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I sputtered out a shocked laugh, and I might have argued—ah, who was I kidding? I totally would have argued—but when the man pushed me up against the edge of the booth and took my mouth in a savage, desperate kiss, I decided that maybe, just this once, I’d let Frog win.
ChapterNineteen
JT
Holding Flynn and hearing him say he loved me was everything I could have hoped for. It wrecked me in the best way and made it impossible to focus on anything but him.
Which was probably why my mother felt the need to interrupt us.
“For the love of public decency, Jonathan, let go of the poor man’s face. Mr. Honeycutt needs toprepare.”
Flynn jumped away from me immediately, and his eyes went round.
“Jon,” he warned, his gaze fixed over my shoulder. “Holy shit.I thinkyour mother is here.”
“Yeah, obviously.” I blinked at him. “Wait. Didn’t you get my text messages?”
He shook his head once, not moving his eyes, like my mother was a predator who might attack without warning. “I left my phone in Honeybridge when I was in Boston, then it died, and then I was in such a hurry to get here—”
“So you didn’t already know I’d be here for you, taking care of setting up the booth for the Meadery? But you called me anyway?”
“Well, yeah. Because I love you. And I missed you.” When my words finally processed in his brain, he shook his head and turned his gaze to me. “Wait,youset up the booth?”
He’d trusted me. I’d known it deep down, but the confirmation sent warmth spreading through my body from the inside out. I grabbed him against me again and turned him in a circle. “I love you, Flynn.”
“I love you, too,” he assured me. “But…” His eyes sought out my mother again, and he lowered his voice. “Am I losing my mind? Is your mother wearing a Honeybridge Mead T-shirt?”
“Well, of course I am.” Patricia Wellbridge sniffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m not sure what sort of havey-cavey operation you wereplanningon running here, Mr. Honeycutt, but I’m here now, and I assure you that having your whole team in matching shirts elevates the look of the entire booth.” She glanced at his button-down disapprovingly.
Flynn’s eyes darted from the booth, where Reagan was chatting with a visitor, to my mother, to me, and then back again. I knew he was overcome with emotion when he didn’t bother pointing out that he’d ordered the T-shirts himself for the very purpose my mother mentioned.
“You? Helped with setup?” he asked my mother in a shocked whisper.
“Indeed.” My mother set her chin higher, a sure sign that she was fighting emotions, too. “Reagan, Jonathan, Jonathan’s assistant Alice, and myself.”
“But… why?” Flynn demanded, so honestly bewildered that I wanted to scoop him up, take him back to my hotel room, and not let him out until he understood just how amazing and valued he was.
“Because Alden had a bridal party to style last night,” I explained instead, pulling Flynn against my side and draping an arm over his shoulder to keep him there. “And Dan and Castor had to keep the Tavern open. My mother organized a whole troop of Honeybridgers to help pack things up yesterday, too. The Gentlepeople’s Society, the volunteers at the Log Cabin Museum, and a few others besides.”
“Wow. Thank you, Patricia,” Flynn said softly. “Truly.”
“Nonsense. No thanks needed. Honeybridge helps its own, and the town… loves you,” she admitted. She straightened and tucked a strand of her blonde bob behind her ear. “Which is only fitting for my future son-in-law.”
“Your future…what?” He sent a ferocious, adorable scowl in my direction.
Thank you, Mother. So helpful.
“Heh.” I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks burn. “It’s, ah… been a busy couple of days, baby. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’ve made some decisions that I really need to talk to you about—”
“But not now,” Mother warned. She put an arm around Flynn’s shoulders and steered him around the back of the booth, where there was relative privacy. “It’s almost noon, and I’ve seen the Ren Faire people walking around already. Since Reagan and I only know the bullet points about the Meadery and Alice is off chasing down leads for Jonathan, you, Mr. Honeycutt, need a wardrobe change immediately so you can get out there. It’sshowtime.” She pressed a Honeybridge Mead shirt into Flynn’s hand and gave him a small smile, then set her shoulders, shook her hair back, and strode out to greet the public like a modern-day Evita.
Flynn pressed the shirt to his stomach and frowned.
“Problem?” I asked, grabbing his free hand. “Is it my mother? She’s a lot, but I promise she means well.”
“No, I know. That’s not it.”
“Nerves again?”
