Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Are you fucking for real? We’re— Oh. It’s you. What do you want, Jonny?”
As loving welcomes went, this was… neither loving nor welcoming, but still I drank him in—his eyes, his broad shoulders, those thick legs. He was so exhausted it was practically coming off him in waves, but he still looked determined.
How could anyone not want Flynn Honeycutt on their team for… basically anything? The man was relentless.
“It’s me,” I confirmed, a beat too late. “And I really dislike that name.”
Flynn sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “What do you want, JT? I’m warning you, I do not have the patience for your shit right now. You could hand me a contract paying me the moon and all the planets, and I’d run it through Pop’s paper shredder just the same.”
“I’m here to help you.”
“By having Fortress pay me all the money ever printed so I can hire a floor mopper while I sip mango martinis in Belize?”
“No. By mopping the floor while you sit and have a cold drink.”
Flynn blinked, clearly startled, then narrowed his eyes.
It was my turn to sigh. “You’re trying to figure out my angle, but there is no angle. I’m just trying to show you that I meant what I said last weekend. I want to help. I’m not your enemy, and—” I hesitated. Open and honest, right? “And I also maybe felt like shit about Brantleigh being an elitist asshat earlier, and even shittier when Cas said you’d be closing alone, and I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.” When Flynn remained silent, I persisted. “Forget about the contract with Fortress for right now. I just want to help mop your floor or whatever else you need. Okay?”
Flynn expelled a breath and pushed the door wide, rolling his eyes. “Fine, then. You wanna spend your evening mopping, knock yourself out. I’ve got a billion glasses to wash, plus setup to do for tomorrow.”
I stepped inside. Music played softly over the speakers—probably had been playing all day, but I hadn’t been able to hear it until all the other noise was gone—and I smiled to myself as I noticed it was an oldies tune, the kind Horace used to play.
It wasn’t my first time being in the Tavern after hours, but the last time, Flynn hadn’t hesitated to let me in, bowed with grief and tipsy on mead as he had been.
Flynn locked the door and looked at me strangely. I wondered if he was thinking of that night, too. He cleared his throat and pointed to the kitchen. “Mop and bucket are over there. You’ll need to flip the rest of the chairs onto the tables and sweep first, then mop.”
I saluted him and got to work.
We worked in silence for a long while, me cleaning the floor while humming along to an old John Denver ballad and Flynn doing whatever he was doing behind the bar while making occasional trips to the kitchen. It was comfortable. Cozy, even. I liked it.
I felt Flynn’s eyes linger on me from time to time, and I liked that even better.
When the floor was done, I emptied the bucket and stacked all the cleaning supplies neatly in the back closet. Then I ducked back into the bar area. Flynn was bent over, adjusting some nozzle on the floor, and I valiantly tried not to ogle his ass. This is about helping Flynn, not yourself.
“What else do you need?” I asked softly.
Flynn startled and whirled around like maybe he’d forgotten I was there. “Uh. I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.” He swallowed and looked me up and down like he was noticing for the first time what I wore—a T-shirt, running shorts, and sneakers. “Were you… exercising earlier?”
“Kinda. I ran here. Flynn, I—” I began.
“JT, we should—” Flynn said at the same time. He swallowed. “You go ahead.”
Fuck, why was this so hard? I had all the convincing words and smiles in the world when talking to other people, but never with him.
In the end, though, I didn’t have to say anything because the song on the speaker changed at that moment, exactly like it had that night three years ago, to one of Horace’s favorite ’70s songs, “Just the Way You Are.”
I sucked in a shocked breath and stared across the small space at Flynn, who was staring back at me the same way—like lightning had struck us for the second time.
Maybe the universe did have it out for us. Maybe these sweet, stolen moments were all we were ever supposed to have. If that was the case, I was going to make the most of them… by showing Flynn how I felt since words were our kryptonite.
Slowly, like I was approaching one of McLean Honeycutt’s beautiful untamed creatures, I held out my hand just as I had on that other fateful night. “Dance with me?”