Flo’s eyes dust over my hand. “I went to visit the car wreck with my mom after the crash. I probably shouldn’t have. I was too young to witness something like that, but I was such a headstrong kid that I refused to let anyone tell me what to do.”
“Sounds like you.”
Flo lays her hand over the top of mine. “The doctors were right. Megan shouldn’t have survived. It barely looked like a car; more like a hunk of beaten-up metal.”
“Would getting a more modern car make you feel safer?”
Flo gives me a crooked smile. “Why? If I say yes, are you going to offer to buy me one?”
That question doesn’t warrant a response, because I’m delusional, apparently, so if Flo McKenna needed the newest car to make her feel safe when driving, I’d purchase her one in a heartbeat.
“I like my little Honda. Bought her with my own money. My parents offered to help pay for something a little nicer, but I wanted to do it on my own, and I’m proud of the effort I put in to saving for her.”
“Has anyone ever told you that your independence is endearing?”
“Nope, most people just roll their eyes.”
My chest rumbles with a laugh. “Oh, trustme, I do that too.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way, West.” Flo releases a breath. “Thank you for helping me do this. You could be spending it at Mae and Nathan’s game night, but instead, you’re parked up on the side of the road next to a pile of cow manure with me.”
“Of course, trouble. Cow manure beats Nathan and Mae, easy.”
Our gaze catches, and everything else blurs into the background. I want to memorise everything about this girl. I want her face scarred into my memory, so I can access it when I’m having a bad day.
It was a one-time thing.
What we did was a one-time thing, Evan.
Flo’s hands now move to grip the wheel again, and her face shows determination. “Shall we continue this?”
I gesture to the road. “When you’re ready.”
And in the quiet moment where Flo smiles sheepishly at me and pulls back onto the road, causing my body to flourish with triumph at what she’s accomplished today, it strikes me with a surprising force—I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do forthis woman.
“Nope.”
“Nah.”
“Hate it.”
My son’s sassy tone can be heard from downstairs as I return from practice, so I follow the voice to see him lying on his bed with Flo in front of him, holding a white knitted sweater. There’s a giant pile of clothing at her feet.
“What are you two doing?”
“We just got back from the petting zoo, and there was this really fashionable kid there, so Leo wanted to go through his wardrobe.” Flo shoots me a look that saysIt’s just a fashionista phase, don’t worry, before she wiggles the white sweater again, and Leo inclines his head.
“That one’s good.” He takes it from Flo and pulls it over his head, which is when I realise he’s already wearing three sweaters.
“Leo, little lion, you look like a giant marshmallow.”
My comment makes him giggle, but not a second later, he’s diving into the pile of clothes as if he’s competing for a gold medal, disappearing into the heap of fabric.
“Hmm, where’s my son gone?” Walking around the room, feet dangerously close to the pile of clothes, I place my hands on my hips and pretend I have no idea where Leo’s gone.
“I’m in here!” His voice is muffled under the pile.
“Who said that?” I murmur, spinning around.
