Page 47 of Kissing Flynn

“What smells so good?”

Barnard and I both turn toward the doorway from where Flynn’s voice came. Meeting my eyes, Flynn smiles and strides forward, sliding onto the stool next to me. Barnard eyes the plate in his hand with a sad expression, then slides it in front of Flynn.

“Oh, sir. No, I––”

“Eat it,” Barnard says firmly, then snags a chip from the bag before getting to work on his third sandwich.

“Don’t argue,” I stage-whisper to Flynn. “It’s the best grilled cheese sandwich you’ll ever eat. Quick, take a bite before he changes his mind.”

Barnard chuckles, which must give Flynn the go-ahead to dig in, because he grins and takes a big bite of the sandwich. A low moan rumbles in his chest as he chews, making Barnard and me smile even wider.

This is nice. The three of us here, chilling without the stress of the competition or of trying to impress Barnard. Seeing the old man in this environment is a good reminder that he’s human, just like me. Just like Flynn.

It’s also revealing of how working with Barnard might be. To have this relaxed and frankly, pleasant, man as a subject would make the job that much better. And that makes my desire to win that much stronger.

We chat about pretty much nothing while we eat, then Barnard excuses himself with a reminder about turning in our pages at dinner. When he’s gone, I look over at Flynn, who stares back at me with the same wide-eyed expression.

“Invasion of the body snatchers?” he whispers, jerking his head toward the door through which Barnard disappeared.

I laugh. “I think he’s just more relaxed now that you and I are the only two strangers left in his home.”

“I suppose I’d be more relaxed, too, if I finally got that bastard Lars out of my house,” he grumbles, and I shove at his shoulder.

“That’s not nice.”

“Lars isn’t nice,” he counters, and I shrug in a way that tells him he’ll get no argument from me.

“If that was the real Barnard,” I say, “working with him will be much easier than I expected.”

“For sure,” Flynn agrees with a nod. “How’s your page coming along?”

“Nuh-uh,” I hum with a grin and a shake of my head. “No using those baby blues to get information out of me, Mister.”

“Would I do something like that?” he asks, feigning shock and outrage.

“Of course, you would.”

“Of course,” he says with a wink, then pops one last chip into his mouth. After chewing, he slides off his stool and offers me a hand. “You ready to get back to it?”

“Yep,” I say, holding onto his hand after I’m firmly on my feet. “But should we…I don’t know…clean this place up, first?”

“I’ve got it.”

We turn toward the door to see Bethany striding in, a smile on her lips. She shoos us off with her hands, then starts grabbing our dishes from the island. I look at Flynn, who shrugs before tightening his grip on my hand and pulling me from the room.

Upstairs, he pauses in front of my door, releases my hand, and drives his fingers into my hair to tilt my head back so he can kiss me. Ending the kiss quickly, he rests his forehead against mine and stares into my eyes.

“Back to work.”

“Back to work,” I repeat, and he pecks one last kiss against my lips before smiling, releasing me, and heading toward his own room.

We lock gazes as he turns the knob, watching each other as we disappear into our respective bedrooms. I shake my head as I close the door behind me and lean back against it.

How did I make it the last five years without Flynn in my life? All I know is, I don’t want to spend another day without him.

Twenty-Eight

Flynn

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