FLYNN CALLED ME AT bedtime every night that week. We didn’t talk about anything deep; sometimes, I only told him about what Bridget had been up to and maybe a few stories from the stand that day.
“You still like working at the stand?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I do. I know it’s kind of mindless, but I like meeting new people and talking to our regulars. I think Sam and I are going to start doing some advertising—Rilla Grant’s going to handle it for us.”
“That’s exciting. You know, Ali, what you and Sam have done with the farm is pretty incredible. When I think of the two of you, having that thrust on you as young as you were, it just blows my mind. You should be proud of it.”
“I think we are. Sometimes I worry that we let it take too much priority. Last year, Sam almost lost Meghan over the farm.”
Flynn made a noise of surprise. “Really? How’d that happen?”
“Oh, you know Sam. He has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. And he thought Meghan wouldn’t want to live here. She thought he didn’t love her. They were a mess. I was ready to slap them both silly.”
He was quiet for a heartbeat. “Sometimes people have trouble seeing what’s right in front of them.”
I wrapped a strand of hair around my finger. “Are we still talking about Sam and Meghan?”
“Maybe. Who else would we be talking about?”
“I have no idea.”
When Saturday came around again, Flynn picked up Bridget at the farm while I worked the stand. I half-hoped that he might stop and see me again, as he’d done the week before, but when he didn’t, I scolded myself for being disappointed. Expectations were not my friend. They’d only lead me down dangerous paths.
Cassie had a date that night, so I let her leave early. I’d just begun closing up, locking the register and boxing the perishables, when I heard a truck pull in the lot. Moments later, my daughter came running into the stand.
“Surprise, Mommy!”
Flynn stood at the edge of the shed, leaning against the end of the sliding door, smiling as he watched Bridget and me.
“What’s this? What’re you two doing here?”
“We came to take you on a picnic.” Bridget tugged at my hand. “Come on, Mommy. Daddy and I made fried chicken and potato salad, and Grandma made chocolate chip cookies. We have a basket, and a blanket, and I made sweet tea all by myself.”
I looked across at Flynn. His eyes were steady on me, waiting for my response. Bridget jumped up and down, still chattering.
“Well, if I’m getting kidnapped for a picnic, I’m going to need help closing up the stand. Bridget, can you cover the tables? And Flynn, can you help me move these boxes to the cooler?”
While Bridge got to work, Flynn lifted up a stack of boxes. When I tried to take one, he refused. “Nope, I got this. You just lead the way and open the cooler for me.”
I held the swinging door open for him and then slid open the huge cooler. He set the boxes inside it, moving each one so that everything fit perfectly.
“So whose idea was the picnic?” I leaned back against the side of the stand, appreciating the view of Flynn’s arms flexing as he lifted and his very fine ass when he bent.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “It was mine. Is it okay? I never stopped to think you might have plans tonight.” He shot me a wicked grin that just about curled my toes. “You know, like another Saturday night at The Road Block?”
I shuddered. “Not hardly. No, my Saturday nights are usually an exciting blend of eating dinner and going to bed early. Sometimes I sneak in a chapter or two whatever book I’m reading.” I reached for my phone. “That reminds me, though. I need to tell Meghan I won’t be there for dinner. They’re probably waiting for me.”
“No, they’re not. Bridge and I took care of that.” Flynn closed the cooler and fastened the lock for me. “Your only job is to relax and have fun. Let us take care of you for once.”
With everyone working together, we were climbing into the truck a few minutes later. Bridge scrambled over the front into the tiny back seat, and Flynn handed me up into the passenger seat. I wasn’t sure if he held my hand a little longer than necessary to help or if it was just my imagination.
They’d chosen a spot by the river, on the far side of the Nelson farm. We’d never paid attention to any kinds of property boundaries growing up; Alex and I ran back and forth from their family farm to mine without thinking about it. I’d always liked this particular bend in the river, which formed a protected bank. The trees shaded us from too much sun in the summer but allowed enough filtered light to keep it from being too dark in the spring or fall.
Flynn stopped the truck and helped us get out. He and Bridget spread the blanket and began to unpack the food.
“I can’t believe how delicious this all looks. Did you really make it?” I picked up a wing and broke off a piece of the succulent skin.
“Yep. I’m a pretty good cook, you know. You want more than a wing, don’t you?”
“Hmmm.” I peered into the container. “Maybe a thigh.”
“I’m a breast man myself.” Flynn winked at me as he bit into the meat, and I felt my face turn pink.
We all ate until we thought we’d burst, and then Bridget asked if she could play in the water. It was a warm evening, and once I’d gotten her promise that she’d be careful, stay in the ankle-deep shallows and within view of her father and me. I gave my permission.
Flynn lay back on the blanket with groan. “I don’t think I can move again for at least a week. You’ll have to stand guard over me until I can get up.”
I laughed. “You’re on your own, buddy. I happen to know the mosquitos’ve started coming out, and down here they bite like a son-of-a-bitch.”
He feigned shock. “Why, Miss Reynolds, such language. And in front of your child.” He shook his head, tsk-tsking the whole time.
“She can’t hear anything from down at the water, and she’s not paying any attention to us at all. She’s playing water sprite.”
“Well, in that case . . .” Flynn reached for my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “I’ve been waiting all evening to hold your hand.”
I couldn’t help my smile. “Oh, really? Well, you’ve shown great restraint, then.”
“I’d say so.” He tugged a little, throwing me off balance so that I landed on his chest, my boobs pressed against him and my hand pinned between us. “Now, this is even better.”
“What’re you doing, Flynn?” I swallowed, wondering if he could feel my heart pounding against him.
“I’m holding you. I’m enjoying feeling you against me. You might even say I’m canoodling with you. Isn’t that what people do on picnics, after they eat? They canoodle?”
I shifted, bringing my head back just far enough that I could see him better. “I don’t know. Is that what’s traditional?”
He rubbed his hand in slow circles, up and down my back. “I remember being on a picnic with you, at another spot on this very river. Just the two of us. And after we ate, I undressed you. And kissed you. And touched you here.” He slid his hand to cover one of my breasts. “And touched you here.” The same hand shimmied lower, to cup me between my legs. “And I made you come for the first time. Do you remember that?”
My breath was coming in shallow gasps. “Of course I do.”
Flynn lifted his head to whisper in my ear. “If we were alone right now, I’d do it again. I’d make you come, over and over, until all you could remember was my name and all you could feel were my fingers and my lips.”
“Mommy? What’re you doing?”
I jerked away from Flynn, trying to sit up, but he had a grip on my arm. “Mommy’s fine, honeybunch. She’s just canoodling with me.” He grinned, and I was pretty sure my whole body was about to burst into flames.
“What’s canoodling?” Bridget crossed her arms over her chest, one eyebrow raised in skepticism.
“It’s what two people—two grown-up people—do when they like each other very much. And I like your mother very much.”
My daughter shifted her stare to me. “Do you like Daddy very much, too?”
I licked my lips, and Flynn rubbed his hand on my hip. Like I needed another distraction. “I—yes, Bridget. I like your daddy very much.”
She nodded. “Okay, I guess that’s all right. Is it time for cookies yet?”
Flynn pushed himself to sit up, holding onto my hand all the while. “I think we can make that happen.” As he reached for the basket, he lowered his voice so that only I could hear him. “Funny, I was just wishing for the taste of something . . . sweet.”
I swatted his arm. “Flynn Evans, you’re incorrigible.”
Laughing, he brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Oh, I try, sweetheart. I do try.”
The week after our picnic, the nightly telephone calls between Flynn and me took on a decidedly sensual tone. His game of do-you-remember tended toward very private moments we’d shared.
“Do you remember the first time you let me touch your boobs? I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. And the first time I got your bra off? I could hardly walk for a week after.”
I giggled, which was something I was doing a lot lately on these calls. “Why couldn’t you walk?”
“Because every time I saw you in school, if you were passing me in the hall or worse, if we were in class together, all I could see was you lying next to me, with no shirt or bra on. Instant hard-on.”
I stuffed my pillow over my mouth to muffle my laughter. The last thing I needed was to explain to Sam or Bridget what was making me laugh. “Oh, God, Flynn, really?”
“Yeah, really.” He sighed, long. “You have no idea how tough life is for teenaged boys.”
Another night, another phone call: “Do you remember the first time you touched me? And the first time you went down on me? Oh, my God.”
I smiled. “What I loved was that you and I were so open about everything. Remember? When we wanted to try something new, we talked about it. We discussed it before we did it.”
“Yeah. I used to hear other guys talking about how things were with their girlfriends. No one was like us. I never said anything about you or our sex life, because I knew they’d be so jealous, they’d try to win you away from me.”
“It wouldn’t have worked.” I brushed the hair out of my eyes. “I never wanted anyone but you, Flynn. From our first day of freshman year until . . . until graduation. There was no one else who existed for me but you.”
“It was the same for me.” The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with promise instead of regret. “Ali, this weekend, when Bridget’s in Savannah with Sam and Meghan . . . would you have dinner with me?”
I had been hoping he would ask but telling myself not to expect it. I hugged my arms around my middle. “I would. But why don’t you come here, and let me cook for you?”
He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if I’d pushed too far. After all of our conversations this week, I was so turned on that I could only think about getting him alone, recreating out some of the memories we’d been discussing. But maybe I was moving too fast. I opened my mouth to take back my offer, but Flynn spoke first.
“I don’t want to push you, Ali. But I have to tell you, if I’m alone with you in a house where no one’s going to be there all night . . . I can’t promise I won’t . . . push a little. I’m back to having trouble walking around. And my mother thinks I’ve developed a weird clean fetish, I’ve been taking so many damn cold showers. So before you ask me to dinner at your empty-all-night-house, are you sure this is what you want?”
I was about to tease, to play bashful, but I remembered what we’d both said. Being open was who we were. “Flynn, I was hoping you’d get the hint if I invited you over to my empty-all-night-house. I want you. Although I’m pretty sure at this point, all you’ll have to do is look at me to push me over the edge.”
Flynn groaned. “Can I make it two more nights? God, Ali. I could be there in fifteen minutes. Climb up the house to your window . . .”
I laughed softly. “Sometimes anticipation is good for us. Saturday night, Flynn. I’ll have to figure out what to cook for dinner. What’s your pleasure?”
His answer was fast and succinct. “You.”