Page 16 of Coming Up Roses
“Okay.” My voice comes out in a whisper. “Yes, please.”
He grins, his eyes sparking with delight as I agree. “I’ll come by tomorrow and pick you up then.”
“What time?”
He rubs his hand through his hair. “I have no clue,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll try and text you with an update.”
I bite my lip. That is not how I roll. I need a schedule, but I’m going to have to deal with it. “Okay. See you tomorrow. Thank you for these.” I hold up the container between us.
“See you tomorrow, Abigail.”
8
FLYNN
I feellike I’m spending way too much time standing outside this building, staring up at the sign and running my hands through my hair, like I’mnervous.
I brush some dirt off the leg of my jeans, which does nothing because they’re filthy. I’ve been working on a farm for several hours, and even with every laundry trick in the book, these jeans will never truly be clean again.
They’re my favourite and I try not to think about why I chose to wear them this morning when I knew I’d be seeing Abigail.
I take a deep breath, shove the thoughts of this silly little crush to the back of my mind and step through the door.
The main function room is quiet and still. It’s so gorgeous in here, all rustic timber and brickwork. It’s stunning when it’s all done up with flowers and ribbons for weddings, but I like it the most when it’s quiet like this.
I pause just inside the door. Abigail’s car is outside, so shecan’t be too far away, but there doesn’t seem to be any movement inside. I’m about to go back outside in case she’s out on the wedding lawn or beside the lake, when I hear music playing quietly. She must be upstairs in the office.
Obviously. That would make sense.
I take the stairs two at a time and lean on the doorframe at the top. Abigail looks up, a professional smile plastered on her face. When she sees it’s me, the smile melts away.
“Oh, hey Flynn,” she says, turning back to the papers spread across her desk.
“Heya, Abigail. How’s it going?”
“It’s fine. Really busy,” she says.
“You ready to go?”
“Go?” she asks, staring at me with a confused look on her face, as if she doesn’t know why I’m here.
“Lunch at Violet’s,” I say. I know where she’s going with this and I’m not having it.
Abigail gestures at the paper spread over the desk. “I can’t go to lunch,” she says.
“Yeah, you can. You need to eat. It’ll fortify you for your afternoon of doing whatever it is you need to do with all that paper.”
Abigail narrows her eyes, like I’ve offended her. “I have a mountain of planning to do and a client meeting this afternoon. I don’t have time for lunch.”
“What time is the client coming?”
“I’m not exactly sure. They’re going to text me when they’re in town.”
“Well that’ll give you enough warning to get back here then.”
“I’m not coming.”
“You’re nervous,” I say, ignoring her last comment, because if I know anything it’s that I can be very persuasive. It’s all part of my charm: annoying people into compliance.
