“Flint! You look so much better after a shower. Doesn’t a shower make everything better?” Dena winked at Flint and slid a plate of waffles and bacon in front of him.
“Yeah,” Flint grunted. “Sure.”
I ate a few bites of waffle, then looked at Dena. “Who was that man yelling at Flint when you came into The Gracie Spoon this morning?”
Flint shifted beside me.
Jocko looked away.
I frowned. Oh. There was a story here. And I was getting it before I left this stool.
“That was Quinn Dorsey,” Dena answered.
“Dorsey, as in Dorsey, Mississippi?” I choked.
Jocko nodded. “His family owns a lot of land around these parts. They founded the town.”
I looked at Flint. “Why does town founder family Dorsey have it in for you?”
Flint shoved two slices of bacon and half a waffle in his face to avoid answering me.
It’s like this man doesn’t know me at all.
I raised twin boys who were always up to no good. I knew how to turn on my best Momzilla Glare and get them to talk. All it took was waiting a bit for one of them to crack like a walnut.
I had the patience of Job.
Flint slowly chewed as he eyeballed me.
Yeah. Keep it up, General Cranky Pants. I got all day.
Dena laughed. “Oh, I like this one!”
Jocko turned off the stove and grabbed Dena’s hand. “Let’s leave them to it, shall we?”
They left the kitchen.
I crossed my arms, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t break eye contact with Flint.
He chewed even slower.
I waited.
A clock ticked on the wall over the stove.
I waited.
The wine cooler compressor kicked on with a hum.
I waited.
Flint finally put down his fork, wiped his mouth, and gulped. “There was an accident in high school that Quinn blames on me.”
I frowned and uncrossed my arms. “What kind of accident?”
“The kind that killed his sister.”
