7. Abi
7
ABI
I take a deep breath, readjust my hands under the box and brace my core as I lift it off the ground.
God damn, this box is heavy. Who knew wooden platters could weigh so much?
I shuffle a few steps and pause to readjust my grip. It’s such an awkward size to lift and I’m not wearing the most practical shoes for the task. They’re gorgeous, but not very sensible right now. I’m going to need to keep a pair of flats in the office for days like today.
“Here, let me,” a voice says and I feel hands brush against mine as the weight is lifted out of my arms.
I look up, across the top of the box, meeting Flynn’s hazel eyes. They’re a shimmering blend of golden brown, bronze and mossy green. “I’ve got it,” I say, my voice coming out snappier than I intended. I try to take the box back, but he whisks it away out of my reach .
“Where do you want it?” he asks, striding across the brick-paved floor of the main reception room.
I sigh, brushing the dust off my black wide-leg pants and pink top—another poor choice for this task—and follow him out of the storeroom. I thought I’d just have a quick look through the space to familiarise myself with what we have on hand, and where it’s located. But while Olivia had mentioned it needed a tidy up, it’s a far bigger mess than I anticipated. The space obviously had an organising system once upon a time, but it looks like nothing has been stored properly after the last few events and the labels are not matching up with the items.
I’m glad I realised now and not right before an event.
“Over there.” I wave to a table I have set up where I’m sorting and cleaning everything I’m pulling out of the storeroom. Then I head back inside and grab the next box, bracing myself for the lift.
“I’ve got it.” Flynn approaches me again, his hands out to take the box, an easy smile on his face.
“I’m fine,” I say, again. “I can manage.”
“I have no doubt you can, but I’m happy to help.”
He smiles again, looking so laid back and relaxed. I feel my brows draw down and my lips tighten. I can do this. I have to prove to Olivia and Dallas that I’m capable. I can’t do that with Flynn swooping in to save me all the time.
“I don’t need help.”
“Okay.” He holds up his hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. “Do you need muffins though?”
“Muffins?” I eye him. He’s looking way too pleased with himself.
“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “The best you’ll get in Kauri Creek.”
“That’s a bold claim,” I say, setting down the box I was carrying and trying not show how much effort it took to carry it across the short distance. I don’t want to eat muffins with Flynn, but my stomach is beginning to get annoyed with me.
“Well, Violet made them, using my mum’s recipe. It actually doesn’t get better. Come on.”
Flynn grabs an ice cream container off the shelf by the door and waves for me to follow him.
“But, I’m working,” I say to his back as he disappears out the door.
“Come on, Abigail,” he calls and even though I should be focussing on my job, I follow him.
He’s waiting for me at the corner of the barn, and when I catch up he heads around the side, towards the wedding lawn and lake. He collapses onto the bench seat in the gazebo, slouching to the side so he can kick his boots up on the seat across the corner.
I perch across from him, chewing on my lip as I take in his lanky frame spread halfway across the gazebo.
Flynn snaps the lid off the container and pulls out a muffin. They do look delicious, huge and golden with a crust of cinnamon sugar baked into the top.
While he’s focussed on unwrapping the muffin I let my eyes linger, taking him in properly for the first time.
His auburn hair flares redder, with little flashes of gold, when he tilts his head and the sun hits it. Right now his hazel eyes are closed in bliss as he chews his first mouthful, but I’m never going to forget the concern in them from that first day we met … both times.
His body is long and lean and he wears his worn-out jeans, t-shirt and heavy brown jacket like they were made specifically for him.
“Here.” Flynn holds out the container, but I have no chance of reaching it unless I stand. “Come over here,” he says. “The view of the pond is better.” He smirks, like he’s laughing about me calling it a pond.
Those muffins really do look good, so I step across the gazebo and lower myself down next to him, gingerly taking a muffin from the container he’s still holding.
The pond is pretty and all, but sitting across from him wasn’t exactly a hardship. I kick that stray thought out of my head the second it crosses my mind. Absolutely not.
I can feel his attention on me while I turn my focus to unwrapping the muffin. I can’t just take a massive bite like he did, especially with him watching me like this, so I break off a portion and pop it in my mouth.
I actually groan. Out loud. In front of this virtual stranger who is my work colleague. That’s so embarrassing.
“Oh my god. That’s so good,” I say, wanting to hit myself in the head as the words tumble out.
Flynn positively beams at my reaction. “Told you,” he says, settling back against the seat and looking out across the pond/lake again.
“Who did you say made them?”
“Violet. She’s an amazing cook. You should come up for lunch. Muffins like this almost daily. ”
“You said something about your mum?” I ask, not sure why I’m heading down this line of questioning, but something in the way he phrased it is niggling my brain.
“Yeah. It’s my mum’s recipe. One of her favourites. She’s the one who taught Violet to bake.”
“Your mum and Violet are friends?”
“They were. Best friends.” He shifts, dropping his feet back to the floor, the easy confidence I was admiring in him just a moment ago evaporating.
His shoulder brushes mine. I don’t even know how we got this close. I shiver. I feel like I’ve stuck my foot in it. I take another bite of muffin to avoid saying something else, and study how our thighs align while we sit side by side on this bench. I can’t help but compare his filthy jeans and worn workbooks to my dress pants and high heels.
Flynn lets out a big sigh and slumps back. “My parents died when I was fourteen,” he says, his voice low and quiet in the still afternoon.
Oh. I was getting the feeling his mum wasn’t around anymore, but I wasn’t expecting both parents, and not when he was so young.
I have no words. None that are going to mean anything anyway, so I reach out and squeeze his hand. His head jerks up at the contact.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say.
The corner of his mouth curls. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“Car accident,” he says, his voice rough and detached. “ They went out for their usual date night. Someone crashed into them.”
I squeeze his hand again and his fingers flex around mine, then slowly relax. I wait for a moment, then extricate my fingers when I realise he’s no longer holding them and I’m just sitting here clinging onto him.
Flynn sucks in another deep breath. “Violet and Henry were like my surrogate parents after that.”
“They took you in?”
“No. My brother was eighteen and we wanted to stay together.” He rolls his eyes, like he can’t imagine why they’d wanted that. “He was my official guardian, but he only got that because of Violet and Henry vouching for him. And they helped feed us, and did all the parent-type things they could.” He sighs as he slouches further into his seat. His shoulder brushes mine again and I try to ignore the goosebumps that travel down my arm at the contact.
It’s not to do with Flynn. It’s to do with the fact that it’s a fresh afternoon and we’re sitting outside in the shade.
“You’re cold,” Flynn says, obviously paying attention to those goosebumps. He takes in my short-sleeved top. “Sorry. I didn’t think when I made you come out here.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “But I should get back to work.” I point awkwardly over my shoulder at the building.
“Do you want a hand sorting out that storeroom?” he asks, fiddling with the paper case from his muffin.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m sure you have other things to do.”
He shrugs. “If you want help, I can help.”
“I don’t need help,” I say, tone sharpening without my consent. What’s with him not thinking I can do anything myself?
“I know you don’t need help, Abigail, but if you want it, I can help you. You don’t have to work down here alone all the time. My job is to do whatever needs to be done, and if that storeroom needs to be cleaned out, you’re allowed to ask for help. No one’s going to think less of you for it.”
I ignore the way my name rolls off his tongue and instead focus on the end of his little speech. He might think no one is going to think less of me for it, but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how much I have to prove myself. I can’t let anyone think I’m avoiding my responsibilities, especially with the way they’re all so close here. They’ll definitely talk to each other about me, and if Flynn or Olivia thinks I’m slacking off, Dallas is going to find out.
I won’t let that happen. I won’t let him hear things like that about me.
“Thank you for offering, but I really am okay,” I say, pushing to my feet. “Thanks for the muffin.”
Flynn frowns, then holds the container. “Take the rest. But you know where to find more when those run out. If you want I can come pick you up so you don’t have to walk in there alone.”
I wrap my fingers around the container, careful not to touch his, and it takes a moment for me to realise what he’s talking about. Lunch at Violet’s.
So they’re definitely talking about me.
Olivia asks me every day if I’m heading up to the house for lunch. Dallas has asked me too. Apparently this means something to them .
The thought of it terrifies me—walking into that house, finally meeting Katie, making small talk with co-workers I have nothing in common with. I just want to do my job, reconnect with Sadie and spend my free hours at the cute little house in town. But Sadie is a part of this place, of this family, and I’m going to have to try harder.
“Okay.” My voice comes out in a whisper. “Yes, please.”
He grins, his eyes sparking with delight as I agree. “I’ll come by tomorrow and pick you up then.”
“What time?”
He rubs his hand through his hair. “I have no clue,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll try and text you with an update.”
I bite my lip. That is not how I roll. I need a schedule, but I’m going to have to deal with it. “Okay. See you tomorrow. Thank you for these.” I hold up the container between us.
“See you tomorrow, Abigail.”