“Three years.” The words choked off. Flynn did not want to get into this. He couldn’t. How did you explain that three kids—one not even a teenager—evaded Social Services thanks to shady strings being pulledby a mob boss?
If Sierra pushed him? Flynn didn’t know what he’d say. He hadn’t bothered to think up a lie to explain it, because he’d neverplanned on sharing that part of his history with anyone. Shutting her down would be confusing, hurtful to her.
Shit.
“Oh, Flynn. I’m so sorry.” Sierra put her arms around him. Pressed herself against him, ankles to thighs to chests. It wasa hug to end all hugs. Tight. Gentle. Comforting. “I lost my parents when I was three. I know exactly what you mean aboutbeing alone. Not having anyone to talk to. It’s the worst.”
He rested his chin on the top of her head and just enjoyed the moment. Enjoyed being soothed in a way he hadn’t been since . . .he was fifteen. The memory slapped at his brain, out of the blue.
A hospital wasn’t as easily stonewalled/bribed/whatever as Social Services. They’d required parental consent to do his emergencyappendectomy. So McGinty’s girlfriend-du-jour pretended to be his mom for three days. She’d held his hand, fluffed his pillows,and generally comforted him.
For a solid year after that, Flynn had wished for another hospital stay—a bad leg break, tonsillectomy, anything—just to feel that level of security and contentment again. Not just for the morphine, either.
But he’d stayed healthy. And toughened up.
Stopped wishing for what would never happen again.
Until now.
Until this very moment, when Sierra’s touch and words and sensitivity slayed him and filled him up at the same time. Jesus,to think that she’d lost her parents at only three? It didn’t sound like she’d had anyone to lean on like he had Kellan andRafe. Yet here, she was much worse off and offering him sympathy. No questions. Just the hug he’d been needing for fuckingyears without even realizing it.
Special . . . caring . . . giving . . . these words didn’t begin to describe Sierra Williams.
How on earth did he luck out like this?
After pressing a soft kiss right over his heart, Sierra stepped out of his embrace. Her eyes still glittered with wetness.Flynn swiped his thumb in a crescent under each one. Then they just looked at each other. No longer touching, but connecteddeeper than they were before coming down this hallway.
A tow-headed tough guy of about five barreled through the back door, then skidded to a stop in front of them. “Are you Mr.Maguire?”
“Depends.” Flynn crouched on his haunches. “Does Mr. Maguire owe you any money?”
“No . . . I mean, maybe?” he said slyly. Then a series of big nods. “Yes. I’m pretty sure he owes me at least a dollar.”
It took everything in Flynn not to laugh out loud at the brass balls on this one. He’d literally seen the kid start with thetruth, and then the moment when the idea of scamming Flynn had marched across the freckles on his face.
“What’s your name?”
“Brendan.”
“Well, you tracked me down, Brendan. I’m Mr. Maguire. And this is Miss Williams. How about you shake her hand like a gentleman?”
Brendan stuck out his hand, and then flashed Sierra a smile sweeter than a jelly donut.
Shaking it, she said, “Wow. So grown-up. You must be at least, what, twenty?”
Giggles poured out of him. “No! Even my sister’s not that old. And she can drive.”
“Anyone can drive,” Sierra said with a dismissive toss of her hair. “You know what I need in a man? Someone who can help.”
“I’m a great helper. Momma says so all the time.”
“Then I might just draft you to be my special helper, Brendan.”
Flynn snapped and shot out both index fingers. “How about you help us out right now by telling us why you came looking forme?”
“’Cause we’re all here. To make the float. I’m s’posed to get you to start.”
“See? You’re already a great helper.” Sierra ruffled his hair. “Thanks, Brendan. Why don’t you run back outside and tell everyonethat we’ll be right out?”
“‘Kay.” He got about four steps down the hallway before turning back around. “What about my dollar?”
Oh, he was a smart one. He’d be a challenge. Flynn frickin’ loved those kids. He dug into his bar apron for a buck. Held it right in front of Brendan. “You can have the dollar. Or . . . youcan have the oatmeal cookies I brought for a snack. See, if you take that dollar, you could buy your own cookies. You wouldn’tneed mine.”
Brendan reached for the dollar. Then he pressed it against Flynn’s chest and patted his hand. “You keep it.” And he racedout the door.
Sierra put a hand on Flynn’s arm as he stood. “I’m going to thank you ahead of time.”
“For what? Dragging you into what could be a train wreck? Or, at best, will be loud and crazy and messy?”
“Exactly. It sounds like a perfect afternoon. I haven’t had one like it in a long time. So thanks for asking me to help.”
“Here I was, ready to bribe you.”
Laughter burbled out of her throat. “You can’t bribe me, I already said yes.”
“That’s too bad. I wanted to take you on a date. As a reward for helping out the greater good of the glorification of theCranberry Festival.”
“Funny, I heard Floyd use that very phrase when he was in here last night for a drink.”
Flynn remembered. His usual was a Seabreeze. Cranberry and vodka. He wouldn’t be surprised if the self-important chairmanof the Festival had a comforter printed with a picture of the fruit. “Pretty sure he says it at least once a day, like a mantra.”
She opened the door to the patio. Screams and laughter ricocheted off the high fence encircling the concrete patio. A fewkids had already gotten into the buckets of sidewalk chalk. Smiling, she waved her arm at the scene. “I’m just doing my partas a good citizen.”
“Aren’t we a civic-minded bar staff? Carlos should make us shirts. The Pride of Bandon.”
“I would, however, very much like
