Page 27 of Flint

“What?”

I step forward and lower my voice. “Do me a favor and stall the whole project. I want…I need…” I glance back at the kids.

Kane gives me a knowing look. “I’ll tell him we have it covered for now, and we’ll let him know if that changes.”

I start to clap him on the back then think better of it. “Appreciate it.”

Ronnie

The boys haven't stopped talking about Flint since they came home. It’s more than just talking about Flint though. He’s the only person they want to talk to. They monopolize his attention through dinner, leaving me and grandma to exchange delighted looks.

“Time for bed,” I finally announce when they’ve spent the last hour on the floor in front of the fireplace showing Flint their collection of toy cars and trucks. He patiently sat with them, admiring every single toy they’ve showed him. He hasn’t once acted like they’re annoying him, and the hero worship that they’re sending his way is making my chest squeeze.

“Do we have to?” Brock asks Flint.

“Your mom makes the rules,” he agrees then says in a stage whisper, “She’s my boss.”

“She makes you?”

He nods. “She tells me what to do because she loves me.”

I start to make a noise of protest then cut it off. I barely know Flint. I can’t love him, but that’s not a discussion I’m having in front of the kids. Besides, that squeezing in my chest isn’t getting tighter. It’s not.

“Now, let’s clean up the toys,” Flint says.

When everything is tidy again, Branson looks at him. “Can you read us the bedtime book?”

He glances my way instead of answering. It’s slight, and when he sees my nod, he says, “I’d really like that. Let’s go pick out the story.”

I trail after them, quietly watching from the doorway.

He settles on the bottom bunk where both boys have snuggled together. He taps the reading light, turning it on and starts the story. He doesn’t just read to them. He makes the book come alive, doing funny voices and acting out the scenes. He’s a one-man theater playing to his audience. The twins’ sweet giggles fill the air as they listen and watch him, enraptured with every word.

He stays until they’re both softly snoring then wishes them good night before leaving the room. He pauses when he sees me in the hall.

I blink, thankful that the hall is dark, so he can’t see the sheen of moisture in my eyes. “You’re really great with them. But if they’re overwhelming you, I can tell them to leave you alone.”

“They’re great kids. You've done an awesome job with them.”

Something about his words soothes my heart. Maybe that’s the hardest part of being a single parent. There’s no one there to reassure you that you’re doing a great job, no one really in the trenches with you. I mean, I have my grandma but it’s not the same thing as having a partner. “I don't expect you to be anything to them.”

“I've been trying to make sense of it all day, how your husband could walk out on two of the world's most amazing kids, and the only conclusion I can come to is that he was a fucking idiot.”

I blink, keeping moisture back. I can cry later when he’s not watching me. “That was my conclusion too.”

He chuckles and something about the soft sound eases all my tension. There’s something about Flint, a feeling of safety I get around him. I think it’s the same thing that the kids sense. No wonder they’re so drawn to him.

“What about you?” Flint asks. “Do you need me to read you a bedtime story?”

It’s my turn to chuckle. “No, I'm going to turn in early for the night. Alone.”

He reaches for my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I know you're not used to being able to depend on the man in your life, but I'm different. You can come to me with anything you need. And while I can't promise that I can fix everything, I'm going to be there for you. You don’t have to deal with life alone.”

I start to sway closer to him then stop myself. “Good night, Flint.”

With those words, I hurry into his bedroom and close the door. I can’t listen to him standing there and making pretty promises without wanting him to hold me through the long night.

Chapter 13