Chapter 9 #2
“Hi. I’m June, Flynn’s friend. We just happened to be in the neighborhood, so Flynn showed me your house. And I suggested we pop in and say hi.”
He studies us for a few seconds. “Rupert,” he says.
“Rupert, mind if we come in?” I ask. “I’d like to say hi to Callie again. Unless we’re interrupting dinner?”
“No such luck,” he says with a grumble.
“Or we could leave you alone. And I’ll just see you tomorrow,” Flynn says.
“Nonsense.” I grab Flynn’s hand, excited to have an excuse to do so. Then I pull him inside without waiting for the official invitation from Rupert. I love how small my hand feels in his.
“She’s pretty, Flynn,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say as we slip off our shoes. “You have a lovely home.”
“It’s not as nice as my neighbor’s, but I won’t bore you with that story or how his wife hired him a homemaker. Alice, she made me a pie, but I didn’t eat it because I figured it was poisoned.”
Oh my gosh. I love his grumpiness because he’s not that good at it.
“Hello,” Callie says, at the top of the stairs, holding the gray and white kitten. “This is a surprise.” She floats down the marble steps in a satin kimono robe and fuzzy white socks.
“He was here an hour ago. I wouldn’t call it a surprise,” Rupert says. “Well, June is a surprise. Not as surprising as a cat, but still unexpected.”
Callie rolls her eyes.
Rupert returns a grin that’s flirty and confident. Oh, this is fun. I might be a little envious of Flynn’s job. On one hand, I wasn’t sure what to expect with Rupert. Yet he’s also exactly how I imagined.
“What are you two lovebirds up to?” Callie asks.
Heat fills my cheeks when I look at Flynn to see his reaction to “lovebirds.”
“June wanted to stop and say hi,” Flynn says. “Although I’m not sure why.”
Callie reaches the bottom of the stairs and hands her kitten to Flynn, then she puts her arm around my waist. “Because she’s a lovely young lady. Come. Do you like tea?” She leads me past the foyer to the kitchen. “Rupert, why don't you offer Flynn a drink?”
“Because I didn’t hire him to drink with me, and he’s holding that stupid cat.”
“Well, he’s off the clock, so he’s not your employee.
And Loki is our new baby.” Callie releases me when we enter the kitchen.
“I hope you weren’t too upset by Flynn being late.
We didn’t know you had plans. He was organizing cards for me.
And before that, he suggested I get a cat, which led to bringing Loki home, much to my husband’s displeasure. ”
“He’s a cute kitten. And what’s up with the cards?” I ask as she opens the cabinet door and disappears into the pantry.
“Greeting cards. I used to make my own. I went through a phase of making my own paper, and that led to cards with pressed flowers and seeds. You know, the kind you can plant to grow flowers or a tree?”
“That’s cool. I bet they’re beautiful.” I run my fingertips along the cream marble countertop with gray veins. It’s much thicker than newer granite tops.
“They’re fine. It was just a phase I went through. I’ve been through a lot of phases. If you speak with my husband for more than five minutes, he’ll work my pastimes into the conversation.”
I want to ask her about her current phase and why she needs a muse.
Callie emerges from the pantry with two cups of tea.
“Follow me,” she says. “When I’m not in my bedroom, I enjoy time in either my morning room or the covered balcony.
” She nods for me to sit at a glass-top café table by the window.
“Of course, it’s lovelier in the morning with the sun.
” She sets our teacups on the table and sits across from me.
“Thank you.” I bob the tea bag a few times.
“You look so familiar,” she says. “I thought it the day I saw you in the gallery and again when we met for the bike tour.”
“Oh?” I glance up at her. “How so?”
Her pale blue eyes narrow. “I’m not sure. Menopause has scrambled my thoughts. I feel like I have holes in my memory, broken connections, and a two-second recall. Have you lived in this area your whole life?”
“He’s asleep,” Flynn says, sauntering into the room with the kitten.
“Dozing off in his desk chair. He had his word with me about the cat, and while I was trying to explain the movie and why I suggested a kitten, he just … dozed off.” Flynn strokes the kitten’s head while meandering around the room, looking at the art on the walls and a few family photos on a coffee table beside a gold, crushed velvet sofa.
“Did you make sure he’s still alive?” Callie asks.
Flynn whips his head in her direction. “Should I?”
She chuckles, pulling her tea bag from the cup and setting it on a ceramic leaf-shaped plate between us. “No. If it’s his time, it’s his time.”
“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Flynn says, sitting on the sofa and kissing the kitten’s head.
Finding a guy who likes cats wasn’t on my list, but here we are, and I’m not mad about it.
“Sorry,” I say. “What did you ask me?”
“Have you lived in Minnesota your whole life?” Callie asks.
“I’m from India. My parents adopted me when I was three. I grew up in California.”
“What an interesting coincidence. Did Flynn tell you he was three when he went into foster care?” She eyes Flynn.
I shake my head, glancing at him over my shoulder.
He doesn’t look at us, focusing on Loki.
“What brought you to Minnesota?” She returns her attention to me.
“It’s not California.”
Callie laughs. “Very true. How long have you been here? Clearly long enough to learn the history of this area well enough to be a bike tour guide.”
“I’ve been here three years. When I first moved here, I worked as a barista, and I still do that in the winter. I have a knack for latte art.” My gaze flits to Flynn, and I half expect him to be looking at his phone, but he’s not.
He eyes me with an expression of wonder. I get that giddy feeling again.
“On a whim,” I say, “I took a bike tour, and that’s when I decided it might be the best job ever.”
Callie laughs. “Oh, I love that about you. It’s so genuine and innocent. There’s nothing pretentious about it. Just pure joy for something.” She sighs. “I miss those days.”
Her response evokes so many questions, but I don’t know her well enough to ask them.
“How old are you, if I may ask?” Callie sips her tea.
“Twenty-six.”
“What did you do in California after high school? Did you go to college?”
Flynn laughs softly, and Callie glances at him. “What’s so funny?”
He shrugs. “Well, who goes to college to be a bike tour guide or a barista?”
“A lot of people have degrees they don’t use,” Callie says.
“That’s why I didn’t finish high school,” he says. “I knew I didn’t need a degree.”
I roll my lips together to keep from grinning while Callie studies him. It’s surprising that she doesn’t correct him. College is not the same as high school. But after several seconds, she nods. “Perhaps you’re smarter than my husband gives you credit for, Flynn.”
“Will you tell him that?” he asks.
Callie returns a sincere smile. “I will.”
“Did you go to college?” I ask Callie.
She turns back to me. “Yes.” Her gaze clings to the cup in her hands.
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. It feels like an invisible line I shouldn’t cross.
“What’s your degree?” Flynn asks, unaware of the invisible line.
Callie’s forehead tightens, and she dismissively waves her hand. “I have several degrees. Nothing important.”
“Sounds like a waste of money,” Flynn says. Then he puckers his lips for a second. “Wealthy people don’t care about wasted money, huh?”
“Well”—she nervously laughs, lifting her teacup to her mouth—“I can’t speak for all wealthy people, but my father and grandfather were frugal with their money.
They reinvested almost everything. My grandma used to say they were rich because they lived as though they were poor.
When my father died, though, my mother spent her money more freely.
She had the mentality that life is too short to save it all for death.
But I’m an only child, so yes, college wasn’t a financial burden.
And at the time, it didn’t feel like a waste of money. ”
Flynn looks at me with an indecipherable expression.
“June, do you have siblings?” she asks.
“No. I’m an only child too.”
“I had all kinds of siblings,” Flynn says. “If you’d call them that. Just other kids in foster care.”
I know he doesn’t want pity, but I can’t help my sad smile.
“You have a lot in common with my husband,” Callie says to Flynn.
He squints. “Mr. Rawlings was in foster care?”
Callie sips her tea before nodding.
“He told me about his mom and brother, and then about his father, but I just assumed he was an adult by then and just …” Flynn shrugs. “Moved on.”
“He was twelve when his mother and brother died. His dad went to prison. Rupert lived with his grandparents—his mom’s parents—but they weren’t financially able to take care of him, and his grandfather had cancer.
His dad’s parents were divorced and had basically disowned his father years earlier, so Rupert ended up in foster care.
Then he ran away and got into trouble, so he spent time in a detention center.
When he turned eighteen, he enlisted with a recommendation from his detention officer. ”
“It’s late,” Flynn says while standing. “You’d better put your husband to bed.”
I’m caught off guard by his abruptness, as if he’s not interested in anything Callie has to say about Rupert. Perhaps it stirs up bad memories from his own past.
Callie grins. “He’s a big boy. If he doesn’t make it to bed on his own, that’s his problem.”
I scoot back in my chair, following Flynn’s cue to leave. “Thank you so much for the tea.”
Callie looks at me and nods. “It was my pleasure. Please feel free to come by anytime. It’s … nice,” she says with a somberness to her voice.
“I guess I’ll see ya in the morning,” he says when we step into the kitchen where I put my cup in the sink.
Callie rests her hands on his cheeks, and his body stiffens. “Take good care of her,” she says. “Manners and respect. Okay?”
I tuck my chin to hide my smile. Flynn doesn’t know it, but he officially has a mom.
“Sure,” he says, handing her the kitten. When he turns his back to her, he gives me a little eye roll like Callie is crazy. I’m not sure Flynn knows how to let people genuinely care for him.
That’s kind of heartbreaking.