He’s quiet for a long time.
I don’t offer any more.
I’ve put enough of myself out there to satisfy even the most grizzled Maisey-hater.
“Okay,” he finally says.
I slide a look at him over another sip of sparkling water.
He lifts his hands. “Okay,” he repeats. “If we can get the school’s liability insurance to cover things out here, would you reconsider?”
“Yes.”
He studies me a minute longer. Then his gaze dips to my lips. My neck. And back up again. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Junie asks from the doorway. She looks between us, and it does not take an expert in teenager to know what’s going through her brain.
Why is the enemy in here with my mom?
She doesn’t overtly call him the enemy, but I know she’s pissed at both of us for the soccer situation. And she told me she gets it—multiple times—but she can both get it and still be pissed.
“Suggesting that I ask the team if they’d be up for you trying out to fill in on days when we have someone out for whatever reason,” Flint answers. “No limit on equipment managers, and you could practice with us. Good solution to a clear problem.”
I might have missed too much of the last six years of my daughter’s life, but I donotmiss the suspicion darkening her brown eyes. “What’s really going on?”
“I was being loud with the sledgehammer, and Mr.Jackson came to investigate—” I start the same time Flint speaks too.
He lifts the quilted bag. “Delivering dinner for you two. Moving sucks, and the last time I was at the house, the oven was acting up. Figured you’d like a home-cooked meal.Andit gave us a chance to negotiate the soccer situation.”
The utter disbelief rolling off her is brutal. “My mom isnotinterested in dating right now.”
“Junie.”
“You just got divorced. You’re vulnerable. And I don’t like how he’s looking at you.”
“Juniper Louisa Spencer.”
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she rolls her eyes, flicks one last dismissive glance at Flint, then looks back at me. “It’s getting dark. I got worried and didn’t want you walking home alone in the dark.”
Crap.
My eyes go hot again. “Thank you, sweet—Junie. I’m coming. I’ll finish this tomorrow. Or next week. Let me close the barn door, okay?”
“I’ll walk you both back,” Flint says.
I cut Junie off with a look before she can sass him again. “Thank you.”
“Earl gets hungry this time of night.”
He’s joking.
I think he’s joking.
Probably.
Maybe.
But the point stands. We should get back to the house. I test my legs as I shove off from the wall, waiting a moment to see if the black dots will come back into my vision. “How do ranchers keep their cows alive with all the animals that want to eat them out here?”
