Page 33 of Madness Becomes Her
Just when I was thinking him more normal, too.
“Let’s be off.” With an arm in the air, he turns toward a door at the back of the kitchen I never much paid attention to.
A path leads away from a porch off the back of the house, and we follow it through trees and underbrush until it spits us out in front of a small barn.
Inside are two black shire horses with white cuffs on their legs.
“They’re beautiful.”
“This is Jet and Thunder. They’re a bit bonkers, but who isn’t?”
I swallow.
“We’d like to take the carriage out today!” Finlo announces loudly, and I’m looking around to see who he might be speaking to.
A moment passes, and I’m certain his madness is spreading until I hear feet pattering over the stable floor. Stepping back, I nearly crush a tiny field mouse.
“Hey! I’m workin’ here!”
“I’m so sorry,” I reply, thinking myself insane for doing so, but I almost stepped on him. It’s only polite to apologize.
God, this place has me so twisted up.
Looking up from my spiraling thoughts, I realize there are hundreds of mice, maybe even thousands. They’re working together to connect the carriage to the horses. The doors behind me open as another army of mice prepares for our departure.
“My word,” I breathe.
“They’re something, aren’t they? Not the nicest of beasts, but they’re hard workers.”
“We can hear you!” a small voice says, tossing a fist in the air toward Finlo.
I can’t help my laugh that escapes.
He looks at me, and I’m caught in his gleaming smile.
There’s this thing about me where I’m attracted to someone who can make me laugh. No matter if they’re a good person or not. The way to my heart is through my funny bone. That’s the trouble with me.
Finlo has undoubtedly found that funny bone—unwittingly, but still. All I can hope now is that I don’t end up too hurt at the end of my story because Finlo Pennington is as far from a bad person as one can get, so I know the fall is going to hurt.
CHAPTER NINE
EROTSY AND ALMOST KISSES
The carriage is tight quarters. A man yells at the horses, urging them forward. I say he’s a man because of the deep timbre of his voice. His head is a pumpkin. An honest to god pumpkin.
I swear the things here will never cease to blow my mind.
Finlo’s arm presses against mine as the carriage bumps along the road. There’s a palpable energy hanging in the air, but I don’t know if it’s just me who feels it.
Biting my lip, my eyes scan over his hands. He has them perched firmly on his knees, his grip unyielding, tension coiled in every delicate muscle twining his fingers.
“Where did you say we were going?” I ask, trying to slice through the thick electricity bubbling in my veins.
“Erotsy.”
With a shaky breath, I try to overlook the curt way he responded. Just looking at Hatter gives one a detailed idea of how many women he’s been close to in his life: few.
A sigh comes from Finlo as he turns toward me. “There will be lots of options. Not for hats, of course.”
