Page 44 of Always Be My Pumpkin

There’s a note on the coffee table when I get home.

Gone to dinner with Pat and Tim. Hope you had a good chat with Sarah. See you later, if you’re still up when I get back, x

I hate how my stomach dropped when I opened the door to find the place empty, reminding me that I won’t always see these notes on my table, or left on my pillow like the one from this morning:

early morning training, gone to do a few of those push-ups you love so much, ha, ha, x

I grab an apple from the fruit basket and climb the stairs to change into my pjs. I need to wrap myself in cosy flannel and soft blankets before I think any more about Sarah’s advice and what I should do about it. I pull the voile curtains to help keep out the cold October draught, then I gather my comfort supplies and sit on my bed, our bed, and think about what Flynn said while I was drooling over his half-naked body in that towel, that first week.

Seriously, Sullivan, you gotta toughen up. I know he was joking, but he did have a point.

I grab a sheet of paper from the spiral-bound notebook Flynn left on the locker, then I lean back against our mountain of pillows and bite into my apple. I need a strategy, something with bullet points and recommendations highlighted in red. I do this all the time at work and I do it well. It’s time to apply that same focus to my own life, to get past the crazy fantasies I’ve been harbouring about Flynn, and to build more resilience to deal with the pain I can already feel coming for the next time he leaves.

I make up my mind. I’ll get ready for bed, write out my plan, then go downstairs and read while I wait for him to come home. I’ll give him the general gist and ask what he thinks. I need him to know that I’m not another Meghan. All I’m asking for is the chance to get this crush out of my system. And if that kiss is anything to go by, he might appreciate the same. And then we can put it behind us and go back to being friends.

It’s pitch-dark when I wake later. I forgot I’d turned off the light to rest my eyes. I reach for the bedside lamp and flick it on to find Flynn standing by the bed wearing nothing but a pair of navy-blue boxers and a lopsided smile.

‘Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘S’okay, what time is it?’

‘About midnight, I think.’ He drops down on the edge of the bed. ‘We had dinner and got talking, and Pat opened a bottle of whiskey, and, well . . .’ He lets out a low chortle. ‘You can guess the rest.’

‘I think I can.’

I laugh lightly. Clearly, he’s tipsy. He’s forgotten he wears clothes to bed now. I pat the duvet. ‘Flynn, come to bed.’

Feck, that didn’t come out quite the way I meant it.

‘Is that an invitation, Sullivan?’ He winks at me, and he looks so damn gorgeous, I almost say maybe. But I can’t. He’s had too much to drink, and I want us to talk things through properly before we do anything either of us might regret.

I smile and shake my head. ‘No, it’s not.’

He climbs under the duvet, right over by the edge, like he always does when he gets in first. He rubs at his eyes, and the soft light casts a glow over his freckled cheekbones, and he looks so boyish and beautiful that I’m close to losing all resolve. Then he reaches to turn off the lamp, and my heart leaps out of my chest as I see his fingers land on the sheet of paper I dropped on the locker before I drifted off.

‘Flynn, no!’

Oh God, no, please, please don’t let him read my ten-point plan with step-by-step bullet points of exactly what I need to do to get my horny, erotic fantasies out of my system for good.

He leaves the light on and sits up straight, holding my notepaper in his hands.

‘I don’t remember writing . . . Huh?’

He holds the sheet out in front of him like a hand grenade and stares at the large black caps scrawled across the stark white page:

Shag Flynn Asap

Oh shit. I forgot I decided my plan needed a title, something snappy to encapsulate the main thrust of the argument (there was a lot of thrusting in those fantasies, to be fair). Please don’t turn the page, please don’t turn the page, I say over and over in my head. Although, I’m not sure that could make it any worse, Flynn looks shell-shocked as it is.

I grab the notepaper out of his hand and fling it on the floor by my side of the bed. ‘It’s nothing, Sarah and I were messing earlier about making a plan. It’s just a joke.’

‘A joke?’ He blinks at me. ‘You think the idea of being with me is a joke?’ He frowns. ‘Was our kiss really that bad?’

‘No, God no, Flynn. I’m not explaining this right. I can’t explain, not now. You’ve had more than a few drinks and I’m half asleep. I need us both sober and thinking straight before I can talk to you about this.’

‘About what?’ He scrunches his face. ‘What is it you want to talk about?’

‘About us shagging, that’s what.’ I ignore his wide-eyed shock and shove a pillow down the middle of the bed before I reach over him and turn off the lamp. ‘But we can’t talk about this now. We can talk tomorrow evening when I get home.’ I pull the duvet firmly up to my chin.