Page 166 of Finch

“Of course.”

Hugh pinned the cufflink to his cuff and gathered Finch in his arms, simply holding him while

Finch cried. Through their bond, Finch felt his love and reassurance. All was well, and all would

be well, that feeling told him. If ever Finch doubted it, all he had to do was turn to Hugh, and

he would make it right.

“I love you,” Finch managed to say through his tears. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“I love you, and I’m not,” Hugh replied with a smile.

“Are the lot of you done gawking?” Atticus demanded. There came the sound of several more

taps of his cane on the floor. “Out. Out, I say! You’ve recovered what you came for, and I have

cucumber sandwiches to devour. To the entrance hall with you all. Finch and his dragon will

be down to join you shortly. Or not. Who knows? Their business is their own, and your business

is now elsewhere. Shoo!”

“But what if they can’t find us?” Harrison asked.

Everard pecked his mate on the nose. “I’m sure even Hugh can find his way home eventually.”

“I am home,” Hugh said, though only loud enough for Finch to hear. “And I will be no matter

where I am, because I am with you.”

Hugh

There was to be no egg bed in the quiet room with the gorgeous south-facing windows and the

extremely shiny floor, but there would be a bassinet. A glorious bassinet. The kind of bassinet

a dragon would covet, not that any apart from Hugh would have the chance. On his way home

from England, Hugh daydreamed about what it would look like. There would be oak involved,

certainly, although not in the same way as the traditional slatted cribs of yore. To Hugh, they

looked too much like cages. Tiny baby cages. No child of his would be made to feel like a

prisoner in his lair. He wasn’t entirely certain what the alternative would be, but it would

inevitably involve artistic incorporations of woodwork, gold, and cloud-like padding.

It would be glorious.

He intended to have it commissioned right away.

There were other effects a human-born dragon needed that their scaly counterparts would not.

Hugh was distantly familiar with them. Clothing, for one. What did babies wear? Small suits?

Or dresses, he supposed, if Finch gifted him with a daughter. He’d need to touch base with his

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