Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“So what do you do, Mr. Malone?” Flynn asks.
I cautiously eye my dad.
“Not enough,” Mom teases.
Flynn chuckles. “Are you retired?”
Dad playfully scowls at my mom while shaking his head. “I do a little of this and that. I’ve worked on a horse ranch; I was a guidance counselor; I’ve worked for ZIP Tunes; but mostly I do whatever Henna tells me to do.”
I stare at Flynn as he slowly nods. And I wait for him to ask more questions, but he doesn’t. When he’s not looking at her, Mom gives me a little wink.
“So how did you two meet?” Flynn asks my parents as our food is delivered to our table.
When everyone has their meal, I clear my throat. I know my parents don’t enjoy sharing their story with just anyone, but I could listen to it a million times and never tire of hearing it.
Mom and Dad look at each other.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll tell it.”
“We met at Coachella,” Mom says. “It’s a music festival. And it was the spring before my senior year of high school. Then we texted throughout the summer, and Bodhi just so happened to be new at the school in the fall. We had no idea.”
Dad keeps his head bowed, twirling pasta with his fork.
“That’s cool,” Flynn says, like it’s not that exciting.
And the way my parents tell it is not that exciting because they leave out the best part.
“Oh shoot,” I say. “I think my mom forgot to mention that my dad wasn’t a student. He was her new guidance counselor.”
Flynn’s eyebrows jump up his forehead, jaw slack. Yeah, that’s the correct response to the real story.
“She was eighteen,” Dad says before swallowing his spaghetti.
“That didn’t matter,” I say. “It was still a scandal. But Grandpa Malone, whom I never got to meet, was sick. So Dad couldn’t lose his job. But they got caught, so Mom left. They broke up. It was tragic and beautiful and …” I sigh. “So epic.”
Mom rolls her eyes, but not without grinning.
“There are more juicy details like how they messed around in his office.”
“I don’t think Flynn or anyone needs those details while we’re eating, or ever for that matter,” Dad says.
“I’ll tell you later,” I whisper to Flynn, loud enough for my parents to hear me.
Flynn snorts, bringing his fist to his mouth.
I want what my parents have. I want it so much.
Chapter Seventeen
Flynn
Monday morning, I wake up in the back of the Chevelle, bathe in the dog wash, brush my teeth, dress, and trek to the front of the house to knock on the door by six.
“Good morning,” Rupert says, eyeing me with a funny look.
“What?” I say, stepping inside and kicking off my shoes.
“Nothing. I just said good morning.”
“What’s with the look?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“What look?” He closes the door.
“Never mind. Good morning.” I tuck my hands into my back pockets. “Is Mrs. Rawlings awake? Should I get her tea?”
“She’s awake. Pilates is in an hour. I’m not sure if she wants tea now or after Pilates.”
“Pilates?”
“It’s an exercise class.”
“I’ve heard of Pilates. Is this something new?”
“Yes.” He heads toward the kitchen. “She signed up for the class yesterday, but she used to take it before everything went to shit.”
What does that mean?
“Am I driving her?” I follow him.
He chuckles. “Yes. You’re driving her. And you’re taking the class with her. She had me pick you up proper clothing yesterday. You’re welcome.”
“Dude, I don’t do Pilates.”
He refills his coffee mug. “Dude, I wrote a check for five grand. You definitely do Pilates. Yoga. Ballroom dancing …”
I bite my tongue while he sits at the counter, wearing a smirk that acknowledges just how hard I’m biting it.
“Did you have a nice weekend?” he asks.
“It was okay. I bought June a car.”
He pauses his mug at his mouth. “Wow. Things must be serious.”
“Things are …” I shake my head. “I think. I don’t know. They’re what they are. But she needed a car.”
“Is that what she said?”
“No, but ride-sharing every day has to be expensive.”
“Was she complaining about it?”
I shake my head.
“Did she say she needed a car?”
Again, I shake my head.
“Well, Flynn. In theory, a car sounds like a great gift. But it’s like encouraging someone to get a cat.”
I frown.
“If it requires maintenance that you’re not providing, then mind your own business.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Callie interrupts us, padding into the kitchen in pink workout attire, hair pulled into a small ponytail. “Flowers require maintenance or they will die. Jewelry requires cleaning. Clothes must be laundered.” She sets Loki down, and he weaves between my legs.
“Callie, he bought June a car.”
“Oh?” she says, filling a sports bottle with filtered water from the fridge. “Was she excited?”
“Yeah.”
I think.
“Then good for you.”
Rupert shakes his head.
“I met her parents last night,” I say.
Her eyes widen as she screws on the lid. “How did that go?”