Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
After the events of last week, Flint has been on edge.
I can see him tense when the bells ring to announce a new arrival.
I think he’s trying to seem like he’s not, but it’s obvious that he’s tense.
Personally, I think he scared Brett enough that he may leave me alone entirely, or at least give me a reprieve from his creepy behaviors.
After Flint spoke to Betsy and Annemarie, the three of them ganged up on me and essentially insisted that I have a partner at work, especially if I’m closing.
Annemarie wanted his head on a platter. Betsy had a glint in her eye that I have chosen not to think too hard on.
So, I relented and fell in line. It’s frustrating and, distracted as I often am, it still makes me twitchy to know that I have someone looking over my shoulder all of the time.
Not that I don’t love and appreciate their concern.
I do. I really do. I just… I do miss having at least a little time alone to daydream with the books.
Especially now that I actually have someone to daydream about.
Flint has been answering my vague questions about Goira lately, which has been super helpful.
While I’m careful to not ask too much about battles and his experience as a warrior, he’s been happy to fill in details about the government, some stories from his childhood, or funny stories about neighbors.
It’s so in line with what I imagine in my head that it’s crazy, almost like I’ve been there, and I think it’s helping me figure out where my story needs to go.
My story itself is gaining more structure and the scenes don’t feel as disjointed as they did before. Maybe this really is the story. My story. Something I can leave to be remembered by.
My old therapist would tell me that, because I have so few memories, I have a deep, subconscious desire to be remembered, to have an illusion of permanence. She pointed that out when she saw my tattoos.
She chose violence and I had to end that relationship, like any self-respecting crazy.
Tonight, Anne is my closing buddy. Flint and Betsy left earlier, with the latter asking for help moving something at home. Both of us had offered, but Betsy just muttered something about muscles and hustled Flint out of the shop. Calida was at home, likely watching the Eras Tour (again).
Since Anne does very little with the book portion of the shop, she’ s mostly been lounging, chatting and scrolling on her phone while I shut down.
“If you would just let me read a page…”
“No.”
“Come on, Cas! Just one page!”
“No. It isn’t ready for people yet.” I’m not sure it ever will be, but that’s neither here nor there.
No. Words are spells. It will eventually be ready to be read by someone other than me. Someday. Just definitely not today.
“Ugh,” she groans, tossing her phone on the low table in front of her and flopping her body back onto the cushions. “Spoilsport.”
I grin.
“Fine then. How are things going with Flint? Are you in loooooove?” She draws the word out, batting her eyelashes at me. Bitch.
Then again, I thought she was going to melt into a puddle on the floor that I’d have to mop up when she spotted the bracelets we made together.
She swore it was the cutest thing ever and is now refusing to even consider a relationship unless the man is willing to engage in bonding exercises like that.
She is on the hunt for a “book boyfriend”.
I think she’s been spending too much time around Betsy.
“Anne!”
“You’re saying my name like what I asked isn’t warranted.
” She begins ticking points off on her fingers.
“You’re already living together. You’ve gone on at least one date, although I think you should increase that number significantly.
By your accounts, you’re having really stupendous sex — a fact of which I am incredibly jealous.
The man practically worships the ground you walk on.
Even when you have a creepy psycho on your ass, he acts like the sun still shines out of it. ”
I snort.
“I don’t know what it is. We haven’t defined it or really talked about our feelings. It feels like… I don’t know. Like I’ve known him forever. He takes care. He really listens to people. He listens to me. He’s completely content to just hang out on the couch and read while I write and re-write.”
“So, yes.”
I heave out a deep breath. “Yeah, I think so.” Just admitting that much has butterflies staging a riot in my stomach.
Admittedly, I’ve thought about dropping those three little words on Flint, but I’ve been holding back. Brett drama aside, things really have been going so well. I don’t want anything to change that, not even me. Flint seems to be content with the way things are. Besides, what’s the rush?
She squeals. And kicks her feet.
Such a girl.
“Stop. I don’t want to analyze it. I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Please. You aren’t going to jinx shit.” I just stare at her. She huffs. “Fine. Fine. So then let’s talk about your writing. Is that safe enough? How’s it going?”
I smile. “Actually, for the first time, I can say it’s going.”
“It’s going?” she presses.
“It’s just… when I write lately, it feels like something wakes up. Words fall out before I can catch them or even consciously think them. The words are coming… easier.” I pause. “It doesn’t hurt that I’m writing about a warrior that is pretty similar to Flint.”
“That’s not surprising. He looks at you like you’re a story he’s been waiting his whole life to read.”
I study her and consider.
“That may be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Maybe I’m in love with you.”
“Baby, you can’t handle me.” She tosses her hair back flirtatiously.
“It makes me nervous, Anne. The way it just pours out of me sometimes, especially lately. I’ve never experienced that before. And I think Flint is the why.”
Anne gets up and walks to stand across from me at the counter. “Maybe Flint isn’t just part of the story, Cas. Maybe he’s the ink.”
I let that thought percolate in my brain. I hadn’t considered it quite that way before. Maybe Flint did show up here for a reason. Not that I’m much for fate or whatever, but I suppose weirder things have happened.
I get distracted enough in my thoughts that Anne is impatient by the time I finish up my closing duties.
I refrain from pointing out that she could have helped.
She did keep me company, so I suppose that’s help enough in its own way.
I turn off the majority of the lights and grab my bag.
Looping it over my head, I double back to the kitchen for the keys I left lying on the counter while Anne laughs and shakes her head.
I hit the lights by the door and am finding the correct key to lock it behind us when someone taps on the glass. I almost drop the keys as my heart picks up and kicks into double time.
Anne releases a deep breath, like it also gave her a start. “It’s just Steve.” She waves at him through the glass. “I texted him that we were wrapping it up and he asked if I wanted to grab a late dinner.”
Steve waves at us through the window and smiles at my bestie. Maybe I’m not the only one teetering on that long fall. He certainly seems smitten.
As Anne opens the door to greet him, my phone goes off.
Juggling my drink, I nab my keys off the floor and cock a hip to try to dig my phone out of my ass pocket.
A text. While my heart sinks, I wonder if my Brett the Ballsack break is over.
I really should change the settings on my phone so more information shows up on my lock screen.
Strapping a bit of mental steel to my backbone and awkwardly shuffling my shit, I unlock my phone and feel nothing but relief when I see it’s a text from Flint.
I see the expression on Anne’s face. She’s threatened more than once to text my dick-pic bandit back with critique of not only his sad, pathetic penis, but his photographic composition.
“It’s Flint,” I assure her. “He said he’s finished at Betsy’s and is headed back.”
“Great,” she says, already snuggling into Steve, wrapping one arm around his waist and resting her head against his chest.
“Hey Cas,” he says, squeezing my friend and planting a kiss on her hair.
“Hey,” I reply absently, as the phone goes off in my hand, again. “Shit-fuck-damn. Of course the man remembers that the trash needs to be hauled out for the truck tomorrow. And double of course, I forgot.”
Anne straightens. “I can do it.” She looks at Steve. “Well, we can do it.”
Steven nods. Clearly Anne has kept him in the loop regarding the never ending soap opera my life has somehow become. “I’ll just call and let them know we’ll be late for our reservation.”
“Reservation?” I can hear the excitement in Anne’s squeal.
“Yeah. I got us a table at that new spot across town. I’ll just let them know we’ll be a few minutes late so they don’t give away our table. I’m happy to help.”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. You two go, have an amazing meal. Flint’s already on his way here. I’ll just deal with the trash and wait for him.”
Anne shakes her head and Steve looks dubious.
“Seriously. It’s my fault — I forgot the fucking trash. You two go. I’ll haul it out to the alley then lock myself inside until the big, strong man comes to rescue me.” I roll my eyes to emphasize my irritation with needing supervision.
Anne’s eyes are on my face and I know she’s debating it in her head.
“Go!” I insist, before she can argue. “I’m locking you out anyway.”
Yes, Anne has a key. No, I don’t care.
She steps away from Steve and gives me a swift hug. “If he’s already on his way, fine. You promise me you’ll stay inside after you haul out the trash? And if you have any problems, you’ll call one of us? We’ll all be within range if something were to happen.”
“I promise, mom. I’ll even cancel the male strippers.”