Page 79 of Of Heather and Thistle
Flynn must have noticed the shift in her expression because he clapped his hands together. “Good. That’s settled, then. We’ll handle the heavy lifting. You should get some rest.”
Heather scoffed. “You make it sound like I’ve done nothing all day.”
Flynn’s smirk was pure mischief. “Oh, you’ve done plenty—keeping me on my toes takes real effort.”
Heather huffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I exhausting you?”
Flynn leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse jump. “Wouldn’t call it exhausting, exactly.”
Heather blinked. There was something in his voice, not quite teasing, not quite serious, but it sent a shiver straight down her spine. She opened her mouth to retort, but nothing clever came out. Instead, Flynn just smirked, his gaze lingering for a second too long before he turned back to the furniture.
Heather exhaled sharply, heart stuttering in her chest. That was new.
She shook her head again, choosing not to argue. Maybe stepping back—just for now—wasn’t the worst idea. She turned toward the hallway, tossing her curls over her shoulder. “I’ll be back before you can mess anything up.”
Flynn chuckled, already moving toward the first piece of furniture. “Aye, lass. I figured as much.”
With one last glance around the house, Heather felt a wave of gratitude, tinged with apprehension. It was a lotto handle, but having Flynn and his crew on her side made it feel possible.
And for the first time since she’d stepped foot in Glenoran House, she felt like things might actually work out.
Heather gathered Byrdie’s things, ensuring she packed everything for the night. Byrdie didn’t seem to mind the change of location, happily purring as Heather carefully placed her into the travel carrier.
A few hours later, settled in her borrowed room at Thistle Haven, Heather sat by the window, Byrdie purring softly in her lap. The day had been long—exhausting, even—but it felt like something was finally moving in the right direction.
Flynn and his crew had tackled the roof with an ease she envied—confident, capable, like he belonged here.
And wasn’t that the difference?
He was sure of his place. She wasn’t.
While she’d spent the day sorting through old books and furniture, she couldn’t help but watch Flynn work. He moved quickly, chatting with his team and laughing, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he hammered—all golden skin and sawdust—like he’d been ripped from the pages of a very specific fantasy novel that Heather refused to admit she’d had.
He moved like a man who knew exactly what he was doing—and exactly what it looked like. Sleeves rolled up, sweat at his temples, forearms roped with muscle. Honestly, it felt like a personal attack.
She felt ridiculous gawking at him while he hammered shingles and climbed ladders. She’d come to reconnect with her family’s past—yet here she was, ankle deep in dust and indecision, wondering if she could restore more than just thehouse.
But Flynn’s confidence was contagious.
She thought of his smile—that warm, easy grin that made the entire project seem less daunting.
Maybe that was his gift.
Making people feel like they weren’t alone.
Heather’s gaze drifted to Byrdie, who was stretching luxuriously across the quilt. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” she muttered. Byrdie responded with a lazy chirp, and Heather found herself smiling.
Still, her thoughts kept circling back to Glenoran.
The roof repairs were coming along, but that was just the beginning. Every creak and groan of the house felt like a challenge, daring her to see this through.
She’d uncovered her mother’s old room—untouched, filled with small, precious memories. It brought her closer to the woman she’d lost, but it also made her feel the weight of all the unfinished stories this house held.
And then there was Flynn.
He made her feel… unsteady. Like the ground beneath her feet wasn’t as solid as she thought.
Not in a bad way. Just… different.
