All They Need(61)

And the look in her eyes…

He tossed back the wine. If there was more, he would have drank it, too, but there wasn’t so he stripped to his underwear and unrolled his sleeping bag. Lying on the hard floor, he forced himself to face the fact that he’d badly misjudged things with Mel. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t listened to his own judgment, because he’d always known she was wounded and still recovering from her marriage, hadn’t he? He’d acknowledged that right from the start—and yet he’d pushed and pushed until they’d gotten to the point they’d reached tonight.

Which was, effectively, nowhere.

A part of Mel might want to be with him, but a big part of her also didn’t—and Flynn wasn’t in the business of forcing his attentions on women. Even ones he liked as much as he liked Mel.

Even when he thought he was falling for them.

It took him a long time to fall asleep and he woke with a sore back. Standing under the shower in the cold and drafty main bathroom, he made a mental note to have a bed delivered during the week. He didn’t need or want anything else yet—he’d only have to move any furniture out again once renovations were under way—but the romance of sleeping rough was starting to fade.

So much for a boy’s own adventures. He walked naked up the hallway and dressed in the chilly living room. Then and only then did he allow himself to think about Mel again. In the light of a new day, what had happened between them last night didn’t seem quite so dire. Frustrating, yes, but perhaps not quite as end-of-days as he’d let himself believe last night.

After all, there had been almost five minutes of blazing-hot intensity between them before she pushed him away. That had to count for something, and definitely it had to count in his favor.

He was on his way to the garden, still mulling things over, trying to work out what his next step should be where she was concerned, when he opened the front door and almost stumbled over a bag that had been left on the doormat. Frowning, he picked it up and glanced inside. His gray sweater lay neatly folded in the bottom, while his sunglasses rested on top. Vaguely he remembered leaving both items on the rear porch at Mel’s place yesterday.

He walked to the top of the steps and looked down the garden path, but there was no sign of Mel. Which made sense. She’d probably dropped by at the crack of dawn in order to avoid running into him.

So much for things looking better in the light of a new day.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. There’d been so many things against him falling for someone at this ridiculously difficult and stressful time in his life, but for whatever crazy reason he was here, in this place, with his feelings and hopes very firmly engaged—and Mel didn’t want a piece of him. There was no other way to interpret this morning’s gesture.

He walked into the living room and tossed the bag onto the floor. The urge to kick something was so powerful he didn’t even bother resisting it, simply aimed and left fly, sending the old wooden crate flying across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack.

It didn’t change anything. He still didn’t know what to do. Common sense told him to back off and cut his losses. If it were any other woman, he would. But this was Mel, and last night she’d been in his arms…

Frustrated beyond measure, he spun on his heel and went in search of something sweaty and exhausting to do. At least when it came to dirt and plants he knew what was what.



IT WAS RIDICULOUS, but Mel missed Flynn. Ridiculous because she never usually saw him during the week—last week being an exception—and because she was the one who had pushed him away.

The urge to text or call or email him gripped her most of Monday and Tuesday. She ignored it. For starters, she had no idea how she would even begin to start a conversation with him after what had almost happened. She’d groped him then rejected him—she couldn’t now call him and pretend nothing had happened.

Could she?

She toyed with the notion all Tuesday night and was still undecided on the subject when she arrived at her parents’ place on Wednesday morning. She’d been pressed into service to help prepare the yard for the big anniversary party on Saturday night and she spent the morning weeding the flower beds along the fence line before making a run to the garden center to get some annuals—“instant loveliness,” as her mother called them—then planting them. All the while the question of Flynn whirled in her mind. Could she call him? Should she? If she was going to play it cool and pretend nothing had happened, what would she say?