7
Flynn’s fast asleep when I make my way downstairs the next morning, blue chenille throw tucked under his armpits, and bare shins dangling over the edge of the couch. That can’t be comfortable, but he looks peaceful enough, considering how upset he was last night.
I feel slightly calmer too. I slept pretty well, once I’d knocked back a couple of ibuprofen, although it might have been all the lavender mist still floating around that knocked me out.
I’ve had a shower, and I’m dressed, and I just got a text from Sarah to insist I call over to her place for brunch, to let her know how my first night went.
I’m not sure where to even start explaining that.
But I can’t go anywhere until I find out if Flynn sleeping on this couch is temporary, or if he really did mean it when he said I’d stolen his bed.
Hopefully, he just mislaid his key to Pat’s house, or something like that, some minor issue he can sort easily.
And hopefully he was just tired last night, like I was, because the Flynn I used to know was never that grumpy.
But he was definitely grumpy last night, and I didn’t like it one bit. Even if it was all my fault.
I fill the kettle and take two mugs from the overhead cupboard.
I don’t bother to go easy when I set them on the table, because seriously, he needs to wake up.
I make a pot of tea and scrape my chair across the flagstones as I pull it out to sit down.
But, nope, still nothing. Elaine always used to joke that Flynn would sleep through a hurricane. Clearly, some things haven’t changed.
I pour two mugs of tea then I stroll over and give his arm a gentle shake. Nothing.
‘Flynn!’ I shake harder.
He groans and blinks his eyes open, then jerks in surprise. ‘Gracie?’ He sits up, bare-chested. And I freeze.
Sixteen-year-old Flynn was fit, and beautiful in my eyes, but now .
. . there’s just so much more of him than I remember.
My eyes track the exposed skin and muscle, the dusting of sandy hair across his chest. He’s not overly chiselled, but he’s clearly been lifting more than a few plant pots these last few years.
My mouth waters, then I realise I’m staring in a way that I definitely should not be staring at an old friend.
‘Gracie,’ he says again, and I lift my gaze to his face. He looks baffled. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ he says sleepily. ‘You’re here. You took my bed.’ He grabs his T-shirt from the coffee table, where it’s folded with his jeans, and pulls it on.
‘I made tea, if you want some,’ I say, as if that will somehow make up for me stealing into his parents’ cottage. And drooling over his bare chest. ‘Milk?’
‘Sure.’ He reaches for his jeans, and I turn away fast and pretend to be engrossed in my task of stirring milk into his tea.
I’ve never been shy about naked bodies, but this is Flynn, the boy who used to be my friend, and now he’s all man, and my body is having the weirdest reactions, and I can’t, I just can’t.
I hope to God he can find that key, or get a locksmith, or something, because I can’t have him sleeping on my couch for another night. Not looking like that. It won’t work.
‘Did you get locked out? Lose your key?’ I ask as he pulls up a chair at the kitchen table.
He frowns and looks baffled again. ‘No, I have my key, you know that. I got it from Maeve last week to do those repairs to the porch.’ He takes the mug I’m holding out. ‘Thanks.’ He takes a sip. ‘You bought milk.’ He frowns again, as though this is almost as strange to him as finding me upstairs.
‘I meant your key to Pat’s place,’ I say, ignoring his comment about milk, because of course I stocked up on the basics. I’m renting the place now. I’ve fully moved in.
‘Oh.’ Flynn leans back in his chair. ‘I still have a key to Pat’s. I have to head back there this morning to pick up the rest of my stuff. I was too tired last night after the drive to the airport.’
I gulp a mouthful of hot tea. Ouch. ‘Your stuff?’
‘Yeah. To bring it here. We spent the last few days clearing Pat’s place out.’ He scrubs at the faint stubble on his jaw. ‘I told you last night, I’m staying here. That’s why I kept my key and told Maeve not to take any more rentals.’
My eyes bulge. ‘You were clearing his house? I thought . . . I presumed when you said clearing, you were talking about the shop.’
‘No. Not yet. I’m going to start on that next week, while Pat’s in Spain.’
‘Is he selling the house too?’
‘I’m not sure. He said he’d tell me more when he gets back. Whatever he has planned seems to be all very confidential at the moment, and he said he didn’t want anyone putting pressure on me to tell all while he’s away.’
‘Oh.’
‘Not you, Gracie. He didn’t mean you.’
‘Okay.’
I hope whatever they have planned doesn’t affect our library. Our narrow two-storey is squeezed between Pat’s grander Georgian and his even larger plant shop with its collection of sheds and greenhouses running behind. It’s all prime retail space.
Flynn’s eyes sweep my face. ‘Don’t worry. You know Pat wouldn’t sell to anybody who doesn’t have the best interests of Oakwood at heart. Don’t you?’
I swallow. ‘Sure. I know.’
I don’t want to offend Flynn, or Pat, but I’m not sure at all, because between Jamie cheating, and Flynn reappearing, and stirring up all these mixed-up unrequited feelings, I don’t know if I can be sure of anything any more.
Flynn drains the last of his tea and fixes those cornflower eyes on mine, his expression turning even more serious. ‘Gracie, why are you here?’
I drop my eyes to where my hands are gripping my mug like a lifeline, and my cheeks flame from the sheer embarrassment of it all. ‘Because I don’t have anywhere else to go.’ I meet his gaze again, and he stares at me blankly.
‘That doesn’t make sense.’ He frowns. ‘Why aren’t you staying with your mom? You two always got on so well.’
‘Mam’s away until the end of October. She rented her house out to friends while she’s gone. They’re moving and their new place won’t be ready until the week before Halloween.’ My shoulders sag. ‘And they have five kids, so there’s no way they can squeeze me in.’
‘Oh, so that’s why you’re staying at Sarah’s. But why can’t you just go back there?’
‘Because Jamie—’
‘Jamie.’ Flynn’s eyebrows arch. ‘Of course. You told me. But surely his father can find him a place. He owns a whole chain of estate agencies. Doesn’t he?’
‘Yeah.’ I chew my bottom lip, twist the sleeve of my cardi. ‘Actually, Jamie has a place, but he’s getting some work done, and it won’t be ready for a few weeks.’
‘So, you thought you’d move him in here?’ Flynn clenches his jaw, and his eyes are so cold, like I’ve never seen them before. What the hell is happening? Where’s the sweet, gentle boy I used to know?
‘No!’ My throat burns, and I sit very still. I am not going to cry. I cried enough over Flynn Anderson, and I’m definitely not going to let him see me cry now. Only, my body doesn’t seem to have got the memo, and I can already feel one warm salty tear trickling down my face.
‘Gracie.’ Flynn looks shocked, and he reaches out to touch my hand, but he stops short, as though he’s decided at the last minute that’s not a good idea.
Or maybe he just doesn’t want to touch me, which feels weird, and so hurtful, because Flynn and I were always comfortable with each other, and once upon a time he wouldn’t have thought twice about reaching out to take my hand if he thought I needed him.
‘We’re not together any more. And Scott told Jamie he could stay with them. And I can’t stay there if he’s there.’
‘You’re not together?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘Okay.’ Flynn’s eyes hold mine. ‘For what it’s worth, you’re way too good for him. You always were.’
I slouch in my chair as another tear starts to fall. Because all I can think is yeah, sure, but I wasn’t good enough for you.
I hear a low growl, and realise it’s coming from Flynn, from somewhere deep in his chest. ‘I hate that that bastard made you cry.’ He pulls his chair next to mine, wraps an arm around my shoulder, and says softly, ‘It’ll be okay, Gracie.
I’ve got you. I promise. You can stay here for as long as you need. ’
‘Don’t promise,’ I whisper into the soft flannel of his shirt.
Because promises are made to be broken, and I can’t bear to go there again.