Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
June
“What was your first car?” Flynn asks, driving us around town.
I can't stop looking at him, hoping he'll take me home so I can kiss him goodbye, and then call my mom to tell her I found him.
The man who will break my heart—for the rest of my life.
She used to tell me not to give my energy and love to a man who breaks my heart once. That means he’s not a fixer. She said I should find the man who will break my heart for the rest of my life because that means he knows how to put it back together.
Love isn’t easy, baby girl. If you do it correctly, it will destroy you in the best and worst ways possible. It will make you feel alive one day and want to die the next. Don’t live an emotionless life. That’s not living. That’s merely existing. And we didn’t give you this life merely to exist.
“June?”
“Huh?”
Flynn squeezes my leg, and I jump because it tickles. “I asked what your first car was?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. It was blue.”
He chuckles. “How can you not remember what kind of car it was?”
I shrug. “I wasn’t focused on cars.”
“What were you focused on? Boys?”
“No.” I squeeze his leg, but he doesn’t flinch. “I spent a lot of time riding horses with my dad and nurturing my love of music. I had a music obsession from an early age.”
“Really? That’s cool. What did you play? The piano?”
“I play a lot of things. Yes, piano is one of them.”
He slows at the stoplight and glances over at me. I like the wonder in his eyes. “What was your favorite instrument?”
“Cello.”
Flynn wrinkles his nose. “Cello? Isn’t that like a really big violin?”
“In theory, but not in practice.”
“Why did you like the cello?” The light turns green and he makes a left onto my street.
“It’s a sizable piece of wood between my legs that vibrates.”
“Jesus …” he rubs his temple like he’s hiding his blush.
I giggle. “The cello has such a fun personality and wide range, and I think it has the most beautiful, lush sound. You can play it with the bow or pizzicato which is plucking the strings. You can play two notes really fast. That’s called trills.
Or spiccato or ricochet, which is bouncing the bow on the string.
And …” I take a breath and realize we’re parked, the engine is off, and Flynn is watching me with a huge grin.
“Anyway”—I clear my throat and feel embarrassment over geeking out—“I’m obviously a big fan of the cello. Highly recommend.”
“I only played one instrument,” he says.
“Which one?”
“Can’t remember what it was called.”
“What? How can you not remember the name of the instrument?”
He opens his door. “Probably the same way you can’t remember what kind of car you drove.”
Good point.
Just as I start to open my door, he’s around the car, doing it for me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, stepping onto the sidewalk. “Was it a brass? A string? Percussion?”
He grabs the caulk from the back seat. “I don’t know what any of that means,” he says, guiding me by my hand across the street.
“Trumpet? Trombone? Drums? Saxophone?”
“I blew into it.”
“Did it have a reed?”
“A what?” He stops at the lower door, and I pull out my key.
“A reed. It vibrates as air moves across it. Like a saxophone.” I unlock the door, and he pulls it open.
“I don’t know. I just blew into it and it made a weird noise. I think I’d recognize the name of it if I heard it. It has a funny name.” He follows me up the stairs.
“Piccolo? Flute? Oboe? Trombone? Bassoon? Clarinet?”
“June, it doesn’t matter.” He laughs. “I wasn’t that good.”
I deflate. “Fine.”
“But”—he cradles my cheek in his hand, and I think it’s the best feeling in the world—“you can talk to me about the cello as much as you want to.”
“You like listening to me talk about the cello?” I don’t believe him because I’m pretty sure the only people who like talking about the cello are those who play it.
“I like you.” He kisses me. “I think that means I’m interested in anything you say or do. Here.” He hands me the car key.
“You keep it. I can’t even drive it yet. Besides, how are you getting home?”
He holds up his hand, refusing to take it back. “Nope. I bought it for you. And I’ll get a ride, take the bus. Whatever.”
A long string of words line up on my tongue, all the reasons he should not have bought me a car. But they feel disrespectful and ungrateful. So I smile. “Thank you for the car. For your generosity.”
My gratitude seems to add an extra inch to his height, an infusion of confidence. It looks good on him. So sexy.
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asks.
“No. It’s my day off.”
“Great.” Flynn gives me another kiss, but it’s quick, too quick. “I’m going to fix your sink then head home.” He nods for me to open my door.
“You know,” I say, “we’re adults. I have my own room. You could stay the whole night, and no one would get in trouble.” I try to sound fun and flirty, not desperate like: Have sex with me!
“I know.” Again he nods toward the door.
I deflate and open it.
“Hey,” Ally says.
“Hi,” Flynn replies. “I’m just going to quickly caulk the sink.” He heads straight into the kitchen.
Ally gives me a big grin. “That’s really nice of you, Flynn.”
“No problem,” he says.
I give her a tight grin, eyes wide.
“What?” She mouths.
I slowly shake my head, and she squints.
It only takes Flynn a few seconds to caulk around the drain. “You should be good,” he says. “See you tomorrow.” He kisses my cheek, and I nod, lips still pulled into a tight grin.
“Byeee,” Ally says.
When the door clicks behind him, I groan like a wounded animal.
“Hey, what’s going—” she starts.
“I threw my vagina at him!” I dramatically collapse onto the floor like Flynn shot me dead.
“What?” Ally giggles.
“Flynn. I think I love him. But I can’t tell him. It’s too early. And when he kisses me … ugh! My insides melt, and I get so …”
“Horny?”
I stare at the ceiling and sigh. “Yes. And he bought me a car.”
“What?” Ally closes her laptop. “He bought you a car?”
“Uh-huh. It was so unexpected. But really sweet.” I sit up, crisscrossing my legs. “It’s an old car. High miles. Twenty-five hundred dollars. But who does that? Who buys a girl a car after knowing her for such a short amount of time?”
“You don’t have a driver’s license.”
I nod several times. “True.”
“Now you have to pay for parking for a car you can’t drive.”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you grinning?” she asks.
“Because he’s trying so hard to say and do the right things.”
“And you’re throwing your vagina at him?”
“I haven’t had sex in five years.”
“You WHAT?”
I cover my face. “Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not. Okay, I am a little bit. Why? I mean, you’ve dated. I just assumed you were sexually active.”
I drop my hands from my face, resting them on my knees. “I’m not a one-night-stand person. And I’ve had trust issues. But Flynn is different. And I’m ready, but he’s not.”
“He’s not the right guy then. If he likes you enough to buy you a car, but not to have sex with you, that’s a red flag.”
“He can’t gift a car and get a red flag. Maybe a yellow flag. But really, I think he gets a beige flag because he wants everything just right before he sleeps with me, even if it seems quirky. He’s never had a girlfriend, so definitely beige flag for lack of experience.”
Ally frowns. “Your poor vagina. I feel like I should send it a condolence card attached to a vibrator.”
I giggle. “The gift that keeps on giving.”