Shaking himself from morbid thoughts, he stared at the modest bungalow they’d parked at. “I like his house.”
It was red brick with white trim and a small front porch. A tall man with the same features as Bristowe rose from a porch swing to stand at the top of the steps, hands tucked in his pockets. His hair was receding at the temples, but it was the same curly dark brown as his daughter’s. His eyes were also dark, and Flynn could see they shared the same mouth and nose.
“Did you inherit anything from your mother?”
“Her temper, maybe.”
That made him chuckle as he slid from the car and stretched his legs.
“Dad,” she said as she climbed the steps.
“I’m so glad you came, B.” David wrapped his arms around her, then turned to Flynn. “Is this your young man?”
“God, don't call him that.” Giggling, Bristowe held out a hand. Taking the steps slowly, Flynn clasped her hand with his. “This is Flynn Redford, and this is my dad, David.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Well, Barb would be proud of his manners.
“No need to call me sir. I’m happy to know you, Flynn.”
“Thanks, s—uh, you too.”
“Should we go inside?”
David led the way, and Flynn had to smile to himself at the way Bristowe tightened her grip on his hand. On the inside, the house was just as modest as the outside. Nothing frilly or terribly expensive, just a life well lived. Relaxing, Flynn realized there was nothing to be intimidated about.
“I set out some things for sandwiches, if that’s okay. Being a bachelor, I don't really cook that often.”
And he relaxed further. “I know the feeling.”
“Though he’s willing to learn,” Bristowe interjected.
“All I know how to make is a solid red sauce.”
“Gravy, as my grandparents called it.” David pointed to the counter where he’d left bread, cold cuts, and cheeses. “Never picked up on it myself.”
“His mother taught him how to make it.”
Flynn shot her a look, but she’d faced away from him to take glasses out of the cupboard. He wasn't sure if she hadn't told her father that he’d been a foster kid, or if she didn't think it was her place to talk about it.
“Barb, my foster mother, tried her best, but I wasn't interested in learning at the time. I wish I’d listened a little more.”
The smile on Bristowe’s face was blinding when she turned to set the glasses down. “His brothers better learn before it’s too late.”
“Hasn't one of them moved in with you?” David asked.
Well, that answered that question. “Yeah, Lochlan has. He didn't pick up on cooking either, unfortunately. We’re now two bachelors stuck with ramen and grilled cheese.”
David chuckled. “Fending for yourself in the real world is a whole different ball game.”
To his surprise, Flynn enjoyed the hell out of the afternoon. David was friendly, nonjudgmental, and laid back. Bristowe had told him that was the case, but apparently he hadn't truly believed her until he saw it with his own eyes. They sat on the porch in the shade and watched the neighbors walk, bike, or skate past the house. They talked about Bristowe’s job, Flynn’s job, his brothers, and what he planned for the future. David talked a little about himself, his job as a used car salesman, and the elderly couple next door he often helped out.
When it was time to head home, Flynn was a bit reluctant to leave.
David shook his hand, standing at the same place he’d greeted them. “You come back whenever you want, son.”
Though it was a casual moniker that meant nothing, Flynn’s heart beat faster and his mouth grew dry. “Thanks.”
The ride home was mostly silent. Flynn had more to contemplate than he’d bargained for when he agreed to be part of Bristowe’s life.
