Page 39 of Always Be My Pumpkin

I almost cry out that I don’t give a damn about Jamie, that he’s not the reason I’m trembling on this couch, that now I’ve tasted Flynn’s sweet, perfect kiss, I’m not sure I can ever go back to seeing him only as my friend. And for a few crazy moments, as he ran his hands through my hair and moaned into my mouth, I hoped he might feel the same.

I should have known he was only doing me a favour. But did I really just imagine all that hot desperate want? I’ve been so confused and horny these past few weeks, and I’ve conjured up so many steamy scenes since he came back into my life, that I’m not sure I’m in any state to figure out what’s real. But I can’t risk our friendship for some fantasy, and I need to step back from this very shaky ledge.

‘How’s Pat?’ I ask, switching topics to what feels like safer ground.

Flynn jerks his head, squints in surprise. But I’m done talking about Jamie, and Flynn clearly has no interest in dissecting that kiss, so we might as well move on.

‘Did he have a good holiday?’ I ask, before he can swerve back to Jamie again.

‘Yeah.’ He shrugs. ‘He looks suntanned and rested. The break did him good.’

I let my shoulders loosen. I think I’ve got us off that ledge and I need to keep us off it now. ‘Pat works way too hard.’ I take a sip of my honeyed whiskey and sigh. ‘Although, I guess not any more, if he’s retiring and selling the shop.’

Then I remember what Flynn told me, this afternoon by the lake. ‘Or, if you are? Selling it, I mean.’

I look up, my forehead creased in a frown. I’ve had so much in my head since we spoke, I almost forgot what Flynn told me about what Pat wants to do, and what that might mean for Flynn, and for me.

He pulls out a kitchen chair, sits down, and gulps a mouthful of whiskey before he starts. ‘I can’t sell it. I’m not even sure I can accept it.’ He scans the room like he’s searching for the answer. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘Land in Ireland usually is.’ I give him a sympathetic smile.

‘Yeah.’ He huffs a wry laugh and takes another gulp from his glass. ‘My grandparents only had Pat and Mom, and after Grandad died, Gran said she was leaving everything to Pat. He tried to change her mind, asked her to leave it equally between him and my mother.’

‘That was fair of him.’

‘Yeah, he’s a fair guy. But Gran refused. Said she wanted to keep it in the family, and Dad would only persuade Mom to sell it all to the highest bidder, which he would have.’ Flynn sighs. ‘But Pat kept working on her and eventually she compromised and willed the cottage and the field next door to me.’

‘This is yours?’ I stare at him wide-eyed. ‘I thought it belonged to your parents.’

‘It was left in trust until I turned twenty-five. Mom managed it until then. Gran wanted to make sure I was old enough to cope with any pressure from my dad.’

‘To sell Hazel Cottage?’

Flynn drains the last of his whiskey. ‘Yep. I guess she knew us both pretty well. He’s still trying to get me to sell and use the money to go back and study medicine.’

‘But that’s crazy. Didn’t you spend the last two years studying horticulture?’ I climb off the couch and amble to the counter for the whiskey bottle. I pour Flynn another measure and add a drop to my own before I sit back down.

‘Yeah, but my father’s not impressed by a part-time diploma in horticulture. He’s never forgiven me for dropping out before I finished college first time round.’

‘But you were looking after your mother.’

‘As far as he’s concerned, she didn’t need me, he was already paying for enough help.’ Flynn stares into his whiskey and he looks so sad I want to go back over and curl my arms around his neck, but I’m half afraid he’ll think I’m making another move on him, so I don’t.

‘If it wasn’t for Natalie, I’m not sure how I’d have gotten through it all.’ He stares into his glass and swirls the tawny liquid, lost in a memory I can’t intrude on, so I wait. He looks up again, sets his jaw. ‘I’ve never had any interest in following in my father’s footsteps, no matter how much that disappoints him. He’s a big shot at the hospital now. A real hero, saving everybody.’ He takes another long sip of whiskey. ‘Except the people who need him most.’ His face twists with pain and my heart breaks for him.

‘Was she very angry with him for not being around more?’

‘Mom doesn’t do angry. Sometimes I wish she would.’ He sounds weary. ‘Maybe if she didn’t bottle it all up and pretend everything’s perfect when it’s not . . . Maybe she wouldn’t have gotten so sick.’

I gulp, because bottling up seems like something both Flynn and I are experts at, but this doesn’t feel like the right time to say that. ‘Is she okay now?’ I ask instead.

‘Yeah, she’s good. She got the best treatment money could buy. At least he could do that for her.’ His jaw clenches. ‘And she’s so grateful. She talks all the time about how wonderful he is. It’s like her world revolves around him and she can’t see any of his flaws.’ He sags on the wooden chair, and I pat the space beside me on the couch.

‘Come sit here, please.’

He does as I ask and drops down at the opposite end, clasping his tumbler with both hands. ‘I know it was hard for her, being so sick, and she was on so many drugs, most days were a blur.’ He lifts one hand and drags it along his jaw. ‘But it’s like she’s forgotten everything, like it never happened. Sometimes I think she’s forgotten I was there.’

I want to edge closer and pull him into a hug. But it feels like he’s got thoughts he needs time and space to process, conclusions he needs to come to on his own.