Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
June
“Has anyone seen my boyfriend?” I ask with a huge yawn while shuffling my bare feet along the limestone floor to the dining room table.
Mom and Grandma look up from their plates filled with fruit and some sort of vegetable hash.
“I heard your dad talking to him. I think they went for a jog,” Mom says, smirking behind her coffee mug.
“What’s that look for?” I ask, sitting in a chair, hugging one leg to my chest under my nightshirt.
“I love how a few days ago, we didn’t dare mention Flynn’s name, and now you’re casually asking the whereabouts of your boyfriend.”
I bite into my high protein bagel with blueberry cashew cream cheese. “He’s so good at breaking my heart,” I mumble before swallowing, “and putting it back together. How could he be anything but my boyfriend?”
“Well, I hope you’re using condoms. When I went to Coachella the spring I met your dad, Juni sent so many condoms with me, and she texted condoms! So I’ll mention it now, and text you later. CONDOMS!”
“I’m twenty-six. Almost twenty-seven. You were eighteen when you met Dad. I think I’m mature enough to handle birth control. But thanks.”
“Yes, but sometimes you just need to bang one out,” Grandma says. “And you don’t want to mess with the logistics of birth control. You just can’t wait for him to be inside of you. Grinding and groaning.”
“Juni …” Mom nearly snorts her coffee out her nose.
Grandma casually lifts a shoulder. “I heard you and Bodhi in the shower this morning. Don’t act so innocent.”
“Ew … nope. Not doing this,” I say, taking my bagel and a napkin to the bedroom as Mom and Grandma laugh.
While I’m finishing my breakfast on my balcony, the door behind me opens.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
I wrinkle my nose when Flynn kisses my neck. “You’re sweaty.”
“Sorry,” he says, leaning forward to take a bite of my bagel. “Your dad likes running hills.”
“How was jogging with my dad?” I turn my chair to face him. “What did you talk about?"
He leans his hip against the railing, wiping his sweaty face with his shirt. “What I discuss with your dad is confidential.” He drops his shirt and smirks.
I shrug. “That’s fine.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “It is?”
I lick my fingers before hugging my knees to my chest. “Yes. My dad loves me, and if he loves you too, that’s pretty much all I could ever ask for.”
“Well”—Flynn chuckles—“he didn’t declare his love to me yet.”
I twist my lips. “But you’re working on it. Right?”
He kneels in front of me, pulling my legs away from my chest.
“I said you’re sweaty.”
He shrugs off his shirt.
“Stop …” I giggle.
Flynn takes my hands and presses them to his cheeks, and I instinctively brush my thumb over his lip where he brushes mine.
“Your dad is concerned that I might have dreams that don’t align with yours.”
My smile fades.
Leaning in, his lips stop short of touching mine. “I didn’t tell him I only dream of you,” he whispers.
His words resurrect my grin. “Let’s go dirty up my sheets,” I say before biting his lower lip.
He grins, pulling away. “They’re already dirty, but yes, I’ll let you lick my naked, sweaty body in a minute.”
I roll my eyes.
“I need to go back to Minneapolis next week, just for a few days. Monroe is getting married. It’s just a small ceremony in a park, but I’m the best man. And I need to get the rest of my belongings from the Rawlings’ house. And I want to say goodbye to my old boss.”
I nod slowly. “You have some loose ends to tie up.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that it?” I rub my lips together.
“Uh, yep. Pretty much.”
“Okay,” I say, squeezing past him to stand and head back into the bedroom.
“Where you going?” he asks.
“I’m going to swim laps.”
“Thought we were getting back in bed.”
“I changed my mind.” I grab my swimsuit from the closet.
Flynn stands in the doorway. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing,” I brush past him toward the bathroom.
He grabs my wrist to stop me. “No. We’re not doing this. At least not now. Not until I get better at it.”
I give him a dead stare. “Better at what?”
“Games. I used to watch Monroe and Naomi play these …” He bobs his head as though he’s searching for the right words. “Head games. She’d get upset with him and act like you’re acting.”
“How am I acting?”
“Cold. Like you’re waiting for me to figure out what I did wrong. This is new to me. So I’m going to lose every time because I don’t know the game or the rules. Do I stink? Is it about Minneapolis? You think your grandma will take a turn for the worse while I’m gone?”
I close my eyes on a long sigh. “Don’t you get a plus-one?”
“Huh?”
Oh, Flynn …
“You’re right. No games. I want you to ask me to attend Monroe’s wedding with you. Can you do that?”
Flynn’s lips twitch before slowly curling into a huge grin. “You want to be my wedding date?”
“No.” I fight to keep a straight face. “I want to be your world.”
He grabs my face. “Zoya June Juju Malone, will you be my wedding date?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Dear god, what have I gotten myself into?”
Before I can answer, he kisses me, backing me into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind us.
“I hate it,” Flynn says, staring out the window of Grandma Juni’s private jet on our way to Minneapolis.
Grandma convinced us (him) to take the jet since we have so much to bring back from there.
“I know you do,” I say, sitting opposite him and keeping my gaze on the pages of my novel.
“The reason I hate it,” he continues.
I bite back my grin.
“Is because I like it. And I don’t want to like it. This lifestyle is a drug.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, trying to acknowledge his concerns without feeding his flames. It’s a thin line.
“I bet your parents found it pretty funny that I asked about their flight when we had dinner with them. Of course, they had a good flight. Who doesn’t have a good flight when you have your own jet?”
I look at my watch. “You have a minute left,” I say.
Flynn has a lurking grin when I look at him. We agreed he could have five minutes a day to complain about wealth disparity. That’s it. No more. End of conversation.
“Are there snacks?” he asks with maximum grumpiness.
I nod.
“I bet they’re free, huh?”
My head bobs. “Depends on your definition of free. But for all intents and purposes, yes, they’re free. So if you’re hungry, I’ll get you a snack.” I nod to the bag on the table across from us. “But there’s chicken and fries in that bag.”
His right eyebrow lifts. “Don’t play with me. Are you serious?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Yes. I’m serious. How did you not smell them before now?”
He unbuckles and snatches the bag, poking his face in it when he sits back down. “I love you so much.”
I return my attention to my book. “I know you do. And your time is up. So eat. Smile. Watch your YouTube videos. Tell me I’m pretty. Whatever.”
Like flipping a switch, Flynn’s grin reaches his ears just as he pops a fry into his mouth. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
I tell myself his change of mood has nothing to do with his time expiring, and everything to do with me, but it’s the chicken and fries. As he indulges, I set my book on the table and fold my hands in my lap, staring out the widow as we ride the sea of clouds.
“I’m scared,” I say.
“Scared?”
I nod.
“Of what?”
“Everything.” I flit my gaze to him for a second.
He slows his chewing, tension building in his brow.
“Scared to dream. Scared not to. Scared of death. Scared of life.” I lean my head back and sigh. “I’m deliriously happy, but utterly lost.”
Flynn wipes his fingers across his lips as he swallows.
“My grandma’s going to be okay,” I say with as much conviction as possible.
“And when she is, I want to find a place on the map that feels like our own. Some place like Magnolia Springs, Alabama, or Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. A little one-bedroom apartment. Maybe a tiny house. You’ll get a job at family-owned garage where they have a hound dog that hangs out by the door. His name will be Dewey or Ruckus.”
Flynn grins, eyes alight with as much hope as I’m feeling.
“I’ll work at a yarn store and take up knitting.
We’ll have the weekends to make pancakes with syrup and local berries that we pick in the wild.
Of course, we’ll have a convertible like Rupert’s Chevelle.
And you’ll drive us along windy roads with my hair tangled in the wind, sun on our faces.
And we’ll—I don’t know. Just find ourselves. Fall deeper in love.”
His eyes remain captivated as he hums.
“What do you think?” I ask.
His smile fades a bit. “I think it’s missing something.”
“A cat?”
Flynn shakes his head. “A stage. A beautiful dress. A cello from Italy. And an auditorium of adoring fans.” He sets the bag aside and leans forward, reaching for my hand. “Me in the front row. Sitting between your parents, of course.”
I lace my fingers with his. “Lise will live with us. I’ll even put on a dress. But my adoring audience will be you, you, and you.”
“Lise?”
I nod. “Lise Cristiani, my cello. Lise was the first female concert cellist. A Parisian virtuoso.”
He sits back. “You should be touring with your band. It’s your passion.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve been the recipient of my passion most recently.” I smirk. “Flynn, I don’t want everything all at once. I just want you.”
“Well”—he focuses on his bag, pulling out a chicken strip—“I think I’m available. Can I get back to you?” He holds out the chicken strip.
I shake my head.
“Take it. It’s all I have to offer.”
“Stop it.” I giggle. “You had your five minutes of playing your violin.”
“It’s a kazoo.”
I take the chicken and toss it over my shoulder.
His jaw drops, then he grabs his phone, thumbs tapping the screen.
“What are you doing?” I reach for his phone, but he pulls away. So I dive across the table and onto his lap, stealing his phone while straddling his legs.
He has a long list of grievances in his Notes app.
Wastes food
My gaze shifts to him, and he shrugs. “When I get five minutes again tomorrow, I don’t want to forget anything.” He can’t even say the words without grinning.
“Ridiculous.” I set his phone aside and grab his face. “I’m the sole heiress to the Juniper Carlisle and Zachary Phillips fortune. So you’d better get extra storage on your Notes app.”
“And you’re going to give it all away,” he says, tipping his chin up.
We have a stare-off.
I loosen my grip while brushing my lips over his. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I probably will.”
Life is nuanced. Not all secrets are lies. Good people do bad things.
On our first date, had Flynn told me about his time in prison, it would have been our last date.
Honesty requires vulnerability.
Vulnerability needs trust.
And love …
Well, it’s all about timing.