Signs of Love: Spring

Chapter 4

Flynn's stomach was one tangled knot. He crafted three different texts—excuses not to go over—but shook his head and deleted them every time. It was just dinner. They were adults now. Flynn could put this tenderness behind him.

Besides, this way he could talk up Cynthia and help her land her dream guy. When they married, they'd hire him . . .

Flynn groaned and did what any good procrastinator would do: leafed through his unopened mail. Bill, bill, another bill. Something from his landlord. Shit, that couldn't be good.

Distraction from his riotous belly?

He grabbed a knife and cut into it.

For fuck's sake. Worst decision ever.

He grabbed his phone and prepared another excuse. Before he could send it, his phone vibrated.

Jack: Your living room light is on and your curtains are open. I can see you thinking how to text your way out of dinner.

Flynn's head shot up. Framed in one of his windows, Jack stood. Another buzz.

Jack: Don't text your way out of dinner?

Jack: My door is open.

Reluctantly, Flynn filed the letter, grabbed a bottle of wine, and choked its neck all the way into the rosemary-scented warmth of Jack's home. He toed off his shoes and called Jack's name, following the delicious herbal aroma and familiar indie music.

The narrow kitchen was pretty, all natural woods and turquoise ceramic tiles, overflowing with baskets of fresh herbs. In the center of the room, Jack orchestrated pots, pans, and boards of prepped vegetables like a conductor.

His hips swayed to the chorus and he hummed along to the gentle beats from a speaker at the open window.

Onions sizzled in a pan, and Jack poured in a jar of pureed tomatoes, quelling the sound.

Flynn stared from the doorway, his grip on the wine bottle loosening, and admired Jack's ease; the same coolness he'd admired at school.

Jack smiled. "What are your thoughts on garlic?"

"The more the merrier."

"Excellent. We'd never make it, otherwise."

Flynn moved to the counter and set down the wine. A quick survey of the utensil jars, and he found the corkscrew. "Your plants are looking healthy."

"You sound surprised."

"The fiddle-leaf in the living room is crying for attention."

Jack plucked a watering can off the top cupboard and filled it with water. "Take care of stirring the sauce."

When Jack returned a minute later, Flynn raised a brow. "I would've watered it."

"I didn't invite you over here to work, Flynn."

Flynn dropped his gaze, stomach fritzing. He eyed the wooden spoon. "Better hand this back, then."

A laugh.

"Where are the wine glasses?"

"Bottom left."

Flynn poured them each a generous glass.

Jack eyed the amount. "Nervous are we?"

"And depressed. Cheers."

Flynn clinked his glass to Jack's stilled one.

"Depressed?"

Flynn waved it off. "It's nothing. Don't worry."

Flynn downed half of his wine.