A part of her felt disloyal to Finn although there was no reason for it. She’d spent time with Channing before. Her conscience made short work of that argument: Yes, when you were ten years old, when you were nothing more to him than a little girl with carroty hair and he was nothing more to you than a grubby boy. This was different. Still, why not spend time with Channing? Finn had told her to forget about the kiss. Besides, Channing was her fairy tale, he’d always been her fairy tale. He was fun and exciting and today at the lake proved it. Didn’t it? They’d spun in playful circles, but it had been Finn who had truly excited her with his talk of unseen lands and dark forests where the sun never reached the earth.
Channing can’t even remember to call you by the right name. Well, everyone had their foibles. It was a very little thing, really, as foibles went. Finn had his foibles too, always talking about things in Latin. She wondered what Finn would call a kiss in Latin. The thought brought a smile to her face.
No, don’t smile! But her warning to self came too late. She was smiling and Channing had caught her.
‘Time to pay the forfeit, Cat.’ Channing was grinning, others were applauding, some even whistling. The crowd was getting rowdy as the evening neared its end.
Under the mistletoe ball, Channing tipped her chin up. ‘Make it a good one, Cat.’ It was said in fun, but something else glimmered in Channing’s eyes just before his mouth caught hers. He wanted this kiss—some important test rode on this for him.
This was it, the dream! Channing was kissing her, had sought her out for this kiss on purpose. She waited to feel something, anything. But nothing came. She supposed the kiss was technically proficient as kisses went. It wasn’t wet or sloppy or chaste. But in the end, it was just a kiss under the mistletoe, only a forfeit from a parlour game, and it left her surprisingly unaffected. Unfortunately, it hadn’t left everyone as unaffected as she.
Chapter Five
Finn had slipped in the back of the room and he was angry, seethingly angry. Catherine knew it right away as soon as she spotted him, standing with his arms crossed. She didn’t think anyone else noticed, though. He was one of those sorts who just got quieter and grimmer the angrier he became. Like the day he’d had to climb up the apple tree in the Deverill orchard to get her down after he’d warned her not to climb the tree in the first place. But Channing had dared her and she never backed down from a dare.
Her eyes met Finn’s briefly through the crowd. She flushed and looked away, feeling a prick of guilt as if she’d been caught doing something illicit, as if she had betrayed Finn. Such a feeling was ridiculous. Why should she feel guilty? It was a parlour game, a silly forfeit. Everyone else had done it. Even if it had meant something, that should be all right too. Just because Finn had kissed her first didn’t mean he had any rights over her. With that kind of logic, it meant Billy Fisher should feel jealous since he’d kissed her once at a birthday party in the village when they were thirteen. Billy Fisher had definitely been ‘first’ long before Finn’s devilish kiss on the river.
Catherine could feel her own fury start to simmer. Why should he be angry at all? He’d declared the kiss was a mistake in the first place, something that should never have happened. A horrid thought occurred to her. Had Finn been as unaffected by their kiss as she had been by Channing’s? Was that the reason he wanted to forget it? He’d been disappointed? She certainly hadn’t been. How awful to be the only one. Her thoughts leapt back to Channing, who still had his hand on her arm. Had he alone been affected by their kiss? She tossed him a bright smile so he wouldn’t feel badly if that was the case. Perhaps he wouldn’t know.
Finn surely hadn’t known, otherwise he wouldn’t look so quietly thunderous at the back of the room. The guilt swamped her again. She could only imagine how it had looked: Channing’s golden head bent to hers, Channing’s hand cupping the sweep of her jaw. It had probably looked quite stunning to the viewer if it had borne even half of Channing’s usual grace. But it had meant nothing.
Finn was the first of the adults to arrive, the music room crowd heralding the coming of the tea cart, her parents among them. They’d come over in the afternoon while everyone was still at the lake. Her father sidled over to Finn and Finn’s expression seemed to soften. They bent their dark heads together, engaged in conversation, Finn bringing up his hands every so often to make a point. She wondered what they were talking about. Her father had always liked Finn, always said he had a good head on his shoulders.