“Don’t pass up an opportunity to try new things,” he says. “Writing stories is fun.”
“I’m dyslexic,” I say.
“Your brain is not broken. You could write a story if you wanted. Speech to text.”
“My brain feels a little broken.” I shrug. “Anyway, June’s grandma is terminally ill. Any suggestions on what I should say?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You should ask Callie. It’s been brought to my attention that I have a tendency to force my need to fix things on other people. You can’t fix what’s happening to her grandma. I’d probably go with KISS—keep it simple, stupid. Something like, ‘This sucks. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m here if you need anything.’”
I nod slowly. “KISS. Got it.”
“I’d avoid criticizing anyone, even if you attach it to arespectfully.”
“Good tip.” I laugh.
He sets his beer on the bar and slides his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t hire you as a punishment. Callie didn’t make you sit with her on the balcony for hours as a punishment.”
“I know.”
“I hope one day, you’ll look back and think the best mistake you ever made was taking my car for a joyride.”
I drink the rest of my beer and stand. “I don’t have to wait for that day. I already know it was.”
His smile swells. It’s fatherly pride. And since I don’t remember my father, I’ll remember this summer with Rupert and Callie Rawlings. The summer I grew up. Fell in love. And wore leather loafers without socks.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Flynn
Ally givesme the key to the MINI Cooper without any resistance, and I sell it for five hundred dollars more than I paid for it. I’ll be back, so I don’t make a big deal over saying goodbye to Monroe. He gets a short text with which he replies with a thumbs-up emoji. Callie and Rupert insist I keep my trunk of belongings at their house until I return.
With my credit card, I fly to LAX and catch my first glimpse of the ocean on the way to my hotel.
It’s been two weeks since June stopped texting me back. This might be the dumbest thing I’ve done, but it feels like the bravest too. I don’t know where her parents live.
Where to find the best chicken fingers.
Or whether I should let housekeeping in my hotel when I’m not here.
With my feet officially in West Coast sand with endless miles of ocean in front of me, I text June.
Flynn: Hi
She doesn’t respond, so I keep walking down the beach. It smells fishy as I get closer to the water. The breeze feels bigger. The sun feels hotter. Everything is grand.
Flynn: If I were to send u something what address would I use?
No reply.
I don’t want to tell her I’m here. Not yet. I thought about asking Ally for her address, but I didn’t trust her not to tell June. I stare at my phone, racking my brain for something that will get her attention. Maybe I’m making this too difficult.
Flynn: Falling in love with you was easy. Falling out of love with you is impossible. I know. That’s a me problem
All of my messages say delivered. Is she reading them? I don’t know.
After I get my fill of the beach, I find insanely good chicken at The Red Chickz. Hot chicken tenders with French toast, homemade honey butter, and syrup. I might not return to Minneapolis. I bet there are drugs in these crispy tenders. They are that good.
I take a photo and send it to June. Let’s see if she reads the name of the restaurant on the wrapper and realizes there are no Red Chickz locations in Minnesota.
