Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
June
“My girl,” Mom says, hugging me the second I open the apartment door.
“Hey!” I melt into her embrace. The familiar scent of coconut oil in her long blond hair makes me feel like I’m a shy little girl again, burying my face in her hair because people are staring at me and my cleft lip.
My mom is ageless, like my grandma.
“Dad!” I throw myself into his arms when Mom releases me.
I don’t have to see my mom to know she’s rolling her eyes. Yeah, I’ve been a daddy’s girl for as long as I can remember.
“How are you, baby?” he asks.
“Good. Better than good.” I release him.
“Would this have anything to do with a certain man you’ve met?” Mom asks, kicking off her sneakers.
I blush, biting back the huge grin dying to steal across my entire face.
“Spill.” Mom grabs my wrist and pulls me to sit next to her on the sofa, angling her body toward mine like she’s my best friend and not my mom. She’s both, really.
Dad escapes into the kitchen, opening cabinet doors until he finds a glass. He’s pretending he can’t hear us.
“Well, I told you his name is Flynn, and he’s a muse.” I wait for Mom’s response.
“That’s …” Her eyes widen for a few seconds in false excitement, then she deflates. “Sorry, baby. What’s a muse? I mean, I know the definition of a muse. I’m just not familiar with it in the context of a job.”
“That makes two of us,” Dad says, sitting in the chair next to the sofa.
So much for his ignoring our conversation.
“This guy and his wife live in a big house not too far from here. I don’t know what they do, maybe they’re retired.
He hired Flynn to be a muse for his wife.
According to Flynn, the husband, Rupert, said his wife, Callie, needs inspiration to live.
” I scrunch my nose. “It’s disturbing. But I’ve met her.
And she’s pleasant. I’m not sure what’s happened to her, but apparently her husband thinks Flynn is inspiring. ”
“Is he?” Mom asks with a conspiratorial grin.
When I give a little shrug, she perks up. My dad doesn’t share her excitement. Mom wants me to find myself and then find love, like she did. But Dad wants me back in California chasing old dreams.
“When do we get to meet him?” Mom asks.
“I’ve invited him to join us for dinner tonight. But he doesn’t know much about my past. Not the big stuff. Well, that’s not entirely true. I told him about the abduction.”
My parents wince at the same time. I can’t foresee a day when mentioning that time in our lives won’t cause them physical pain. After several years of therapy, I called it quits. Declared myself cured. Now I mention it as if I’m talking about someone else.
“I just told him I was taken and not harmed, then they recovered me safely.”
Mom curls her hair behind one ear and clears her throat. “Sweetheart, if he means enough to you for us to meet him, why have you been so selective with sharing everything about yourself?”
“You don’t trust him?” Dad asks.
I shake my head. “He grew up in the system. And he wasn’t treated well. In fact, I suspect he was abused pretty badly. I think he has trust issues, especially with people who he thinks have had an easier life than him. Which …”
Mom frowns. “Which is most everyone.”
I nod. “So I’m taking it slowly.”
“That’s best,” Dad says.
Mom eyes him with surprise. Secrets nearly ended their relationship before they got married.
“Oh, in case it comes up in conversation tonight, he bought me a car.” I offer a tight grin as they gawk at me.
“Nothing fancy. It was only twenty-five hundred dollars. He didn’t know I don’t have a driver’s license.
It’s a really, really sweet gesture. Especially for someone who doesn’t have a lot of money. ”
Their expressions remain skeptical, so I jump into my list of swoon-worthy things about him. Starting with how he made me feel cool for having a scar on my lip.
“Oh! Here he comes,” I say, pushing back in my chair at the Italian restaurant. “Just be cool,” I remind my parents.
Mom chuckles behind her wine glass. “I think you’re the one who needs to be cool.”
Am I shaking with excitement and nerves as he worms his way toward us? Yes. Should I hug him? Kiss him? Neither? Both?
Gah!
He looks so sexy in his dark jeans and white button-down with the sleeves rolled just below his elbows.
Slicked-back hair.
A day’s worth of stubble along his jaw.
“You look beautiful,” he says as if my parents aren’t waiting for an introduction. Then he leans in and kisses my cheek, resting his hand on my lower back. “You’re giving me dirty thoughts,” he whispers in my ear.
My whole body goes up in flames. Did they hear him? God, I hope not.
“Thank you,” I murmur, then I clear my throat. “Flynn, I’d like you to meet my parents, Henna and Bodhi.”
My dad stands and shakes Flynn’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Our daughter has been singing your praises all afternoon.” Dad winks at me.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Flynn.” Mom stands and hugs him.
Oh god. This is happening.
“Nice to meet you both.” Flynn lowers partway to his chair before standing upright again. “After you,” he says, holding the back of my chair.
Mom gives me a tiny approving nod.
When Flynn sits next to me, he rests his hand on my leg.
High on my leg. What’s happening? I’ve thrown myself at him, and he’s given me crumbs.
But now that we’re in public, with my parents, he’s thinking dirty thoughts and teasing me with a seductively placed hand, fingers brushing my inner thigh exposed from my short skirt?
“Did you have a good flight?” Flynn asks my parents, reaching for his glass of water.
They look at each other for a split second, nodding in sync.
“Do you like to fly?” I ask Flynn before either of my parents elaborates on their trip.
“Dunno.” He shrugs before sipping his water. “Never been on a plane. Never left Minnesota, for that matter. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve crossed the border into Iowa once or twice.”
“How old are you?” Mom asks.
“Twenty-five.”
“And you’ve never been on a plane?” Her eyebrows rise.
Flynn shakes his head like it’s no big deal, like it’s perfectly normal to be twenty-five and have no travel experience.
“I know you’ve been to California and here, obviously,” he says to me. “Have you been to other states?”
My dad chokes on his drink.
I scowl at him while he presses his fist to his mouth. Then I smile softly at Flynn. “Yeah, I’ve been to a few other states. What are you going to order?”
Just as I think things are back on track—food is ordered, and Mom lists off a few places they plan to see while in Minneapolis—my dad derails the evening again. “So, Flynn,” he says. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
I wrinkle my nose at him. Could he be any more archaic? The gleam in his blue eyes negates his seriousness, but I don’t know if Flynn sees it.
“Well”—Flynn finishes chewing the warm bread that he dipped in olive oil—“I have not been in her pants, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Mom snorts, spitting a few drops of wine, instantly blushing as it splatters toward my plate.
I want to die, but there’s no time for that because Flynn returns his hand to my leg and his pinky finger brushes my crotch. With a tiny gasp, I cover his hand with mine, but I don’t know if I want to push him away or keep him there.
“I like you, Flynn,” Dad says, tossing an approving grin in our direction. “I like you a lot.”
Flynn’s shoulders push back an extra inch as he takes a breath and returns his own brand of an approving smile.
Does Flynn know what the word intention means?
And why is my dad letting him get away with a ridiculous answer?
Intentions are plans for the future. Flynn told my dad what had not happened in the past. That’s not an intention.
I bite my lower lip when Flynn’s pinky finger makes another brush between my legs. Through the corner of my eye, I catch the twitch of a smile along Flynn’s lips just before he stabs his fork into his salad.
“So what do you do, Mr. Malone?” Flynn asks.
I cautiously eye my dad.
“Not enough,” Mom teases.
Flynn chuckles. “Are you retired?”
Dad playfully scowls at my mom while shaking his head. “I do a little of this and that. I’ve worked on a horse ranch; I was a guidance counselor; I’ve worked for ZIP Tunes; but mostly I do whatever Henna tells me to do.”
I stare at Flynn as he slowly nods. And I wait for him to ask more questions, but he doesn’t. When he’s not looking at her, Mom gives me a little wink.
“So how did you two meet?” Flynn asks my parents as our food is delivered to our table.
When everyone has their meal, I clear my throat. I know my parents don’t enjoy sharing their story with just anyone, but I could listen to it a million times and never tire of hearing it.
Mom and Dad look at each other.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll tell it.”
“We met at Coachella,” Mom says. “It’s a music festival. And it was the spring before my senior year of high school. Then we texted throughout the summer, and Bodhi just so happened to be new at the school in the fall. We had no idea.”
Dad keeps his head bowed, twirling pasta with his fork.
“That’s cool,” Flynn says, like it’s not that exciting.
And the way my parents tell it is not that exciting because they leave out the best part.
“Oh shoot,” I say. “I think my mom forgot to mention that my dad wasn’t a student. He was her new guidance counselor.”
Flynn’s eyebrows jump up his forehead, jaw slack. Yeah, that’s the correct response to the real story.
“She was eighteen,” Dad says before swallowing his spaghetti.
“That didn’t matter,” I say. “It was still a scandal. But Grandpa Malone, whom I never got to meet, was sick. So Dad couldn’t lose his job. But they got caught, so Mom left. They broke up. It was tragic and beautiful and …” I sigh. “So epic.”
Mom rolls her eyes, but not without grinning.
“There are more juicy details like how they messed around in his office.”
“I don’t think Flynn or anyone needs those details while we’re eating, or ever for that matter,” Dad says.
“I’ll tell you later,” I whisper to Flynn, loud enough for my parents to hear me.
Flynn snorts, bringing his fist to his mouth.
I want what my parents have. I want it so much.