All They Need(42)

“You want Barry’s number?” she asked.

“Sure. But I guess I might as well speak to your father, too.”

“Good plan. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

Flynn pulled his phone out and took her father’s number down as she reeled it off.

“In all seriousness, my dad is a good mechanic. He does a lot of work with classic cars—he and my brother restore them as a hobby. I would have mentioned him to you earlier but I figured you probably had some NASA-trained mechanic in the city somewhere.”



“As I said, I do have a guy but I believe he may have skimped on the NASA training.”

“It’s so hard to get good help these days.”

“Tell me about it.” His gaze dipped below her face for a second and she crossed her arms over her chest, conscious of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“So, um, how did you get down here this morning?” she asked. She could feel her heart beating out a hectic, nervous rhythm against her breastbone.

“I borrowed Dad’s car. He doesn’t drive anymore. I’ve been putting off selling, so at least it’s earning its keep this week.”

She nodded, thinking about what he’d said in relation to the conversation they’d had last night. “It’s what you were talking about last night, isn’t it? Taking away his freedom. I guess selling his car would really drive home the fact that part of his life is over, wouldn’t it?”

The tight look came back to his face. He cleared his throat. “Listen. About last night.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I wanted to apologize for dumping all that stuff on you…?. That was really uncool.”

It took her a second to process what he’d said and another second to put it in context with his behavior this morning. The polite smiles, the distance, his general awkwardness.

He was embarrassed for having let down his guard with her last night.

She propped a hip against the kitchen counter and studied him. “Let me get this straight. You’re apologizing for caring about your father?”

“No. I’m apologizing for spilling my guts all over your kitchen table.”

“Yeah. See, I happen to think they’re the same thing. You’re allowed to feel upset, Flynn. You’re only human.”

He shrugged uncomfortably.

“This is one of those male things, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I feel a little uncomfortable talking on behalf of my entire gender, but it’s definitely a Flynn Randall thing. I don’t generally go around blubbering.”

“You didn’t blubber last night.”

“Sure.”

“You know, if you were my brother, I’d punch you right now.”

He looked a little startled. Then a slow smile curled his mouth. “Then I’m glad I’m not your brother.”

“You should be. I pack a mean punch. The bruises last for days.”

“Now you’re just trying to scare me.”

“How am I doing?”

“Might need a little more work.”

“Okay. I’ll get back to you.”

“You do that.”

His phone beeped. He pulled it out to check it. She could tell by the way his face shifted into more serious lines that it was work.

“I need to keep moving,” he said. He sounded tired.

“Busy day, huh?”

“They don’t really come in any other size these days.”

They walked to the door and faced each other across the threshold.

“Good luck with the car,” she said.

“Thanks. And thanks for these.” He indicated the keys.

He turned away.



Before he could leave, she took a step forward and touched his arm. “Flynn.”

He paused, half turning toward her.

“Everyone has tough stuff, you know? Everyone. I don’t even want to think of all the times I’ve lost it over the past year or so. It’s called being human. And I certainly don’t think any less of you because of it. Okay?”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long beat.

“Okay,” he said. Then he smiled, a sweet, small, very sincere smile. “Thanks, Mel.”

The urge to touch him in some way—even just his hand—was so strong that she took a step backward.

“Go make another million. Quickly. The world’s bankers need you.”