Page 36 of Can't Help Falling

CHAPTER NINE

“SO...NOWYOU’RE playing house with Tyler?” Mary asked Fin as the two of them sat on the floor of her fancy-schmancy home-goods-and-furniture shop in Cobble Hill. Mary had put up the “back in twenty minutes” sign, flipped the lights off and now the two of them were hiding from the view of the sidewalk behind the register counter, eating the sandwiches that Fin had picked up on her way over.

It had been two days since the basketball game and Fin was still riding high.

She’d been focusing on the time spent with Kylie, which was why it surprised her so much when Tyler was the first thing that Mary zeroed in on after Fin filled her in on the whole story.

“I’m not playing house with Tyler,” Fin insisted haughtily. “I’m—”

“Coparenting with him?”

“Mary!” Fin was both exasperated and amused by her new friend. Mary had this way about her. She was all sunshine and smiles. So much so that you didn’t always happen to notice the very bitter medicine she was spooning down your throat.

It wasn’t very many people who could get Serafine St. Romain to take bitter medicine, but Mary Trace was one of them. Originally one of Seb and Tyler’s tribe, Fin had only met Mary a little over a year ago. New friends, but fast ones too. They were both straight shooters, both experts in their fields, both business owners and they both had a certain eye for the way physical objects should look and feel in a space.

There were few home-decorating shops that Fin was drawn to; most of them were too staged, too fake. But even before she’d known Mary personally, Fin had frequented this shop, occasionally buying a knickknack.

Mary had been very vocal about her appreciation for Fin’s ability to help her rearrange the items that weren’t selling well. The first time that Fin had ever visited her at Fresh, she’d absently rearranged some mugs that Mary had set out a few weeks prior on one of the shelves. Apparently the mugs started selling like hotcakes. Now, every few weeks, she paid Fin for an hour of her time to come in and make sure the energy in Fresh was, well, fresh.

But first, the sandwiches. “I’m not coparenting with him. None of this has anything to do with Tyler.” Fin thought for a second, wondering if that was just an out-and-out lie. “Well, very little of it has to do with Tyler. Most of it has to do with Kylie. And me.”

Mary still looked skeptical. “It’s your way of helping out or something?”

Fin picked at some of the seeds that ran the edge of her sandwich. “I’m sure a shrink would tell you that I’ve been rejected as a foster parent enough times that I’m desperate to help any kid who happens to cross my path. But...Kylie and I really are kindred spirits.”

“Have you gotten another rejection on your foster parent application since we last talked?”

Fin set her sandwich aside this time, her appetite souring. “Remember I told you that my neighbor volunteered to look over my file?”

“Right. She said that she might be able to give you some pointers on what to change.”

“Yeah. She’s gone through the process and had to apply twice so she figured she could help.”

“And?”

Fin sighed, feeling the fresh sting of tears in the backs of her eyes. She waited until the sting had reduced to an ache, and the ache had reduced to a dull thud before she kept talking. “The news...wasn’t good.”

“What was wrong with your file?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not the file. It’s me.” Fin couldn’t help but squeeze the amethyst that hung around her neck, allowing it to do its subtle magic. “I’m single. Strike one. I’m self-employed and paid mainly in cash. Even though I report it all, apparently that’s still strike two. I run most of my business from various unlicensed locations, like my apartment or my clients’ homes. Strike three. I turned half my kitchen into an herb garden of sorts, which to anyone coming to inspect, looks like I’m growing weed. Strike four. I believe I’m a psychic. Strike five. I’m attractive and unattached, which means to them that I’ve either got some secret fatal flaw or I’m just using a kid to fill the hole in my heart while I wait for the right man to come along. Strike six. I’m out.”

“I think you’re only allowed three strikes.”

“Then I guess I’m out twice.”

Mary huffed out a big breath, making strands of her blond hair puff away from her face. She looked genuinely stymied. It was one of the things that Fin liked best about Mary. She wasn’t a half listener. When you were discussing something with her, her entire focus and energy was on you. “Who knew it was so hard to foster a kid?”

“I mean, honestly, I feel terrible for even complaining about the process, considering that in many ways, I believe that foster parents should be screened more. Most of the people who do this are good people, but there are always some bad seeds in there that should have been weeded out. Via learned about that firsthand.”

Mary set aside her own sandwich, which alerted Fin to the seriousness of whatever Mary was about to say. Mary loved eating and rarely stopped once she had started. “Fin, I’ve never really asked before, but what was your experience with the foster system?”

Fin appreciated Mary’s candor. She knew her well enough to know that Mary’s question came from a desire to know more about Fin as a friend. There was very little morbid curiosity mixed in. Fin didn’t mind sharing her past with people who truly cared about her.

“I bounced around to a few when I still lived in Louisiana.”

“New Orleans?”

“No. I was out in the bayou at the time. Hence the accent. You don’t usually hear quite this much Cajun twang in New Orleans.”

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