At least, that’s what Flynn kept telling himself.
“You’re sexting, then. With a woman?”
“No, a highly literate and functional otter. Of course it’s a woman.” Not that he actually was sexting, either. God, that’dbe more dangerous than flirting.
“Good for you.” Rafe clapped him on the shoulder and handed back the phone.
“Don’t be a condescending ass. I talk to women. I’ve probably slept with more of them than you have, seeing as how I’m themore handsome Maguire brother.” It felt . . . normal to tease Rafe. Like Flynn always had. Before.
Before he became the reason that his brothers had to give up their lives.
Before he ruined everything.
“First of all, my left elbow is more good-looking than you are.” Rafe used that elbow to shove him away from the sink. Thenhe looked in the mirror and tweaked his hair until it looked, yes, exactly the same as it had thirty seconds ago. “Secondly, you used to talk to women. You haven’t in a while.”
Flynn bristled. It wasn’t like he was broken. Or, God for-fucking-bid, celibate. Shit went down. Literal life-changing shitthat put dating on the back burner. “So what? None of us did once we left Chicago. Not until you met Mollie.”
“I’m glad, is all.”
He was shutting this shit down right now. Just because Rafe farted hearts and flowers every time Doc Mollie crossed his mind?Didn’t mean Flynn had any intention of doing the same. “I’m not dating.”
“Fine.” Rafe made air quotes with his fingers. “Sexting.”
“I’m not—” Flynn gave up. It wasn’t worth continuing the fight over the stench of urinal cakes. “Can we get out of here now?”
Rafe took two big steps over the green speckled linoleum. “Who is she?”
No point lying. If he tried to hide it, Rafe would probably go into crisis mode. Assume the worst—that he was in contact withsomeone from their old life—and alert the marshal. The last thing Flynn needed was a visit/lecture/yawnfest from Delaney toget to the bottom of what wasn’t even a situation. “Just a waitress at the Gorse.”
“Mariana? She’s hot. Well-done.” He held up a fist to bump.
Flynn refused to fist bump over texts that weren’t anywhere close to flirting. Just . . . fun. “Not her. Sierra.”
“The one who’s so quiet I can hear the foam on my beer evaporate when she brings it over?”
The description made him bristle. Flynn didn’t know why. Seeing as how it was true. Mariana served up her big personalityand an easy sighting of her even bigger boobs with every mug of beer she dropped on a table. Sierra, on the other hand, rarelyinitiated a conversation with a customer.
But when pushed a little, she did engage and her whole face lit up. Sierra went out of her way to talk to the solo regularslike Mick and the wrinkly, cranky Georgie Minton. Anyone who looked lonely or lost or upset got extra attention from her.Sierra didn’t need to be showy about it. She just made people feel better about themselves, about their day.
God knew every time he was around her, Flynn felt better. No, that wasn’t it. He fucking felt. Something he hadn’t let himself do in months. Sierra’s quiet caring, the way she looked not just at him, but all the wayinto him on the rare occasions she met his eyes, it scraped off some of the cement he’d put around his emotions.
So Flynn’s hackles rose when Rafe dismissed her as “quiet.”
Not that he should care what Rafe thought. Because nothing was going on between him and Sierra. No need to jump to her defense.
Even though it felt—damn, there was that word again—necessary to make his brother see Sierra as more than a wordless waitress.
Frowning, Flynn said, “She’s nice. She got hurt last night. I helped her get home. No big deal.”
Rafe stared at him for a long minute. Then, wordlessly, he opened the door. Flynn didn’t know what he’d said to effect hisescape. Didn’t care, either. He just walked out and looked back down at his phone.
Sierra had never answered his original question. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep the text conversation going. Flynn simplyneeded to know so he could follow through on his promise. So he tapped his thumbs against the screen again. Light or dark wood? For the bookcase?
This time he had to wait for an answer. He noticed two families had the bad luck to be seated at the edge of their most-boring-evermeeting. They had a passel of ankle-biters that reminded him of the slightly older kids he used to mentor in Chicago.
The ones Flynn never let himself think about because he missed them so god damned much.
And yeah, he forced himself to tune in to the windbag discussing the float Flynn was supposed to build for the parade. Thesignature float that would carry the Cranberry Court. The one that would be on the town’s brochure and website for the nextyear.
Whoopee.
The twerp in the hat approached Flynn’s table. “What sort of float-building skills are on your résumé?”
“None.” First of all, because his entire “résumé” was a damn fucking lie. But mostly because who the hell would put float building on a résumé?
Twerp’s eyes bugged out. Further than a cartoon character who realized they’d stopped running seven steps off a cliff in mid-air.“Rafe, when you offered your brother’s help on this vital part of the Festival, I assumed he had the necessary talent to pullit off.”
Without bothering to look up from cutting his steak sandwich, Rafe said, “Flynn doesn’t have a special skills section on hisrésumé. But he can build the shit out of a float. No worries.”
HatTwerp clutched the clipboard to his chest—why didn’t he have an iPad like the rest of America?—and drummed his fingers against the back of it. A red flush spread up from the collar of his madras shirt.
Flynn didn’t want to do this guy any favors. But he also didn’t want him to stroke out in the middle of lunch. Delaney alwaystold
