Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
florence
Was it ridiculous of me to leave the front door unlocked last night?
The sound of Dex’s heavy footsteps thumping up my porch and the spare key turning in the lock had me smiling maniacally until I fell asleep.
You can’t change a tiger’s stripes, and though Dex was giving me headspace, the man was born protective. God, I was so grateful he didn’t force me to revisit the past few days or shower me with apologies.
Yes, being apart physically pained me, but in forty-eight hours, the pressure on my chest had lessened significantly.
Some might perceive my response to finding the resume an overreaction, but the hurt and turmoil wasn’t simply from that.
It was an accumulation of events. My brain and body were tired.
After escaping the office and hiding away in the A-frame, the tears that fell were cathartic. The overflowing well of emotions felt less full, and when my cheeks dried and ribs ached from the aftermath, a fire erupted underneath me.
Shit happened, but I refused to let it stick, not after months of doubt and self-deprecation.
Dex’s panic was obvious when I emerged with his morning coffee, ready to go about my day as normal. I could tell he was itching to apologize, and though him lying about the resume was wrong, the timing of me finding out was worse.
He read me, pushed aside his protective nature, and gave me space.
I promised him I’d be here for the long haul, and I meant that.
One step at a time.
And that first step into the office—my office—was the shock of a lifetime.
The wow factor hasn’t worn off when I walk in this morning.
No more boring beige. Salmon pink covers all four walls.
There’s familiar artwork—Aly’s, to be precise.
A cream handwoven rug spans the length of the room.
Potted plants line the window. Even the chair is new, suede and soft and so much more comfortable than the chair I stubbornly sat in for months.
The only thing that remains the same is the rich mahogany desk.
He’d created me a sanctuary.
Before I could thank him yesterday, he disappeared, acting as if nothing had happened.
It took almost an hour for me to stop admiring the room and get to work.
I’d wanted some normalcy, a little space, and he’d understood that.
Wild horses are still stampeding in my chest following his sweet declaration last night.
They quicken their pace when I discover a new notebook and pack of colored pens on the desk.
The gesture makes me dizzy, and there’s no blaming the paint fumes.
As I open the notebook where the marker ribbon lies, the impossible happens.
I fall more in love with Dexter Robert Moore.
Our list
· Download Pinterest app ?
· Ask Quinn how Pinterest works ?
· Redecorate office for my favorite employee ?
Off to the side is a Post-It with an arrow pointing at his messy handwriting.
Florence to add goals.
My grin is uncontainable.
I add two lines.
Signing up for evening classes at the local college felt impulsive at first. It didn’t change what happened. What it did do was help break the cycle of failure, counteracting a negative with a positive, no matter how small.
The idea of going back to school is terrifying.
Terrifying is good, because it means I’m not shutting down or shutting people out.
I work, feel more in control, and when the clock strikes five, Dex is waiting for me outside the A-frame. He spent most of today in the workshop again, and my heart pitter-patters as he leans casually on the chicken wire fence.
His smile is automatic when he sees me, widening when I hand over the notebook.
“How are you?” he asks softly.
“Better.” Bending over the fence, I scratch Vincent’s bony head. “Listen, I’m sor—”
A firm grip on my chin stops me.
Gray eyes bore into me. “The next word out of your mouth better not be sorry, Florence. Everything you felt, every emotion, is warranted. It’s me who needs to apologize.
” He tilts my head back. “Nothing about you is broken, and I’m sorry if my actions made you think otherwise.
If space and time are what you need, I’ll give it to you.
I hear you, Trouble, but I’m taking a page out of your book and refusing to let you push me away,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful and I love you.”
Like the night before, he heads toward his cabin, leaving me swaying in the aftermath.
There’s a break in the clouds.
The air is chillier the next morning. My head is halfway through an old sweater when there’s a knock at the door. Wrestling myself into it, I scramble toward the front of the cabin. When I open it, out of breath and flushed, there’s no one there.
There is an arrangement of Scrabble tiles on the doormat.
Meet at truck. Nine. Dex.
Something between a gasp and a laugh blows past my lips.
Said truck rumbles down the driveway, stealthy as ever.
Though our interactions have been fleeting the last few days, they’ve never felt more meaningful.
To be loved is to be seen. To be heard. To be understood.
Dex’s patience and understanding illuminates, not because he’s shining a light on the path in front of me, but because he’s letting me find my own way.
Waiting for me in the office is the notebook. Before I can see if he’s added to it, there’s a knock on the door leading outside. Either Dex is back, or the goats have learned manners.
I open it to find surprise number two of the morning, and it’s not even ten.
Patrick and Graham stand warily on the other side of the door.
“Fellow offspring,” I greet cautiously, their body language piquing my curiosity. “Dex isn’t here.”
“We’re not here to see him,” Patrick says.
“We’re here to see you!” a muffled voice comes from Graham’s pants.
My gaze lowers. “Is…is Booth in your underwear?”
Nudging his glasses up his nose, Graham sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Showing me the screen, I’m met with the megawatt smile of Booth.
“Hey, baby sis!” He waves. “I like the pink office. Very you.” Behind him is the shiny stainless steel kitchen at his restaurant in New York.
I study the three of them closely. “Is this an ambush? Did Dex send you?”
“Dex doesn’t know we’re here.” Patrick grips the back of his neck. “It’s an apology. A long overdue one.
“Oh. Umm, why?” I fiddle with my ring.
Graham hooks an arm around my shoulder and carts me toward the main cabin. “Let’s sit and talk. I’m tired of carrying Booth around.”
Dex never locks his front door, and once inside, the three of us sit on the sofa. Graham props his phone up on the coffee table, and then three pairs of eyes turn on me. I’m antsy. I know why they’re here. It’s the conversation I’ve avoided since my outburst at dinner.
Patrick blows out a breath, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not really sure where to start, other than I’m sorry, Florence.”
Graham and Booth nod along.
“Having spoken with my wonderful, intuitive wife, I can see how I might’ve come across as overbearing, especially since you returned from traveling. Had I known you were going through your own shit, I wouldn’t have pushed so much.”
“I know you wouldn’t, and that’s partly my fault.” I glance at the ceiling. “Being diagnosed was a huge relief and a clusterfuck at the same time. I thought getting out of town would help, and it did—temporarily…”
Concern laces Graham’s voice. “Why did you come home early?”
“My money ran out.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks.
“I didn’t want to worry anyone or ask for a handout, so…
I took out a loan. Not an affordable one either.
That’s why getting a job was so important and taking one at the restaurant felt like cheating.
This is my mess.” I chew on my nail. “I also didn’t want to use my ADHD as an excuse.
Managing finances is something neurodivergent people struggle with. ”
“Flo, we’d never hold anything like that against you,” Booth says softly through the speaker.
“I know that now, but the three of you are so put together, with your lives in order.”
They all share a look before bursting into laughter.
Patrick reclines in his seat. “There are days I’m terrified of fucking up so epically, Lottie will grow to resent me. Life can be tough, but I’ve learned to find balance and not take the small things for granted.”
“It’s only recently I’ve gotten my shit together. I’ll be making mistakes in ten, twenty years’ time.” Graham nudges his foot with mine. “And that’s okay.”
Booth clears his throat. “I understand why delivering your envelope didn’t land how I’d hoped.”
My chest tightens at the reminder of how excited I was to read Dad’s letter, only to be assaulted by heartache. “I was angry I didn’t receive a letter at first. The list made me feel closer to Dad again, and it brought me closer to someone else.”
My eyes flick to Patrick.
His expression is partway between a grimace and a smile. “Still getting used to that.”
“Me too.” I chuckle. “One day, he’s going to wake up and realize what a mistake he made.”
Graham and Booth find my joke amusing. Pat, not so much.
His smile is soft, genuine. He looks so much like our dad at this moment. “Nah, Flo. He’s going to wake up every day and see what a remarkable woman you are. I can’t imagine a more perfect person to see my best friend grow old with.”