Page 77 of Of Heather and Thistle
Flynn was out there, working alongside his crew with practiced ease. He’d ditched his jacket hours ago, leaving him in just a fitted t-shirt, dusted with remnants of old slate and sawdust. His forearms, tan and dust-streaked, flexed as he hammered. Years of work had left him strong—and completely unfair to look at.
Heather swallowed, heat creeping up her neck. It should be illegal to make roofing look that attractive.
She tore her gaze away, shaking her head at herself. You are here to restore a house, not to ogle your contractor.
Not that it stopped her from stealing another glance or two.
By midday, she stepped outside for some air. The steady rhythm of hammering filled the air, mingling with laughter from the crew.
Flynn caught her eye and gave a quick wave. After a beat, Heather lifted her hand and waved back.
There was something solid about him. Reliable. The kind of person who made things happen.
She turned her gaze to the house, taking it in.
Maybe I can do this, she thought. Maybe I can turn this place around.
And maybe, along the way, I’ll figure out what to do with mylife.
By sunset, the roof had taken shape, and Heather had made a real dent inside. A few minutes later, Flynn appeared in the doorway, looking tired but still wearing that easygoing smile.
“How’s the inside going?”
Heather gestured to the piles around her. “I think I made a dent—barely. The house is still full of stuff.”
Flynn scanned the room, taking in the cleared surfaces and neatly stacked keepsakes.
“Ye’ve done more than I expected,” he admitted, a note of appreciation in his voice.
Heather scoffed lightly. “Did you think I’d be napping all day?”
Flynn smirked. “Wouldn’t have blamed you.”
Heather shook her head, laughing softly as she leaned back against the chair.
The house still had a long way to go.
But still, it felt like progress. Heather rolled her eyes, but she felt the warmth in his words—and in how he saw her effort. She was surprised at how much she’d accomplished. “Better than I thought. I’ve started going through some things—books, pictures, and the like.”
“Good,” Flynn said, leaning against the doorframe with a thoughtful look. “So how exactly did you come upon this property? The house has been empty for years. I’ve heard of a few people trying to buy it, but nothing ever came of it. Always been a dream of mine to restore it.”
Heather hesitated, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the door.
How much should she share?
It felt personal—too personal—to spill everything rightnow.
“It’s… complicated,” she said slowly. “I didn’t know about the house until recently. My mom passed away a long time ago, and my dad never talked about her. Not once. I only found out about Glenoran after he passed a couple of months ago—when I got the deed from his lawyer. That’s when everything started falling into place.”
Flynn watched her closely, sensing her hesitation.
He didn’t push. He just waited.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Heather added, trying for casual, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself. “But I’m here now, trying to make sense of it all.”
Flynn nodded, giving her space to breathe. “I get it. You don’t have to explain everything right away. You’re doing fine.”
His voice was softer now, steady in a way that made her feel a little more at ease.
