Page 13 of Always Be My Pumpkin

His eyes widen and he shakes his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so, Gracie. I told Maeve yesterday afternoon not to take any more rentals.’ He tugs at his sandy fringe, looking completely bewildered, and I almost reach out to stroke his baffled brow. But I manage to hold myself back. Just about.

‘How did you even get in here? Did I not lock the door properly earlier? Did you sneak back in after I’d gone?’ His frown deepens. ‘Christ, Gracie, I know I teased about stalking you on Insta, but that was a joke, and if this is some sort of prank to pay me back, it’s not funny. It’s pitch-dark, and the last thing I expected to find was someone waiting in my bed.’ His sigh is sharp and frustrated. ‘I could have seriously hurt you.’

You did seriously hurt me, I almost say. But now is not the time to start digging up the past.

‘Scott gave me a key,’ I blurt, then I screw my eyes shut as I immediately regret telling Flynn that. Scott works on sales, and even though he’s the manager, he shouldn’t be giving out rental keys without checking with Maeve first.

‘But he didn’t want to. It’s not his fault. I made him.’ My words come racing out in a nervous rush. ‘You see, Jamie’s coming back—’

‘No!’ Flynn jumps to his feet and starts tugging at his fringe again. ‘No way, Gracie. If you think I’m going to let you move in here and set up some little love nest with Jamie.’ He shakes his head furiously. ‘Just no.’

‘What?’ My mouth hangs open as I try to process the idea of Jamie here, in Hazel Cottage. Why would Flynn even think that? He knows Jamie and I are finished. Doesn’t he?

I bury my face in my hands and try to clear my muddled thoughts, but I feel like my head is about to split open, and before I can figure out how to explain any more, Flynn lets out another weary, frustrated sigh.

‘Gracie, I’ve had a really long day, and I’m just back from driving Pat to the airport. Whatever this is, whatever you and Jamie have planned, I can’t deal with it tonight.’

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up his palms and shakes his head repeatedly as he backs towards the door. ‘Just save it, Gracie. I’m going downstairs, and I’m going to try to get some sleep. We’ll sort this out in the morning.’

He lifts his brows as though he’s asking for my agreement, giving me a choice, but what choice do I have? I badly need to lie down, maybe take some ibuprofen, and hope to God that I wake up tomorrow morning and realise that I had a really crazy bad dream.

7

Flynn’s fast asleep when I make my way downstairs the next morning, blue chenille throw tucked under his armpits, and bare shins dangling over the edge of the couch. That can’t be comfortable, but he looks peaceful enough, considering how upset he was last night.

I feel slightly calmer too. I slept pretty well, once I’d knocked back a couple of ibuprofen, although it might have been all the lavender mist still floating around that knocked me out. I’ve had a shower, and I’m dressed, and I just got a text from Sarah to insist I call over to her place for brunch, to let her know how my first night went. I’m not sure where to even start explaining that.

But I can’t go anywhere until I find out if Flynn sleeping on this couch is temporary, or if he really did mean it when he said I’d stolen his bed. Hopefully, he just mislaid his key to Pat’s house, or something like that, some minor issue he can sort easily. And hopefully he was just tired last night, like I was, because the Flynn I used to know was never that grumpy. But he was definitely grumpy last night, and I didn’t like it one bit. Even if it was all my fault.

I fill the kettle and take two mugs from the overhead cupboard. I don’t bother to go easy when I set them on the table, because seriously, he needs to wake up. I make a pot of tea and scrape my chair across the flagstones as I pull it out to sit down. But, nope, still nothing. Elaine always used to joke that Flynn would sleep through a hurricane. Clearly, some things haven’t changed.

I pour two mugs of tea then I stroll over and give his arm a gentle shake. Nothing.

‘Flynn!’ I shake harder.

He groans and blinks his eyes open, then jerks in surprise. ‘Gracie?’ He sits up, bare-chested. And I freeze.

Sixteen-year-old Flynn was fit, and beautiful in my eyes, but now . . . there’s just so much more of him than I remember. My eyes track the exposed skin and muscle, the dusting of sandy hair across his chest. He’s not overly chiselled, but he’s clearly been lifting more than a few plant pots these last few years. My mouth waters, then I realise I’m staring in a way that I definitely should not be staring at an old friend.

‘Gracie,’ he says again, and I lift my gaze to his face. He looks baffled. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ he says sleepily. ‘You’re here. You took my bed.’ He grabs his T-shirt from the coffee table, where it’s folded with his jeans, and pulls it on.

‘I made tea, if you want some,’ I say, as if that will somehow make up for me stealing into his parents’ cottage. And drooling over his bare chest. ‘Milk?’

‘Sure.’ He reaches for his jeans, and I turn away fast and pretend to be engrossed in my task of stirring milk into his tea. I’ve never been shy about naked bodies, but this is Flynn, the boy who used to be my friend, and now he’s all man, and my body is having the weirdest reactions, and I can’t, I just can’t. I hope to God he can find that key, or get a locksmith, or something, because I can’t have him sleeping on my couch for another night. Not looking like that. It won’t work.

‘Did you get locked out? Lose your key?’ I ask as he pulls up a chair at the kitchen table.

He frowns and looks baffled again. ‘No, I have my key, you know that. I got it from Maeve last week to do those repairs to the porch.’ He takes the mug I’m holding out. ‘Thanks.’ He takes a sip. ‘You bought milk.’ He frowns again, as though this is almost as strange to him as finding me upstairs.

‘I meant your key to Pat’s place,’ I say, ignoring his comment about milk, because of course I stocked up on the basics. I’m renting the place now. I’ve fully moved in.

‘Oh.’ Flynn leans back in his chair. ‘I still have a key to Pat’s. I have to head back there this morning to pick up the rest of my stuff. I was too tired last night after the drive to the airport.’

I gulp a mouthful of hot tea. Ouch. ‘Your stuff?’

‘Yeah. To bring it here. We spent the last few days clearing Pat’s place out.’ He scrubs at the faint stubble on his jaw. ‘I told you last night, I’m staying here. That’s why I kept my key and told Maeve not to take any more rentals.’

My eyes bulge. ‘You were clearing his house? I thought . . . I presumed when you said clearing, you were talking about the shop.’