Chapter Eleven
Since his lunch with Lara, Flynn’s feet had barely touched the ground as he prepared for this moment.
Even though he’d helped run sound and light events before – and bigger ones than this – he’d found himself stressing about this one more than usual.
That was partly because he was so new to the venue, but also because he had such a personal stake in the game.
He wanted it to go well, not to keep his job or to get a pat on the back, but for Lara.
The event was her baby: one she’d conceived and nurtured. It had to be a triumph. Flynn had beads of perspiration on his back from running around, making sure every aspect was working, answering the slightest query, and constantly checking in with the contractors that there were no glitches.
He’d been so busy that he’d only had one glimpse of Lara at a distance, talking to Fiona by the fountains.
Thank goodness she hadn’t known that the fountains weren’t working five minutes before the gates opened or that the power to the Castle Café had briefly been cut off.
Flynn had liaised with Jazz the catering manager and his own team to restore it before Lara had even realised or had a chance to worry.
It was now seven-thirty, and the place was heaving with what felt like every human for miles around. How did such a remote location have so many people?
Flynn had to slow his pace as he made his way from the contractors’ control room towards the grotto, drinking a can of Red Bull.
‘Oh, hello.’
His way around the corner of the Ice House was blocked by a very young woman with red streaks in her hair pushing a buggy. She was familiar and he racked his maxed-out brain for a name. Melanie? Milly? No, Molly.
‘Hello,’ she said again.
Flynn didn’t have time for chit-chat but he also wanted to be polite and friendly.
‘Hi,’ he said, with a smile for Molly but mostly for the baby in the buggy, who was wearing a pink-eared hat and staring wide-eyed at the lights.
‘Enjoying the illuminations?’ he asked, wondering if the baby was Molly’s or not.
She did seem pretty young to be a mum – probably still in her late teens or very early twenties at the most.
‘Yeah. It’s amazing. Esme loves it too.’
‘Molly! Here I am!’ An older woman with a cardboard carrier of coffees bustled up, her breath misting the air. ‘Sorry, the queues at the kiosk are so long. Bet you thought I’d been kidnapped.’
‘No, Nan,’ Molly said wearily. ‘Who would kidnap you?’
‘Cheeky! You’d be surprised,’ the woman said, bringing a smile to Flynn’s face despite his haste to be gone.
His radio crackled with a message. ‘Glad you’re having a good time. Don’t miss the Great Oak and the children’s play area, though the baby’s probably too young to appreciate it.’
‘A bit,’ said Molly, but smiled at Esme and held her hand. ‘But she loves the lights, don’t you, Esme? Your eyes have been like an owl’s all evening.’
So, the child was Molly’s, Flynn thought, giving her a wave before he hurried away. He didn’t think he’d see his own bed before midnight.