Chapter 40 Dexter
CHAPTER FORTY
dexter
Something is wrong.
It’s quiet. Still.
The air lacks its usual buzz and fever. There’s no goat waiting to ram my shins when I step out of the truck or a woman with a dazzling smile reading a book from the chair on my porch.
Florence’s appointment ended an hour ago, and she should be home. There was no text or missed call from her when the team called it a day. If we’re not together, she’s blowing up my phone with daily updates. Yesterday’s text thread is a stark contrast to today’s.
Florence: When winter arrives, the goats are moving indoors.
Florence: Hurry up and come home so we can play Scrabble.
Florence: Can you build me a bookshelf?
Florence: *GIF of man chopping wood*
Her silence is a bad sign.
There’s a dusting of hay on the porch steps, and following it through the cabin leads me to her.
Florence zips around the kitchen, slamming cupboards and drawers.
Two heads peek out from behind the island, eyeing me cautiously, bells tinkling.
Her own personal guard goats. Vincent bleats at me as I make my way over, but Florence is so consumed by whatever she’s doing, she doesn’t notice me until my arms envelop her.
“Hey, Trouble,” I murmur into her neck.
She’s stiff as cardboard, voice tight. “You’re home early.”
“The team knocked it out of the park with two hours to spare. We ordered pizza to celebrate. You were missed, but you’ll get to see it at the opening ceremony next week.”
Wiggling out of my hold, she continues fussing with the contents of my cupboards. Without looking at her face, I can tell she’s flustered, and something tells me it has everything to do with the appointment.
I unbuckle my work belt and settle onto a stool. “Are you making dinner?”
Florence pauses, fisting two cans of soup. She finally looks in my direction, brows scrunched tight and lips pursed. “I was…and then I started reorganizing the cupboards. Sorry, I should’ve asked.”
“Nah, have at it. Let’s order takeout. I’m beat.” I pull out my phone. “What do you want?”
The slam of metal hitting the oak countertop jerks my attention away. The goats jump before collapsing on their sides.
“Oh, shit!” Florence cries and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. Just let me cook for you.”
“You don’t need to cook for me.”
“I have to do something.” Her face contorts. “Please.”
Her tense features soften when I open my arms. “Come here.”
Gait slow, she ambles over and collapses into me.
“You want to talk about it?” I mumble into her hair.
She jerks her head left and right and tightens her hold of my shirt. “Maybe later. This is a nice distraction.”
I smooth down her wild hair. “Distraction from what?”
She nuzzles further into my chest, sighing sadly. I feel her mouth move against my neck but don’t catch the words. Slipping my hand between us, I hook a finger under her chin, raising her gaze.
“What did you say?”
Her shoulders slump. “A distraction from my brain. It’s loud.”
My lips brush over her pinched brow. “Let’s go for a drive. Your test is coming up. The fresh air might help.”
“No. It’s pointless. I’ll screw it up.” Her smile tight, her grip on me loosens, and she steps away. “Go shower. I’ll sort this mess. I’ll be fine, just a bleugh day. Ignore me. I’m so proud of you and the team for finishing the summer camp.”
I’ve never met anyone who feels as deeply as Florence. It’s beautiful; her empathy, unfiltered emotions, and ability to communicate her feelings with ease. This is new, because for the first time, avoidance is present.
The urge to pry the information out of her is strong—ironic and unfair, considering the last few months.
Something I’ve picked up on is that her moods can rise and drop suddenly.
I ride them out with her, hoping to keep those intrusive thoughts at bay.
I try not to let mine spiral over what’s caused this withdrawn version of my girl.
She busies herself, shrinking back into her head, but I give her space. God knows she gave me enough recently.
I’m entering the bedroom when my phone vibrates. I answer it without checking the Caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Dex, sweetheart,” a kind voice greets.
“Claire, hey. Everything all right?”
“Is Florence with you?” Her gentle tone feeds my worry.
“Something happened at the appointment, didn’t it?”