“What makes you think the sunset is the best view?”
He turns, eyebrow raised. “You say the wildest shit sometimes.”
“You’re a handsome man, Flint. Women stare at you all the time. You just don’t notice.”
He freezes for a second, and then his eyes drift away. He carries the steaks over and puts them on the table. “Sit down and eat your dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a mock salute.
“Don’t call me sir. I’m not your boss at home, only at work.”
“If you’re telling me what to do at both places, you get called sir at both places.”
He shakes his head trying not to smile.
“You tell me to do things instead of asking. I don’t think you even realize you’re doing it,” I say matter-of-factly. Flint is a strong-willed man who’s used to getting his own way. But growing up with Tommy taught me skills for dealing with men who like to be in charge.
He shakes his head, and we settle down to eat. “You’re right. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I apologize.”
“I accept your kind apology. Now eat your damn steak.”
Flint chuckles. “It does seem weirdly controlling when you do it.”
We start eating. The cat starts weaving between our chairs as we eat in silence. When she jumps into my lap, I pet her with one hand and eat with the other. Flint glances down at her. When his eyes lift to mine, there is a seriousness that wasn’t there before.
“That sketch you were working on at the shop the other day.”
I keep petting her back, wondering why he’s taken a sudden interest in my sketches. “What about it?”
“I saw some of the other drawings in your sketchbook. They look kind of disturbing.”
My hand freezes for an instant on her back, and her head pops up to see why. I quickly start smoothing my hand down her back again.
“Disturbing, how?” I ask. Knowing full well what he means.
Flint’s head comes up, hard and fast. “Is this all about what you saw on the beltline, or did something else happen? Tell me, Jules.”
I hadn’t wanted to worry Tommy too much about what happened back in LA, so I’d not told him and Flint the whole weird story. I swallow the bite of food in my mouth and take a sip of my wine cooler. After Flint has been so kind to me it feels wrong lying to him, so I decide it’s time.
“About LA. It wasn’t just the man I saw—thought I saw—getting kidnapped,” I say, realizing I made the choice not to lie but still haven’t decided how much of my situation I want him to know. “But what happened afterward that made me come here.”
“What kind of stuff? What could have happened to give you nightmares?”
Now it’s my turn to be shocked. How does Flint know I have bad dreams?
As if intuiting my question, he explains, “I’ve heard you crying out in your sleep. I almost woke you up a time or two, butit stopped, so I decided to let you be. You can talk to me. You know you can.”
Sighing, I tell him, “It was the kind of stuff that I should have told my brother about and didn’t.”
He puts his fork down and waits patiently for me to continue.
I quickly take another sip of the wine cooler. I’m not stupid. I know I can trust Flint. I also know that if I don’t tell someone about this, I’m going to walk around with it locked inside me for the rest of my life.
“Somebody threw a rock through my front room window. It was a couple of days after the thing I saw go down on the beltline. It was late at night, and I was already in bed.”
“Jesus, that must have been terrifying.”
“Yeah, it was. When I heard the glass break, I thought somebody was breaking in. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door and called the police.”
