I checked the kitchen and found it empty. Though I was surprised to see several unopened Styrofoam to-go boxes on the counter, as well as a bottle of white wine on the table with two glasses. That was pretty unusual. Flynn wasn’t a drinker. Thinking about it, I had never seen him drink anything other than water or fruit juice.
What was he up to?
I walked down the hallway, Murphy padding behind me. I pushed open our bedroom door and found Flynn fiddling with flowers in a vase on my bedside table.
“Whatcha doin’?” I asked softly. Flynn didn’t look up. He was too busy sorting the bright yellow flowers.
“They won’t stay where I want them to,” he mumbled, rearranging the flowers over and over again.
I came up behind him and carefully put my arms around his waist. “Those are pretty. Are they Black-eyed Susans?” I asked. Flynn was clearly getting frustrated with the less than cooperative flowers. Every time he arranged them, he’d grunt and start over again. There were petals all over the table and floor from his rough handling.
“There won’t be any flowers left if you don’t leave them alone,” I teased.
“I want them to be perfect. They’re your favorite. I just want them to look nice,” Flynn remarked, sounding annoyed.
“They’re for me?” I asked, wondering what the special occasion was. Flynn wasn’t what you would call aromantic guy. I was beyond surprised.
“I wanted to get something nice for you. Leonard says I should do things that make you happy. That in order to have a healthy relationship, we have to make each other feel good. And you make me feel good all the time. I want to make you feel good too,” Flynn said, finally giving up on arranging the flowers and dropping his hands to his sides.
“It seems I’m discussed a lot between you and Leonard,” I said lightly. Flynn had brought up my coming with him to see his counselor many times since I had moved in. I refused to commit one way or another. Therapy had always been a sore subject with me. And I felt a little weird knowing I was the source of a conversation I wasn’t privy to.
“We talk about you a lot,” Flynn responded without compunction. As though discussing our relationship with other people was no big deal.
I swallowed down my flare of anger and instead focused on the pretty flowers beside the bed. No sense in starting an argument when he was trying to be sweet. We’d discuss the whole talking about Ellie in therapy another time.
“Where did you get them? I figured they’d all be dead this time of year,” I said, my voice a little strangled as I, less than deftly, changed the subject.
Flynn patted my arm that was still wrapped around his middle before pulling away. “I got them from the flower shop in town. Maureen grows them in the green house for me.”
I touched the delicate petal with my finger. “Oh yeah? Why is that?” I asked.
“I get some every week when it’s cold out and they don’t grow in the garden anymore,” Flynn answered, not really answering anything.
I cocked an eyebrow, a smile on my face. “Every week? Really? I didn’t think you were the flower kind of guy,” I commented.
Flynn shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis and shrugged. “I liked to keep them around because they reminded me of you.” He said it like it didn’t matter.
But it mattered. Dear god, it mattered.
I walked towards him. “They remind you of me?”
Flynn nodded, looking at me almost shyly, as though he had confessed something he hadn’t meant to.
“I missed you when you were gone, Ellie. It made me sad. So I wanted something here that made me smile.”
My heart beat in triple time, wanting to leap out of my chest. I thought again about Reggie and how sad and pathetic she had seemed at Darla’s. I had been going down that same path for so long.
I had partied and used drugs without thinking anything of it. I had slept around without giving my heart to anyone. I had been lonely and miserable and had hated absolutely everyone.
But most of all I had hated myself.
And this man standing in front of me had changed all of that. By loving me unconditionally, he had resurrected an Ellie that I had thought dead and buried.
Flynn had taught me that living was more than breathing. And that earning and deserving love were battles worth fighting.
“I picked up dinner on my way home. I went to Ma’s Diner and made sure to get two slices of Key Lime Pie. It’s your favorite. And I got some more of that caramel crème sweetener for your coffee,” Flynn continued.
He wanted me to be happy. He wanted me to feel comfortable and at home. And even if he had yet to tell me the words, his love was in everything he did.
