and come for coffee.”

  “We’d like that dear.”

  Carrying her supper, she took the dog’s leash and they went back out the front door and spent a little time on the lawn so Scout could do his thing. As she waited, she thought about Finn.

  He hadn’t been excited about any of hers and Emerson’s suggestions. Granted, Emerson pushed hard to put flyers in all the bags the books went in, but Mille knew Finn never allowed inserts into purchases at Fitzgerald’s. But she thought her suggestion about using the smaller window opposite the main one was a possibility. Finn said he’d have the same objections putting something there, as he did with the larger one.

  Stop complaining about him. The store was his life, which she thought was sad. He should do what he wanted with it.

  She and Scout crossed to the staircase that went up to a private entrance on the second floor. Scout leapt up the steps with vim and vigor. Millie, however, lumbered her way up them. Once inside, she poured out some dog food for Scout and sat with a glass of wine to eat her dinner.

  A while later, she ran a bath. After immersing herself in the warm water for ten minutes, she began to doze off. So she got out, dried off, then fell naked into bed and pulled up the covers. Scout joined her and soon the world went dark.

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  Most mornings, Finn took the elevator from his apartment to the fourth floor. He entered the medium-sized gym with his keycard. Today, he’d kick up his heartbeat. Jumping onto a treadmill, he started slow. Weight machines and free weights were on tap for tomorrow. There were two other patrons here this early, and only the noise of a TV broke the quiet.

  The set had been turned to a program called She Said, He Said that he’d caught once or twice in here when someone else chose the station. A popular daytime host sat in one chair with two people opposite her.

  The pretty blond woman, a blogger, spoke first. “I wholly disagree with many of the assumptions in How to Make It With Modern Women.

  Hmm, despite the double meaning of the title, which was meant to titillate, Finn was interested.

  “Do tell,” the author shot back. Unfortunately, he was male and already Finn could detect an arrogant tone, as well as the manly way he occupied his seat—legs spread wide apart, arms on the chair, sitting back negligently.

  “Women want romantic partners who respect them, Mr. Forsythe. Not men or other women who solely find them hot.”

  “But would you agree that hotness is a must for men?” Forsyth retorted. Finn noticed his dark hair was tousled, intentionally, he guessed.

  “I don’t know if it is. I simply wouldn’t want that as a basis for any relationship with anybody. Most women I hear from don’t either.”

  Finn was torn about that. He did find the women he dated attractive. But hot didn’t mean the same thing. For example, he wouldn’t call Millie hot, but she was attractive.

  The host’s face was animated now. “Can you elaborate more, Mona?”

  She held up a paper. “Sure, I took notes.”

  The author rolled his eyes.

  “Women want to be respected in a relationship. Part of that is open communication that’s tactful.”

  How can you openly communicate if you were pissed as hell? Like he often got with Millie.

  “They also want men who are trustworthy.”

  I got that one covered, Finn thought. And it often got him in trouble with his young store manager.

  “And this is one a majority of men have trouble with: Taking responsibility for their own actions. Not blaming the woman if he’s mad at her.”

  Well, hell. He could remember saying to Millie, You drive me nuts when you get on one of your tirades.

  “For example?” the author asked.

  “If a man gets angry at a woman for telling him the truth, he blames her for being unsupportive. That’s not taking responsibility for his own insecurities.”

  Finn grumbled something, then noticed the two women who’d been doing free weights near the TV, staring at him.

  When one caught his gaze, she called over, “You know you’re talking to the TV?”

  “Um, no, I didn’t realize that. Thanks.”

  “Who’s Millie?” the other teased.

  “What?”

  “You keep saying her name.”

  “Yeah, probably because she’s the only woman I ever get in arguments with. We work together.”

  He got off the treadmill without even slowing down and strode to the elliptical on the other side so he couldn’t see or hear the TV debate.

  His legs worked hard as he tried to push Millie from his mind. Which didn’t happen. So, he let himself wonder if they had a good relationship. On his end, he trusted her with his beloved store. He respected her opinion, conceded sometimes, but she yelled at him for patronizing her. He tried not to be. And yes, of course since she was his employee, he kept himself from her, from letting her know him too well. Once or twice, something bubbled out of him he’d rather she not know, but that was rare.

  He turned his mind to his romantic relationships with women. Once or twice, they did complain about him. It went something like,

  You need to talk to me more.

  I talk.

  Not about yourself. How you’re feeling.

  I’m not crazy about baring my soul.

  The women who had accepted that, like Sabrina, he continued to see. Others, ones he liked, said he was a stranger to them and called it quits. Was there something wrong with him?

  A third woman came in the gym and she reminded him of Millie. Her long dark ponytail swung sassily as she crossed to the treadmill and began to walk. She was tall, like his manager, too.

  He wondered if the color of her eyes was like Mille’s—the purest brown he’d ever seen.

  Goddamn it, he was doing it again.

  * * *

  “Now, set your watch for two minutes.” Millie smiled at her coworker, Erin O’Grady. They’d been friends since college.

  “All right.” She fiddled with her wristband. “Ready, set, go?”

  Millie took off on a sprint with Scout at her heels. Her long legs carried her down the track, and her breathing stayed even. She appreciated the sun on her face and the warmth of an October Indian Summer day.

  “Stop!” Erin called out then jogged up to her. “Let’s walk so we can talk.”

  “Fine by me.”

  �
��You did that sprint in under two minutes. How do you stay in such great shape?”

  “You know, silly. I walk to work if I can. And home. Once it gets dark, I take the subway, but I like being outside given how much time I spend at the store. Also, Scout and I go for hikes on my days off.”

  Erin tied her long hair back into a pony tail while they walked. “You spend too much time at Fitzgerald’s.”

  “Yeah, probably, but I got a big raise recently.”

  Her friend hesitated. Her dark blue eyes shadowed.

  “Erin, tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “Do you need the extra money to live?”

  “No, I need it to open my own store. I’ve banked every raise I’ve gotten, and then some. But I don’t have enough yet to use as collateral for a loan.”

  “I wish work didn’t take up all your free time. And if you get your own store, you’ll be even busier.”

  Millie stopped walking. “Haven’t I been there for you, Erin, when you needed me?” Her tone was genuine. She was concerned she might have let Erin down.

  “No, no, you have. I’m concerned because you run yourself ragged trying to do everything—watch over your grandparents, work, volunteer at how many different places now?”

  “Since the new soup kitchen opened up, I’ve cut back other work to focus on hungry people.”

  “You’re so serious for someone so young.”

  “I’m older than my years. Comes from losing my parents when I was sixteen.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But I don’t think that’s good for you.”

  Millie didn’t reply.

  “Sorry if that offends you, Mil. You’re twenty-six. You should be out partying with your friends.”

  “I guess. But I was never much of a partier. Let’s change the subject.”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s the new guy in your life?”

  They talked about the teacher who’d come into the store and seemed to take an instant liking to Erin. They’d been dating six months. “Now, how about your new guy?”