Page 15 of The Unbound Bookshop
Flynn squinted. Was that a tear? Before he could be sure, she snapped the towel back and tossed it over the handlebar. “Your brother also wanted a prop from that movie he liked so much.” She waved a hand at her husband. “You know, the violent one about the gangsters that I still can’t believe you let him watch.”
“The Godfather,” Flynn and his father supplied at the same time.
His dad cleared his throat, but not before Flynn caught the raw edge to his voice.Keep talking, Flynn silently urged, eager to continue the conversation, to keep his brother’s memory alive for as long as possible.
“Right.” She nodded, her head bobbing along with her trim body, although her tight bun didn’t budge. “It was a hose. Or a watering can. Or something like that. He went on and on about the prop’s symbolism, and how he’d own it one day, but we never expected him to actuallybuythe silly thing, did we?”
Flynn held his tongue. The prop in question was a watering gun, and he’d already bought it three years ago after tracking down the collector and offering him an obscene amount of money. Over the last ten years, he’d checked off nearly every item on Kevin’s 30 Before 30 bucket list. The list he’d made the summer before college. The summer he died.
He had two items left. Own theMarvelous Mira—the custom sailboat Kevin had idolized from the moment he watched it set sail. And become vice president of Cahill Enterprises.
He’d mailed purchase offers to Mackensie every year, begging to buy the boat. But each year, despite Flynn upping the dollar amount, the man refused. If his parents hadn’t insisted on his presence at the gala, he never would’ve known about the auction, let alone been roped into the bizarre proposition they so vehemently opposed. How’s that for irony?
Now, with any luck, by the end of the week, he’d have accomplished both remaining tasks.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to happen upon the list’s completion. It wouldn’t bring his brother back. Or make up for the fact that the wrong brother had died that day.
But maybe, in a small way, he could tell Kev he was sorry. Sorry for things he’d never admitted outside the shadows of his own nightmares.
He owed his brother that much, at least.
“I know you guys don’t understand, but this is something I have to do,” he told them with renewed resolve. “I’ll try to mitigate the interference with work as much as possible. And Mom”—he met her gaze in the wall of mirrors—“you don’t have to worry. There’s zero chance I’ll get back together with Sage.”
While the words mollified his mother, they evoked an altogether different emotion in the pit of his stomach.
One he’d be wise to ignore.
Chapter 9
ABBY
Abby triedto steady her trembling fingers as she refilled Piper’s coffee, ignoring her erratic pulse.
Deep breath. Don’t let her get to you.
She inhaled the earthy steam tendrils curling from the cup, willing her tense muscles to relax.
Miraculously, she filled the mug to the brim without spilling a single drop.
“Thanks,” Piper said stiffly, barely glancing up from the newspaper, as if she’d rather be eating breakfast in a rabid lion’s den than Abby’s dining room.
From the moment Piper and her son sat down to eat that morning, she’d appeared painfully uncomfortable. Abby refrained from reminding the woman she was free to leave anytime she wanted.
“These are really good waffles.” Tyler beamed at her from across the dining room table, oblivious to the sticky maple syrup dripping down his chin.
“I’m so glad you like them.” Abby smiled. She’d made her special Celebration Waffles—so dubbed thanks to the healthy dose of rainbow sprinkles—especially for Tyler. Piper might be a bane, but her son couldn’t be sweeter. How could such a lovely child be the product of such a miserable woman?
“They’re my favorite breakfast food,” Max told Tyler between bites of crispy bacon. “And her Monte Cristo Casserole.”
“What’s that?” Tyler asked.
“It’s like a ham and cheese sandwich and French toast all mushed together.” Tyler looked dubious at his description, so Max added, “It’s really good,” with an air of confidence.
Hiding another smile, Abby rounded the table to top off their orange juices.
Content to take his word for it, Tyler went back to his waffle. He’d flooded each divot with syrup, then topped them with a strawberry slice, exactly like Max. From the moment the boys met, Tyler had taken to Max, as if he craved the attention of another child. In fact, Max didn’t usually dine with the guests, but Tyler had begged for Max to join them. Perhaps against her better judgment, Abby had agreed. To his credit, despite Tyler’s tendency to follow him around like an adoring puppy, Max didn’t seem to mind.
“I get to help cook sometimes,” Max said proudly. “I make really good scrambled eggs, right, Abby?”
