Page 7 of Always Be My Pumpkin

‘Em, a glass of red wine, thanks.’

I squeeze past him and settle across from Flynn.

‘You were great tonight,’ he cuts through my muddled, horny thoughts. ‘You always did know how to work a crowd.’

He smirks over to the old-style jukebox that’s been in the back alcove forever, and that we used to play tunes on and sing along at the top of our voices. Well, I did, murdering my favourite song from Twilight, and trying not to make it obvious who it was that I’d love for a thousand years. Flynn was always more the strum-a-guitar-at-the-end-of-the-night type, as opposed to my Queen of Karaoke, Irish style. Not that we spent many nights hanging out in bars as teenagers, but every Oakwood family occasion from weddings to funerals ends with a trad session or a sing-song in the Corner Bar, and nobody gets left behind.

‘I can’t believe that jukebox is still there.’ He takes another mouthful of Guinness before he adds, ‘I take it the Stringers gave up their protest in the end.’

‘Oh God, I’d forgotten about that.’ I shake with laughter at the memory. ‘They spent that whole winter after you left traipsing up and down outside the front door. They had big cardboard placards ranting about foreign music taking over the village, but it rained so hard the first week all the ink ran, and nobody could read them any more.’ I clutch my stomach. ‘Sarah took to throwing coins at them, pretending she thought they were doing performance art.’

We’re both creased laughing when Pat arrives back with our drinks. ‘I see you two haven’t changed.’ He mock rolls his eyes as he hands me my wine.

And I wonder if he’s right. If Flynn and I can fall back into our old easy friendship. Maybe. If I can stop my stomach sky-diving every time he reveals a glimpse of bare skin.

‘Well, I’d better get back to the bar.’ Pat lays a friendly palm on my shoulder. ‘The barmaid’s flirting with Timmy again and someone needs to let her know she’s wasting her time.’ He arches his brows playfully. ‘I think that might have to be me.’

Two drinks later and we’ve chatted about the meeting, and plans for the festival, and what everybody in the village has been up to apart from Flynn and me. The mood is upbeat but there’s a dull, persistent ache in my chest and I can’t hold back any longer. One more gulp of wine and I’m going to blurt out the questions I’ve been holding back for ten years too long. Why? Why did you laugh? And why did you leave without saying a proper goodbye?

Flynn tilts his head, eyes narrowed. ‘Are you okay?’

I take a swig of my Malbec and ready myself to say no, I’m not okay. I’m tired of saying yes, I’m good, everything’s great, and smiling through it all. I’m worn out pretending because I’m starting to realise that I haven’t felt okay for a very long time. Maybe not since those days under our favourite oak tree by the lake . . .

‘Is it the memories?’ Flynn rubs at his jaw.

Okay. We’re doing this. It seems like we’re finally ready to talk about what happened.

‘I guess it must hurt.’ His eyes are filled with concern.

So he does feel bad about the way he handled things. The way he ghosted me that week before he left. Then barely spoke when I gave him his leaving gift. Best friends don’t do that.

I take a deep breath to help me drag up the words. ‘It definitely hurt at the time.’

I’m about to add that it’s okay, I moved on, but I would like to understand what happened. I’d like him to tell me.

But Flynn’s not finished. ‘I mean, it’s ten years since that ball you and Sarah organised.’ His face flushes. ‘That you went to with Jamie. And now you’re here, on your own, organising Halloween for the whole village. I’m guessing you’ve broken up again.’

‘What? No. That’s not—’

‘Sorry, I just presumed—’

I don’t get why he’s going on about me and Sarah. And Jamie, for God’s sake. When all I want to hear about is him, and us, and why he treated me the way he did back then, when I thought he was the one person who would never hurt me.

I throw my hands up, in frustration. ‘Why are you talking about Jamie? I thought we were going to talk about us. Our friendship. Why you stopped being my best friend.’

His shoulders sag and he leans back into the brown leather button-back as though he needs the support. ‘That’s what I still don’t understand, Gracie.’

‘Huh?’ I pull at a clump of my hair. What kind of an answer is that? It’s been ten long years and he owes me a proper explanation.

He kneads his forehead with his knuckles, and he seems to be trying to decide whether to say any more, but then he huffs out a breath. ‘I never got why you chose Jamie. He was always so full of himself. I didn’t believe it when Sarah said you really wanted him to take you to the ball. That she only asked me as a joke.’

Shit. I did not know Sarah told him that. She must have been really mad at him for laughing.

‘And then he asked you, and you said yes.’ He sighs. ‘I know it was a long time ago, and maybe he’s changed. But I doubt it. He was never right for you, Gracie.’

My jaw drops. Like Flynn has any right to tell me who I should or shouldn’t date. It’s not like he ever wanted me.

‘That’s not what happened. You know that. Sarah asked you to go with me first. And you laughed. You just laughed. That’s why she said that about Jamie.’