Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Flynn
I don’t hate my job. I just don’t understand it.
One day, I’m mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges. The next, I’m taking Callie to see a movie—with goddamn subtitles. A dyslexic’s nightmare.
She doesn’t seem depressed or suicidal. Of course, I don’t know what that would look like.
If anyone had a reason to feel that way, it would be me.
There’s no way she’s been through anything like I’ve experienced.
I’ve wanted to hurt people, maybe even kill a few.
But through all the pain and feelings of abandonment, I’ve never once thought about ending things.
“I’ve always wanted a cat,” Callie says on the way to the car after the movie.
I have the rest of her popcorn that she didn’t eat, as well as half a bag of M&Ms which I dump into my mouth before they melt.
“A white cat, like the one in the movie,” she says.
“Then get a white cat,” I mumble over the chocolate while opening her door.
“Rupert doesn’t like cats. He’s a dog person. Sally, our dog, died last year. He was heartbroken.”
“Explains the dog wash in the garage,” I say before closing her door.
After I get into the driver’s side, I stow the bag of popcorn on the floor behind her seat. “Who came up with the name Sally,” I ask.
“Rupert’s mom’s favorite song was ‘Mustang Sally.’”
Guess I won’t be making fun of the dog’s name, since his mom died.
“I should get him another dog. It’s been long enough,” Callie says.
“I bet he’d want you to get a cat. He seems concerned about you.” I pull out of the parking lot.
“I don’t think you understand how much he hates cats.”
“I’m sure he loves you more than he hates cats.”
She looks out her window and sighs, but doesn’t say anymore. So I do what any good muse would do, I drive to a feline rescue shelter.
“Flynn.” Callie eyes me, frowning when I pull into the parking lot.
“We’re just going to look. What’s the harm in looking?”
Lucky for Rupert, there are no white cats when we peruse the ones available for adoption. Unfortunately, there’s a small gray kitten with a white face, belly, and paws that look like socks. His name is Loki, and Callie has hearts in her eyes.
I smirk at her.
“Don’t give me that look, young man. I’m just holding him.” She kisses his head as he purrs nonstop.
I bite my lips together to hide my grin.
“Loki is a cuddler,” the stocky guy with long, brown hair says as Callie pets Loki.
“He likes a place with lots of windows where he can watch what’s going on outside.
And he’s great with a litter box. His previous owner had to let him go because she was moving to a place that didn’t allow pets. He’s only six months old.”
“Well, we’re just visiting,” Callie says, handing the kitten back to the guy. “I’m not in the market for a …” She wrinkles her nose. “Why isn’t he purring for you?”
He shrugs. “He must like you better.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” She takes Loki back as if to prove a point. He instantly starts purring.
“Oh …” Her expression melts.
An hour later, we pull into the garage with the newest member of the Rawlings family and bags of cat supplies. She carries Loki into the house, and I follow with the bags.
Just as she heads upstairs, Rupert appears at the top, eyes squinted. They have a silent stare-off.
“You’re fired,” he says to me.
“No, he’s not,” Callie says, continuing up the stairs. “Flynn said you surely love me more than you hate cats. Is he right?”
Why did she have to say that?
“His name is Loki and he only purrs for me.” She holds him up to Rupert’s face.
He flinches, rearing his head back, and she laughs while continuing toward her bedroom.
“A word in my office,” Rupert says to me.
“Follow me, Flynn. I have a project for you. My husband will just have to wait for his word.”
With a tight smile, I shrug and squeeze past Rupert as he glares at me.
An hour and a half later, I’m still sorting through Callie’s boxes and boxes of stationery on her bedroom floor, organizing the cards into groups—birthday, anniversary, thank-you, and sympathy.
She clears her throat. When I look up at her petting Loki, she wrinkles her nose. “Slow down. You’re bending the envelope. What’s your hurry?”
I sigh, straightening the corner of the bent envelope in my hand. “I have a date with June at four.”
Mrs. Rawlings checks the time on her gold watch. It’s three fifty. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She makes it sound so simple, like her husband didn’t hire me as an alternative to my going to jail.
“It’s no big deal,” I lie. “I just haven’t been given official hours with this job, so when we made plans, I assumed I’d be done by now because I’ve been for the past week.”
“Well, go!” She makes a shooing motion with her hand.
I shake my head. “No. I’ll finish this.”
“Flynn. Go! That’s an order.”
Is she mad?
“Seriously. I’m fine. I want to do this for you. I need this job.”
She kneels on the floor across from me, setting Loki free to roam around. “I needed this day. The movie. Loki. And now I need this,” she says, taking the cards from me.
“Need what?”
She pauses, looking up at me. “I need you to see where it goes. The nervous boy feigning confidence. The smitten girl playing hard to get.” Pulling in a long breath through her nose, she smiles. “It’s familiar. And I …” she closes her eyes for a second. “I just need it,” she whispers.
“Well”—I check my phone—“I don’t know if she’ll wait for me. But I’ll try.”
“Run.”
I laugh while standing. “I didn’t wear running shoes, but I’ll do my best.”
“Flynn?” Mrs. Rawlings calls after I’m several feet down the hallway.
I turn.
“Manners. I promise no matter what happens, if you have manners, she’ll want another date. And you’ll know when it’s the right time to tell her about your past. Because you do have to tell her.”
“Manners,” I repeat with a quick nod. “Past. Got it.”
It’s a big lake. I should have specified where we’d meet, so I text her.
Flynn: U here?
June: I was. But u were late. A girl has to have standards
“Shit.” I drop my head back and stare at the cloudy sky before closing my eyes. “I’m such a fuck-up,” I grumble.
“Words matter.”
I whip around in a half circle as June saunters toward me in denim shorts, a tight, black tank top, and white sneakers.
Of course, I stare at her legs so long she calls me out with a knowing grin.
But it’s not just her legs. The smile and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes is enough to render me speechless.
I feel like the best version of myself when she looks at me.
A version of myself that I’ve never seen, but often imagined.
“There are no two words more powerful than I am. So remember, what you say after those two words matters.” She slides her hands into her pockets and starts walking along the path.
I guess we’re not holding hands.
“In that case,” I say, catching up to her. “I am sorry for getting here late. This new job of mine has unpredictable hours.”
“Ah, yes. I’m sure there is nothing predictable about the muse business. After all, inspiration is unpredictable.”
“I feel like you’re making fun of me or my job. Which is it? And are we going to walk around this whole lake?”
“This whole lake?” She giggles. “You mean like two? Three miles?”
“Listen. I’ve been thinking about it. And I should have texted you before I got paid. Even like a: Hey, what’s up. You look beautiful today.”
June playfully nudges my arm. “How would you have known if I looked beautiful via text?”
“It’s just a fact. Like water is wet and ten thousand miles between oil changes is risky business.”
“Flynn … Flynn … Flynn … you are so unexpected.”
“In a good way?”
“Yes.” She sidesteps a pile of dog shit. “In a very good way.”
“Cool. Listen, we should eat. I have money now.”
“We could have gone to eat a week ago. I had money then,” she says.
“Then you should have invited me to dinner.”
“Perhaps.” She tucks her chin. “But I was waiting to be swept off my feet.”
I laugh as a man jogs past us with his two golden retrievers. “Sorry. I didn’t know asking a girl to buy me dinner was the new way to sweep her off her feet.” When I look over at her, she keeps her chin down, grin partially hidden.
“You know what I mean,” she mumbles.
“You forget I don’t date. So, I don’t know what you mean. Is this what you mean?” I wrap one arm around her back and my other under her legs and pick her up.
“Flynn!” She twists her torso to hook an arm around my neck as if she’s worried I might drop her.
Never.
I can smell her perfume. It’s sweet, just like her. It feels soft where her warm skin touches my neck. This almost counts as a hug, and now I don’t want to let her go.
“Let’s go to dinner.” I step off the trail and head up the small hill toward my car. “I’m buying.”
“Put me down before you drop me.”
“Why would I drop you?” I try to keep my attention in front of me, because looking at her face this close to mine only makes me want to kiss her lips, which are right there for the taking.
“People are staring at us,” she says with less urgency.
“Excellent. They’re probably thinking that guy just swept her off her feet. PAY ATTENTION, EVERYONE!” I yell as June gasps, covering her mouth, eyes wide. “THIS IS HOW YOU SWEEP A WOMAN RIGHT OFF HER FEET!”
“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you did that.”
“Well, this is the second time you’ve mentioned being swept off your feet.” I grin, stealing a quick look at her face just as I stop at my car.
She’s so beautiful. What am I doing? This girl is out of my league.
I ease her to her feet, but she doesn’t let go of my neck.
Facing me, she runs her hands along my skin, toying with my hair.
It makes my heart pound in a new way. I wet my lips and swallow hard, gazing over her head for a second to hide my nerves.
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
The end.
I’m over. Done for. Eviscerated. A tall tree ready to fall to the ground with a big thunk!