“I could have paid for us to go out,” I say.
“Oh, sure. You’re right. I should have called and asked you to take me to dinner. What was I thinking?”
I open my mouth to tell him to swallow his pride, but I think he already did in order to tell me the truth.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“What were you thinking?”
I don’t know why I’m trying to hide my grin. He can’t see me. I love this feeling. Butterflies. Intrigue. Euphoria.
“I was thinking we should take a walk,” I say.
“A walk?”
“Yeah. A walk around the lake.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”
“Well, I work tomorrow. But they usually run out of things for me to do by three.”
“Perfect. My last tour ends at three, so let’s meet at four.”
“I could pick you up,” he says.
“Of course, you could. I’m pretty light.”
“Ha. Ha. You know what I mean.”
My face hurts from grinning. Is Flynn Morley the version of “normal” I’ve been searching for?
Chapter Eight
Flynn
I don’t hatemy job. I just don’t understand it.
One day, I’m mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges. The next, I’m taking Callie to see a movie—with goddamn subtitles. A dyslexic’s nightmare.
She doesn’t seem depressed or suicidal. Of course, I don’t know what that would look like. If anyone had a reason to feel that way, it would be me. There’s no way she’s been through anything like I’ve experienced. I’ve wanted to hurt people, maybe even kill a few. But through all the pain and feelings of abandonment, I’ve never once thought about ending things.
“I’ve always wanted a cat,” Callie says on the way to the car after the movie.
I have the rest of her popcorn that she didn’t eat, as well as half a bag of M&Ms which I dump into my mouth before they melt.
“A white cat, like the one in the movie,” she says.
“Then get a white cat,” I mumble over the chocolate while opening her door.
“Rupert doesn’t like cats. He’s a dog person. Sally, our dog, died last year. He was heartbroken.”
“Explains the dog wash in the garage,” I say before closing her door.
After I get into the driver’s side, I stow the bag of popcorn on the floor behind her seat. “Who came up with the name Sally,” I ask.
