Page 69 of Of Heather and Thistle
“Morning,” Heather called, her voice still hoarse from sleep.
Flynn turned, his smile breaking across his face.
“Morning,” he replied, his eyes lighting up. “You’re up early. Ready to get your hands dirty?”
Heather smiled, though she felt a little out of place. “I didn’t expect to be… involved just yet.”
Flynn chuckled, a rich sound that sent an unexpected flutter through her stomach.
“It’s a big place. If we’re going to make progress, we might need more than just me working on it. I can show you how to help with the smaller stuff—fixing up windows, maybe some clean-up.”
Heather hesitated, glancing down at her boots. They were sturdy, but she had no intention of getting them covered in paint or dirt.
“I… I’m not sure I’m cut out for this kind of work.”
Flynn stepped closer, warmth radiating from him despite the brisk morning air.
He flashed her a playful grin. “You’ve already survived haunted creaks and leaky ceilings. A little DIY? That’s child’s play.”
Heather groaned at the reminder, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“You really have no mercy, do you?”
“None whatsoever. I call it like I see it,” Flynn said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But if you need moral support, I can always supervise. Maybe hold the flashlight dramatically while you hammer something?”
Heather exhaled in mock exasperation, glancing at the tools scattered around the porch. Part of her was reluctant, but another part…
Another part was intrigued.
And, if she was honest, the idea of working alongside him was more than a little tempting.
“Okay, fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But don’t get used to me doing the heavy lifting.”
Flynn winked, crouching down to grab a set of old tools.
“Alright, while you watch me work, feel free to criticize my technique.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Heather said with a teasing grin. “I’ve seen enough DIY shows to know what not to do.”
“Oh, now I’m worried,” Flynn teased, laughter in his voice. “You’ll be giving me tips before the day’s out.”
Heather shook her head, laughing. “Only if you’re aiming for a ‘before’ photo on a renovation disaster blog.”
Flynn straightened, brushing dust from his jeans. “I’ll take my chances. But if you change your mind, feel free to jump in. You might surprise yourself.”
Heather nodded, unsure whether to observe or help. As much as she wanted to contribute, something about the work—and the man doing it—felt a little intimidating.
Flynn moved with focus, skill, and an ease that made it all look effortless. His hands were sure, his movements deliberate, yet his easy grin and playful remarks kept the air light.
Heather lingered near the doorframe, watching. There was something captivating about the way he handled the house—like he cared about it. Not just the physical labor, but the patience, the precision, the way he treated every worn, neglected piece like it was worth restoring.
Her gaze drifted to the flex of his arms as he measured and adjusted the old wooden beam, strength and skill working in tandem. It struck her how natural he seemed in this space, how at home he was in the challenge of bringing something back to life.
She wrapped her arms around herself, but not from the chill. It wasn’t just admiration—it was something else…something warmer. Closer.
And then there was the way he looked at her.
Not always. Not obviously. But sometimes—fleetingglances that lingered just a second too long.
