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His mouth eased into a half smile.
“When you met Veronica, you threw it out because you knew it was a stupid excuse. But I was unfair to call it stupid this time around, Flynn. You’re only trying to protect yourself. And I respect that.”
“Okay...” He was frowning again, probably waiting for her to arrive at a point.
“Even though I’ve never been in love before—” a tiny lie “—I expect to fall someday. I envision walking down the aisle in a big, white dress. I may not want it now, but I will.”
He shifted in his seat, nervous like she was going to propose to him then and there. She wasn’t, of course, but last night she’d intentionally tried to imagine a groom at the end of the aisle waiting for her, and guess who she pictured?
Flynn.
“I’m getting married someday, Flynn. And you’re not.”
She let the comment hang, watching his face as he understood that she wasn’t asking him for more, but less.
“While being with you in a new way has been fun, it’s time to move on. We arrived in good places—you’re back to yourself and I’m painting again...” Kind of. She didn’t feel much like painting now. “I don’t know if you want a pair of chickadees over your mantel, but the painting’s yours if you want it.”
She didn’t want it. She related too much to the female who had been foolish enough to fall in love with an emotionally unavailable bachelor.
Flynn’s brow dented in anger, but still he said nothing.
“So. That’s it, I guess. We just go back to the way things were before...you know. We’ll pretend this never happened.” She stood in an attempt at a quick getaway.
“Where the hell are you going?” Flynn stood and pointed at her recently vacated chair. “Sit down.”
She propped her hands on her hips in protest. “I will not. That’s all I had to say.”
“Well, I haven’t said a damn thing.”
“There’s nothing for you to say!”
“Oh, trust me. There’s plenty to say.” He flattened his hands on the desk and gave her a dark glare.
She folded her arms over her chest to prevent her heart from lurching toward him.
“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked.
“Are we...dating?” Her voice shook.
“You bet your beautiful ass we’re dating. What would you call what we’ve been doing for the last two or three weeks?”
“Having fun.” She gave him a sheepish shrug. “Having a fling.”
“A fling.” He spat the words.
“A really fun fling,” she concluded.
“Listen to me very carefully.”
She glared, attempting to match his ferocity, and leaned over his desk, her fingers pressing into it. “I’m listening.”
“Good. I don’t want you to miss a single word.”
