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As soon as Milo stood, Tru opened her eyes and slinked off the recliner.
“G’nite, Dad. I had fun, Finch.”
“I had a wonderful evening. Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Tru.”
She shot him a small grin and shuffled off to bed. Milo quickly hugged me and was off to bed as well.
And then it was just me and Finch.
He sat comfortably on the sofa, ankle resting on his opposite knee, a soft expression on his face.
“I just have to make sure Milo brushed his teeth. I’ll be right back.”
“Do you want me to go? You can say yes, Easton. I won’t be offended.”
“No,” I practically shouted at the man, who only laughed. “I want you to stay—just gimme a minute.”
Tru’s light was already off in her room, but Milo’s wasn’t. He was sitting up on his bed with one of his graphic novels in hand.
“Okay, Bud, time for bed.”
“Did Finch leave?”
“Not yet, but soon.”
He lay down, clutching the graphic novel to his chest.
“I like him, Dad.”
Smiling, I swiped some of his hair off his forehead.
“I do too.”
“I had another dream last night and he was in it and…” Milo suddenly stopped talking.
“And what?”
“He lived here.” His eyes glistened. “I really liked it.”
What does someone say to that? I wasn’t equipped for conversations like this, especially while my mind and feelings were all over the place over the same guy.
“You can always tell me anything you want, Milo. Finch is an amazing person. We’re lucky to get to know him.”
He nodded and lifted the book up to show me. “He always looks like this in my dreams, except with blue hair.”
I took the novel and flipped it to see the cover. A green-haired man, lithe and beautiful, with pointed ears, shimmering skin, and iridescent wings spread wide, stood on a cliff. As I stared, I realized that in the one dream of Finch I’d had, he resembled this too.
“What is he?” I wiggled the book.
“He’s a messenger for fae royalty.”
Fae…I wasn’t very familiar with folklore or things like that, so for Milo and me to dream of Finch looking exactly the same was bizarre.
“Maybe because to you and me he seems like magic, because he helped your recovery…he was there when you needed him.”
Milo shrugged, and I plopped the novel on the bedside table.
“Maybe. Night, Dad.”
