I feel someone’s attention on me. Sure enough, when I glance over my shoulder, Junie’s staring.
I shove away from the truck bed and dust my gloved hands together.
I’ll thank him later.
Properly.
But in the meantime—“Back to work for me. Gotta pull my own weight at my own house.”
“No one doubts you’re pulling your own weight. And no one would care if you didn’t lift a finger.”
That hot prickle hits the backs of my eyeballs again.
I was on the road too much to feel like a part of my community in Cedar Rapids for the six years we filmed Dean’s show, and thenthe bombshell with my mom dropped, and there was no community after that.
Flint studies me.
I blink quickly. “I don’t take it for granted.”
He lifts his dark-copper brows.
“Feeling like I belong,” I explain. “And Junie too. I willnevertake that for granted. We needed somewhere to belong.”
He nods. “Good place to belong.”
It is.
It really, truly is.
Chapter 23
Flint
I’m working on lesson plans late Sunday night by the light of an old desk lamp over my small kitchen table when someone knocks at my door.
Sun set hours ago.
Opal would’ve called before coming over. Most friends in town too.
So who’s knocking softly, as if they’re half hoping I’m already asleep and won’t hear?
Definitely not Earl.
The bear would just crash through the door if he smelled something in here that he wanted.
Which means my suspicions about what’s waiting on the other side have my blood pumping and the hairs on my arms rising and my cock half-hard before I flip on the light and peer through the pane-glass door.
And there she is.
Maisey.
Standing on my small stoop, in a long-sleeved thermal covered with a puffy vest, her short hair just long enough to be tucked behind her ears, her eyes bright and alert, her arms crossed just under those gorgeous breasts.
Not an angry crossed.
More an uncertainI don’t know what else to do with my handscrossed.
She lifts one bare hand and gives me a small finger wave.
