Her eyes flicked to his, seeing the earnestness, the steadiness, the fear that she might run again. Byrdie butted her head against Heather’s calf, purring louder, as if encouraging her to move.
Heather stepped aside.
Just a few inches.
But enough.
Flynn didn’t smile. Didn’t rush in. Didn’t exhale in triumph.
He simply nodded once and crossed the threshold.
Glenoran breathed again.
Chapter 12
Heather—Present Day
Heather’s knuckles whitened around the doorframe, her robe clutched tight as if it were armor.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Flynn didn’t flinch, but the hurt was unmistakable.
Something in him stilled, like he’d taken a blow right to the gut.
His jaw worked once before he answered, quiet and wounded.
“Right… And yet… here I am.”
Her chest squeezed painfully. She pivoted and strode toward the kitchen like she could outrun his hurt. She gripped the counter edge so hard the wood creaked.
“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Why would you want that?”
Flynn stopped just inside the doorway.
“You’re Flynn Duncan,” she snapped, panic tightening into something jagged. “You fix everything. You fix houses, you fix broken furniture, you fix people just by walking into a room.” She whirled on him, eyes burning. “And I’m—”
Her throat closed, but the words forced themselves out anyway.
“I’m the sad orphan whose parents left her. Whose Dad drank himself into an early grave. My mother apparently drowned chasing treasure like she thought she was IndianafuckingJones. That’s my history. That’s what you’re signing up for!”
Flynn’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak.
Heather’s voice rose, slamming against the walls.
“You deserve someone normal. Someone whole. Not someone constantly trying to stitch herself together before she falls apart again.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a trembling, wild, bitter laugh.
“How do you love someone who doesn’t even know what love is supposed to feel like? How do you stay with someone who keeps proving everyone right when they say she’s too much?”
“Stop.” His voice was firm.
But Heather barreled on, spiraling.
“How can you love someone who has never learned how? Someone who’s just going to—”
“Stop!” Louder now. Sharper.
