Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house the following weekend, slammed the door of my Porsche closed, then leaned my ass back against the car so I could grin down at my phone like a total sap.
Me: How generous are we talking, baby?
Firecracker: I’m feeling VERY generous.
My grin widened.
Me: Wow. You must really have a thing for this frog.
Me: He must be your favorite frog ever.
Me: The handsomest, smartest, sexiest frog in all the land.
Firecracker: Changed my mind. You can keep him.
I laughed out loud.
Me: What are you doing awake? You were so tired when you got back from taking your parents to the airport last night, and you looked so peaceful when I left, I didn’t want to wake you.
Firecracker: It’s 9AM. Can’t lay in bed all day, especially not all alone. Got a tiny little thing called Brew Fest on my calendar. You’ve maybe heard of it?
Me: But we knocked out half the Daydream you need for Brew Fest last night. And, BTW, whoever put the labels on those bottles and packed them for transport did a five-star job. Hope that’s going in my annual review.
Firecracker: I think what I like best about you is your humility, Jon.
I snort-laughed. I loved riling Flynn up, partly because I knew he enjoyed it, too. At least, he did these days.
Something had changed between us that night at the inn in Ogunquit a little over a week ago. Flynn had stopped erecting walls between us and had allowed himself to be vulnerable with me—at least when we were in bed together. And I’d stopped trying to delude myself that anything besides Flynn’s happiness was my top priority.
Me: Want me to come by again tonight and help out?
Three dots appeared and disappeared on Flynn’s side of the conversation, and I rolled my eyes. Clearly, not everything had changed.
Me: Let me rephrase. I’m coming over tonight. You can decide whether you want me to sit there shirtless while you bottle the mead so my abs can inspire you to greatness, or if you’d actually like me to do work.
Firecracker: You helped out nearly every night last week. Dan was gonna stay and help tonight.
I huffed out a breath.
Me: You’ll let DAN help, but not me? Come on.
Firecracker: I pay him, JT.
JT, I noted wryly. Not Frog. Not Jon. Someone’s hackles were up.
Me: You can pay me, too. Just not in cash. *Smiley emoji*
Firecracker: You don’t have to help me all the damn time, you know. That’s not what this is about. Summer fling, remember?
My heart beat thickly in the hazy, humid morning air.
Yes. I definitely remembered. I also knew the summer was not going to be long enough for me… and that, after what Flynn had said the other night at dinner, I wasn’t sure I was even going to get that long.
I didn’t know how Flynn had gotten the idea that I’d given up on signing Honeybridge Mead to the Fortress portfolio. It was true that I hadn’t mentioned it for a couple of weeks. There were so many moving parts involved in my new plan that I hadn’t wanted to get Flynn’s hopes up until Fortress gave final approval and Hayden was able to lock down the real estate we’d need. I couldn’t remember the exact words I’d said to Flynn that day in the woods—something about respecting his standards and understanding why he’d rejected the initial contract, maybe? But he’d clearly taken that to mean that I was walking away from the deal entirely. I wondered if maybe Flynn was just used to people walking away from him.
I’d opened my mouth to explain things right then and there, but the look on his face across that table—skittish, vulnerable, heartbreakingly defensive—had stopped me. That was the look of a man who was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Who was so scared of happiness that he was ready to build up a wall to push me out at the slightest provocation. Admitting that Fortress still considered Honeybridge Mead an active lead—especially when I couldn’t say for sure what contract terms I’d be able to offer—would be exactly the spark Flynn needed to set him off.
So I was stuck keeping a giant secret from him… for his own good.
It sounded terrible and felt even worse, but Flynn and I had so much history and hurt between us that this utterly illogical option was the only one that made sense for us.
And it had made this past week hell.
The only thing I could think of that might improve the situation was to help Flynn with Brew Fest prep. The more time I spent with him, the more chances I had of convincing him that I truly cared for him. And the more prepared he was for the festival, the more likely he’d be to win the whole damn thing, and the more choices he’d have.