Page 15 of Coming Up Roses
“Your mum and Violet are friends?”
“They were. Best friends.” He shifts, dropping his feet back to the floor, the easy confidence I was admiring in him just a moment ago evaporating.
His shoulder brushes mine. I don’t even know how we got this close. I shiver. I feel like I’ve stuck my foot in it. I take another bite of muffin to avoid saying something else, and study how our thighs align while we sit side by side on this bench. I can’t help but compare his filthy jeans and worn workbooks to my dress pants and high heels.
Flynn lets out a big sigh and slumps back. “My parents died when I was fourteen,” he says, his voice low and quiet in the still afternoon.
Oh. I was getting the feeling his mum wasn’t around anymore, but I wasn’t expecting both parents, and not when he was so young.
I have no words. None that are going to mean anything anyway, so I reach out and squeeze his hand. His head jerks up at the contact.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say.
The corner of his mouth curls. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“Car accident,” he says, his voice rough and detached. “They went out for their usual date night. Someone crashed into them.”
I squeeze his hand again and his fingers flex around mine, then slowly relax. I wait for a moment, then extricate my fingers when I realise he’s no longer holding them and I’m just sitting here clinging onto him.
Flynn sucks in another deep breath. “Violet and Henry were like my surrogate parents after that.”
“They took you in?”
“No. My brother was eighteen and we wanted to stay together.” He rolls his eyes, like he can’t imagine why they’d wanted that. “He was my official guardian, but he only got that because of Violet and Henry vouching for him. And they helped feed us, and did all the parent-type things they could.” He sighs as he slouches further into his seat. His shoulder brushes mine again and I try to ignore the goosebumps that travel down my arm at the contact.
It’s not to do with Flynn. It’s to do with the fact that it’s a fresh afternoon and we’re sitting outside in the shade.
“You’re cold,” Flynn says, obviously paying attention to those goosebumps. He takes in my short-sleeved top. “Sorry. I didn’t think when I made you come out here.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “But I should get back to work.” I point awkwardly over my shoulder at the building.
“Do you want a hand sorting out that storeroom?” he asks, fiddling with the paper case from his muffin.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m sure you have other things to do.”
He shrugs. “If you want help, I can help.”
“I don’t need help,” I say, tone sharpening without myconsent. What’s with him not thinking I can do anything myself?
“I know you don’t need help, Abigail, but if youwantit, I can help you. You don’t have to work down here alone all the time. My job is to do whatever needs to be done, and if that storeroom needs to be cleaned out, you’re allowed to ask for help. No one’s going to think less of you for it.”
I ignore the way my name rolls off his tongue and instead focus on the end of his little speech. He might think no one is going to think less of me for it, but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how much I have to prove myself. I can’t let anyone think I’m avoiding my responsibilities, especially with the way they’re all so close here. They’ll definitely talk to each other about me, and if Flynn or Olivia thinks I’m slacking off, Dallas is going to find out.
I won’t let that happen. I won’t let him hear things like that about me.
“Thank you for offering, but I really am okay,” I say, pushing to my feet. “Thanks for the muffin.”
Flynn frowns, then holds the container. “Take the rest. But you know where to find more when those run out. If you want I can come pick you up so you don’t have to walk in there alone.”
I wrap my fingers around the container, careful not to touch his, and it takes a moment for me to realise what he’s talking about. Lunch at Violet’s.
So they’re definitely talking about me.
Olivia asks me every day if I’m heading up to the house for lunch. Dallas has asked me too. Apparently this means something to them.
The thought of it terrifies me—walking into that house, finally meeting Katie, making small talk with co-workers I have nothing in common with. I just want to do my job, reconnect with Sadie and spend my free hours at the cute little house in town. But Sadie is a part of this place, of this family, and I’m going to have to try harder.
