24. Abi
24
ABI
Guilt lingers after Flynn leaves for the night.
I organise place settings and clean up the mess from the roses as I stew on how we left things.
I didn’t miss the way he called me Abigail right before he left either, after I’ve gotten used to him calling me Abi, and he spent the afternoon calling me Rosie.
I hurt him when I dismissed his help like that, when I snapped at him about knowing what I need to do.
I do, but he wasn’t coming from a place of nastiness or controlling. He was trying to help me, look out for me.
I’m reminded again that I’m not used to being part of a team. I’m used to being alone, to having only myself to rely on.
And while Flynn might come across as unreliable, I don’t think that’s really the case. I think if I truly needed him, he’d be there for me in a flash.
I sigh and drag another table into position, wincing as the steel legs scrape across the cobbled floor.
Then suddenly the sound stops and the other end of the table is lifted.
“Where’s it going?” Flynn asks.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask.
“I wasn’t leaving you here to do it all on your own, Rosie. We’re a team, remember?”
I sigh, not in annoyance with him, but in relief that he’s here. He came back to help me.
“Over here,” I say, taking a few more steps, then eyeing up the other tables scattered around the room. “Yep, here,” I say, depositing my end back on the ground.
He gently places his end down, then turns and immediately strides back to the door, leaving me slack mouthed and confused, my hair falling from its ponytail. Is he leaving again? Why’d he come back if it was only to move a single table?
“I’ve got dinner,” he says, picking up two plastic containers from the long bench seat running along the wall just inside the door.
He hands one to me, along with a paper towel. “Sorry, I don’t have actual napkins.” He drops his gaze to the box in his hands. “It’s also not much. But it’s something.”
“Thank you, Flynn,” I say. I feel like I’m always thanking this man. I feel like I already owe him so much. And after I was so rude to him, he went and made me dinner. I don’t deserve a friend like him.
I lower myself to sit on the bench and stretch my legs out in front of me. It’s a relief to sit for a few minutes.
I wasn’t expecting to be under so much pressure because I’d ordered the flower arrangements to come fully formed. I never would have coped without Flynn, and I was a bitch to him regardless.
Then he turned up to feed me.
I pry the lid off the container. Inside is a thick parcel wrapped in tinfoil, a pot of yoghurt, a banana and a couple of slightly melted chocolate biscuits. There’s also a spoon for the yoghurt.
I slide the tinfoil package out of the container and unwrap it to find a toasted sandwich, but not a basic one like I usually make. Flynn has used thick bread and the cheese is still warm enough to ooze out the sides. There’s relish and bacon and a fried egg.
“Oh my god, this looks amazing,” I say, fighting the urge to groan. “Smells amazing too.”
Flynn lowers himself to sit beside me and opens his own container. His mouth is curled into a soft smile as he watches me take an enormous bite.
This time I can’t stop the moan from slipping past my lips. Lunch at the main house feels like weeks ago.
Flynn’s eyes are on my mouth as I chew, and his expression looks like he’s at war with himself.
“Do I have food on my face?” I ask after I swallow.
He shakes his head, his curls dancing with the movement. “No,” he murmurs, still watching my mouth.
I wipe my face despite his assurances because the way he’s looking at me is like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how. At my movement he startles, snapping his gaze away and taking a bite that’s almost half the sandwich.
We eat in silence, and once we’re done, Flynn helps me arrange the tables and chairs. Then we spread tablecloths and place our flower arrangements in the centre of each one. I lay out cutlery while Flynn unpacks wine and water glasses. Plates are stacked ready for the buffet, the boxes of alcohol that were delivered this afternoon are stored in the cooler after the bar fridge is stocked.
We work side by side and together we smash out every task I had on my list for today.
Finally, when Flynn has walked around every table and straightened every knife with perfect precision, he turns to me. “What’s next?” His hair is dishevelled, his eyes tired and his posture is drooping. The poor guy did a full morning of physical farm labour before spending all afternoon and night helping me.
“Nothing,” I say. “We’re all done.”
“Are you messing with me?” he says.
“Nope, we’re done. Well, until tomorrow.” I give him a grin. “We did it.”
“Fuck yes we did. Of course we did. Why do you sound like it’s a miracle?”
I laugh, the sound a little delirious now I’m coming down from the adrenaline high I’ve been running off since lunchtime. “Because it feels like one.”
I head for the stairs at the back of the room and Flynn follows me into my office. I need to grab my bag, then I’m heading home for a shower and some sleep. I collapse onto the couch in the office and let out a groan as I realise my mistake. Maybe I’ll just be sleeping here tonight. I tilt my head back and close my eyes.
“God, I’m tired,” I mutter .
“Don’t get mad at me for saying this,” Flynn says, and I crack my eyes open watch him squirm as he stands in front of me. “But I don’t think you should drive home tonight.”
“I don’t have the energy to be mad,” I say. “Might just sleep here.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at me. “No.”
“Stop trying to tell me what to do, Flynn,” I mutter, trying to glare at him but failing because it feels like too much work. Instead I close my eyes again and let myself sink further into the couch.
He lets out a huffing noise, loud enough to make me peel my eyelids open again. “I’m not. I’m suggesting you let people help you so you can be here for your daughter in the way she needs.”
This time I pull off the glare. How dare he? I want to launch myself off this couch and smack him right in the face for insinuating I’m not doing right by Sadie.
He sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. We want to help you. And look at you. It’s not safe for you to drive home, so I’m not letting you.” He runs a hand through his hair, then drops his arms by his sides, a plea on his face. He looks as exhausted as I feel. “Because I care what happens to you.”
“Fine, I won’t drive.” I reach for the blanket slung over the back of the couch, not wanting his words to affect me the way they do. He cares, I already know he does. It shouldn’t make my heart all giddy like this.
“You can go stay in the main house for the night.”
“No!” I actually manage to get off the couch this time. “Then Olivia will want to know why I’m still here so late when I should have been set up hours ago. Please, she can’t know.”
Flynn’s jaw is tight as he stares down at me, a little furrow between his brows as he thinks. “There’s one other option.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You stay at my place,” he says, his hand finding its way back to his hair.
“Yes, excellent. Great idea.” Anything to avoid Olivia finding out.
“But,” he continues, like he hasn’t heard me. He closes his eyes as the next words spill out. “I don’t have a spare bed.”
Oh.