Signs of Love: Spring

Chapter 6

Flynn barely slept. He tossed and turned and told himself to ignore the million butterflies lashing about in his chest.

He couldn't. There were too many moments between him and Jack that Flynn couldn't explain. He still felt the press of Jack's arm against his neck where he'd sunk back on the couch and accidentally touched.

His breath had suspended and Jack hadn't pulled away.

Neither had Flynn.

He opened his store ten minutes late, much to the disapproval of a harried customer who needed to get to work. When they left, he began his daily chores distractedly.

Now he was staring into space, flowers hazy around him. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself through the delicate perfumes of his store.

The bell dinged and refreshing spring air gusted inside, along with the subtle scent of coffee and confidence.

His eyes shot open to Jack, tousled and tired despite the fresh T-shirt and jeans. His booted step hit the floor with purpose, not stopping until he stood before him. "Morning, Flynn."

"I noticed your light on most of the night."

"I noticed yours."

"Couldn't sleep much."

"Neither could I." Jack turned toward the array of flowers. "I need a bouquet."

"I thought you were moving on from love horoscopes?"

"We are, I hope."

"Why the bouquet."

"I'd prefer to wrap this part of our relationship up nicely. One last one."

Flynn's stomach twisted, undecided which emotion to settle on.

He took his time making the bouquet, elongating Jack's visit. He poised his pen to the card and swallowed. "What do you want it to say."

Jack spoke softly, deliberately, and Flynn felt each word skip through his veins like maybe, just maybe they were meant for him.

"Leo, your man has enjoyed every second of your company. He loves how much you notice the little things about him. He notices the little details about you, too. Always has. If you open yourself up to it, a bright future awaits the both of you.

His fingers shook as he dealt with the till, and Jack leaned in and told him to keep the change.

He was halfway out the door when Flynn found his voice. "Wait. I think . . . I think Cynthia would want you to have one more too."

He turned around. "If she's not paying for it—"

"She's bought so many. It's on me."

Jack smiled. Big, wonderful—like something he'd wished for was coming true. He winked.

* * *

That wink filled him with light and kept him restless.

Flynn kept having to start over; he couldn't concentrate. That cheeky, sexy wink. Jack had stood, framed by the door, spring breeze gusting through his short hair.

He scrubbed his face and cursed at the violent emotions being excavated.

None of his usual excuses worked to bury them again, and he didn't want to.

He played over every meeting with Jack, reminisced about the months before that, the games of gaze-tag from their balconies.

He upturned his face and thought of Cynthia.