His phone vibrated in his back pocket. Flynn stowed the bottles behind the bar and took it out.
S: Whatcha doing?
Flynn had to admit he liked getting that simple check-in from Sierra. It felt . . . normal. Nice. Something his life had beenlacking for six months. Plus, it didn’t suck to know that a pretty girl was thinking about him . . .
F: Came in early to help Carlos prep for the onslaught. Fishing tournament this weekend means this town’s bursting at the seams.Your tips should be epic.
S: Here’s hoping.
There was no emoji for a sigh but Flynn swore he heard one, anyway. He didn’t like the thought of Sierra worrying about money.Of course, he didn’t like that she lived in a shoebox, either. A good fart could blow in her front door, let alone a burglar.Or worse.
And Flynn knew there was a lot of “or worse” skulking around where you least expected ’em.
F: Are you on your way over?
S: Almost. I need to finish a sketch. But it’s hard to get right.
No way. With her talent she could probably draw the inside of a cloud. Frowning, his thumbs raced over the screen.
F: How come?
S: I’m trying to get down last night. The two of us on the shore. You didn’t keep your shirt off long enough, though. I can’tquite remember exactly if your abs are a six-pack or an eight-pack.
He’d be damn happy to let her look at them as long as she wanted. Hell, Sierra could do an old-school rubbing of them withcharcoal, if it floated her boat. But answering her question would be too easy. For her. Flynn wanted to tip the scales back in his direction.
F: Well, I still don’t know where you stand on the T Swift/Katy Perry debate. Guess we’ve both got some studying up to do . . .
S: When is class in session? I might need some extra tutoring.
Was it too early to call a sick day? For both of them, so he could race over to her? If this had been any one of the lasthandful of towns where Delaney had—unsuccessfully—dropped them, Flynn would’ve pulled that stunt. Even after working for lessthan two months.
But those were places where he didn’t give a shit. About the town. About the people.
Flynn wasn’t willing to blow their chance of sticking in Bandon. The town was growing on him. He liked the people. Well, mostof ’em. The ones he didn’t like at least made it interesting.
He liked his job. So much that it surprised the fuck out of him. Liked his boss. And now he really, really liked Sierra. Would, in fact, do anything for her. Except for the one thing that would be best for her—keeping his sorry,dangerous self away from her.
F: We’re gonna be in the weeds the whole weekend with this tournament. No chance to hang until Monday.
S: Guess I’ll just have to hope that you’re wearing a very, very tight shirt tonight.
Flynn dropped the phone like a searing hot potato.
Carlos opened the ice drawer. Gave its level a check. As Flynn tied his apron around his waist, he asked, “Would it be okayif I borrowed your truck? I need to pick up the supplies for the Cranberry Festival float.”
With a clap on Flynn’s back, Carlos answered, “Hey, I’m a card-carrying proud citizen of Bandon. Anything you need for theFestival, I’m in.”
“It might take more than one trip. I need to get the lumber and stain to make a bookcase I promised Sierra.”
Carlos started mixing the pre-rush, single Jack and Coke he had every Friday night. “Same answer. Anything to make her lifeeasier, I’m in.”
That sounded . . . like Carlos knew something. Not just that she lived off her tips. Like Carlos knew for sure that Sierra had a rough life. Or at least onewith a hell of a speed bump in it before she’d landed here.
Flynn grabbed a stack of napkins and started rolling silverware. “What’s her story, anyway?”
Carlos stopped, mid-pour. Only after a couple of long beats did he finish filling the highball glass. And only after that did he slap a cool glance at Flynn that hit him with the strength of a six-foot wave. “Everyone’s got a story. Not everyonewants to share it. Do you?”
“Hell, no.” The words burst out of him. Probably way too fast to sound innocent or nonchalant or hell, normal.
And that’s probably why Carlos pushed his drink to Flynn and made another for himself, chuckling the whole time.
Flynn chugged the first half of it like he was trying for a brain freeze. Why was it so damn hard to lie to everyone here?He’d been doing it in Chicago for half his life. Never bothered him there.
Of course, most of the people he knew back then were in McGinty’s crew. The guys he knew from the fight club were in gangs.Nobody there expected the truth. Or wanted it.
Shit. The realization spiked, much worse than a brain freeze. The truth had never mattered before. Not in the circles he ranin.
Now it did.
Now that he’d found a place he could settle. Make a new life, entirely of his choosing.
Unless things fell to shit when they went back to Chicago. And that was a pretty motherfucking big “if.”
“Got a question for you.”
Flynn made the shape of a gun with his thumb and finger. “Shoot.”
“I heard you and your brothers talking about trying to find the best Oregon beer. Since you’re not from here.” Carlos heldup one hand as he sipped his drink. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask where your old favorite local beer is from.”
“So that first night we crossed the border, we had . . . I don’t even know how to describe it.” Flynn shuddered at the memory,only half for effect. “Some fruity shit show that probably didn’t even have hops in it. But since Oregon’s known for its beers,we decided to take the plunge. Risk our taste buds—and our manliness—and keep drinking until we found awesomeness.”
Carlos shook the ice in his glass. “I own a bar. You could ask me for a recommendation
