“Well, Mr. Rawlings, that’s the only version there is of the story.”
“Not true,” I say, reclining in the lounger. “There’s two sides to every story. And your father passed away many years ago, yet here I am. You haven’t rehomed me yet.”
Her sigh sounds like a grumble. “I’m just too exhausted to train another.”
I don’t tell her she’s training Flynn. Reminding me twice he’s not our son is enough for one day.
“Hey, guys. I let myself inside.”
Speaking of Flynn.
“As long as you haven’t stolen anything,” I say to him.
“No offense,” he says, shoving my feet off the side of the lounger so he can sit on the end. “But aside from your car?—”
“Which you already tried to steal.”
“Borrow,” he says.
Callie snorts.
“There’s not much around here that’s my taste.”
“No offense taken,” Callie says.
“What does taste have to do with anything?” I ask. “Thieves don’t steal things they want. They take what’s valuable to sell.”
“Oh, thanks for the tip, Mr. Rawlings. Mind sharing the combination to your safe while we’re on the topic?” Flynn says.
Again, Callie snorts.
Flynn unknowingly does his job so well.
“How did June like the flowers?” Callie asks.
“Well, you were right. Girls still dig that sh—stuff.” He gives me a tight grin.
“Flowers are timeless,” she says. “A little cliché on Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, birthdays … but they are always the best first step after an argument. A proverbial white flag.”
The wordproverbialgoes right over his head. I can only imagine how he’d respond toknocker-upper.
“What’s next for the day?” Flynn drums his hand on his leg, the same leg that’s bouncing. He’s incapable of sitting still.
Callie sees it too.
“Aren’t you golfing?” she asks me.
I lumber to my feet. “As a matter of fact, I am. I’ll see you later.” I bend down and kiss the top of her head.
“Lie back,” she says to Flynn as I head toward the door.
“For what?” he asks.
“Your job for the rest of the day is to sit with me.”
“And do what?”
“Nothing. Just be.”
