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“You sure you don’t need some help?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I huff at him.
“Gotcha. Little prickly tonight, Fliss?”
“I’m just...” I fish out a new paper cylinder and start slotting quarters in. “Nervous. Angry. I don’t know. If Flynn’s known something about my father all this time and didn’t say anything to me, I’m not sure how to handle that.”
“Your dad might’ve told him to keep quiet,” Alaska says gently. “Or maybe Flynn thought he was protecting you. Or there’s nothing to tell. Won’t know till we ask. So, if you’re feeling ready...”
He offers me his hand, palm up.
His calloused hands are so strong, so kind, and those thick fingers feel so inviting, resting there against the glossy lacquered wood of the bar.
“Shall we?” he asks softly.
It feels like he’s asking whether or not I’m about to drop dead.
That outstretched hand does wicked things to my heart, my head, my everything.
I can’t let myself take it.
Not when it feels like a deal with the devil.
Something terrible like letting him into my life for real.
Needing him for real.
I’m not allowed to do that.
So I just smile brightly and keep my hands busy closing out the register—the perfect excuse not to take that hand he’s offered.
“Give me one second to lock up,” I say.
“Will do.” I tell myself I’m imagining the disappointment in his eyes, on his face, before he gives me an easy smile and settles in to wait.
While I finish at the register, I ask, “Eli’s back at the cabin?”
“Up at the big house. Apparently, Ms. Wilma’s hosting a movie night to give him an excuse to hang out with Tara.” He lifts a thick brow. “Didn’t know she was in the business of playing matchmaker.”
I snort. “Then you don’t know Ms. Wilma.”
It doesn’t take long to lock the café down and rejoin Alaska in the passenger seat of his Jeep. Brody’s isn’t far, but as we drive down the headlight-dotted lane of Main, he glances at me, brows pulled together like thunderheads.
“You okay? Seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” he says.
“I miss my dog.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind. “Silly, isn’t it? I know Ember’s taking good care of him. She’s a vet partner. She probably spoils him more than I do, but it sucks when I haven’t seen enough of the doggo this past week.”
“Bring him over,” Alaska says easily. “Eli would be pumped to have an animal around. Hell, I think he’d lay claim to Mozart and Van Gogh if they didn’t belong to the Fords.”
“Oh, I can’t do that. It’s—”
“—imposing? I knew you were gonna say that, and it’s not.” He laughs quietly. “I like dogs. And even if you miss the little guy, I’m thinking he’s not everything on your mind.”
My eyes flick over, wondering how this husky of a man reads me so easily.
I also can’t decide whether I absolutely hate it or if it makes me a little bit in love.
“No...” Sighing, I slump in the seat, fiddling with the seat belt. “I’m just wondering if Flynn’s going to be lucid enough to say anything useful. Ms. Wilma only hired him out of pity and he was a lot more functional when he was working at the inn. I always hoped she could help him stay on the straight and narrow. It worked for a while. When he started missing too many shifts and mouthing off to guests, stumbling around and assigning people the wrong rooms...Warren and Haley had to let him go.”
I’m not expecting what he says next—or the way it cuts my heart.
“You aren’t pissed at him,” Alaska whispers. “You’re hurting for him. Because you’re thinking of your dad when you think about Flynn Bitters, wishing you could’ve saved him.”
My breath catches.
My hands fly to my mouth, an instant reaction to the hot prickle in my eyes.
“H-hey,” I straggle out weakly. “Warn a girl before you do that, huh?”
“Fuck. Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“No—it’s not you. Not really.” I shake my head sharply, struggling to pull myself together. “I think it just hurts so much because...gah, because you’re right.”
I press my lips together.
In, out, in, out.
Just breathe until I don’t feel like I’m going to burst into tears.
“Fliss.” He says my name so softly. “There was nothing you could do. They were grown men and they made their choices, your old man and Bitters both.
“Yeah. I can’t save everyone, right?” I sniff back hot lava.
It hits too true.
How can I save anybody when I can’t even save myself?
“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it,” Alaska tells me. “Bitters can only turn his shit around if that’s what he wants, and it’s his problem. We’re not there to fix him even if we want to. All we can do is hope he’s willing to help.”
“Y-yeah.”
But I don’t say anything else, because the sputtering, dim-lit sign for Brody’s glows up ahead.
