The Way Love Goes

by Pauline Saull

  »»•««

  Freya spent the afternoon in the garden after leaving Mickey’s. She’d read up on fruit trees and was busy pruning a small old apple tree, in an attempt to keep her mind off Flynn. It was, she thought, a useless situation. He wanted his golf course, she’d made her mind up he could have it, and then what?

  She’d get her business up and running, but would it be enough?

  Going back to Philadelphia and another accountancy job wasn’t remotely in the picture, besides which, right now she didn’t want to sell the house her father had lived in for so long.

  Her cell phone rang, and pulling it from her pocket, she flicked it open, saw the number, and waited breathlessly. There was a brief silence, and then Flynn’s deep voice filled her senses, sending shivers down her spine.

  “Hi. Nice seeing you earlier.”

  Freya bit her lip. “How can I help you, Flynn?”

  “Yeah, well. I’ve quickly realized you’re not a woman who suffers fools gladly, so I’ll come straight out with it. You know of my interest in that land of yours, my question is, if you haven’t any plans for it yourself, will you sell it to me?”

  Freya contained a sigh. “I have no plans for it. I know it’s silly for me to hold on to it when it’s wanted for something else. Besides, if I intend to stay here, the money will come in useful.”

  There was a silence, and then, “Oh. Okay, well thanks for that. Look, it’s a little difficult over the phone. May I come by? I promise not to take up too much of your time. I appreciate you may have other things to do.”

  “I’m pruning an apple tree right now, nothing more, Flynn. Yes, by all means come over.”

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  Freya closed her phone and walked into the house thoughtfully. The decision already being made calmed her. Before today, knowing he’d be calling in, she’d have raced upstairs, showered, and changed in a mad flurry of excitement. Now, with apparently all the cards on the table, she just wanted the whole thing signed, sealed, and finished with. Nevertheless, hearing the sound of his car, her stomach somersaulted. She tucked the loose shirt into her jeans and, taking a deep breath, walked along the hall and opened the door as Flynn was getting out of his car, a roll of paper beneath his arm. He walked to the steps, and Freya felt the familiar thrill surge through her.

  “Hi.” He grinned, his glance flickering over her. “I thought you were kidding. Pruning. There are bits in your hair.” He stretched out and held up a twig. “Pruning’s heavy work. Can’t Ian do it?”

  “I was enjoying it.”

  “Mm.”

  Freya held the door back. “Come in.”

  She walked back down the hall into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Beer?”

  “No, thanks. No Lucy today?”

  “She’s taken the car in to San Jose for some stuff.”

  “Ah. Pretty lady. I like her.”

  “We go back a long way,” Freya said.

  “Yeah. Oh, mustn’t forget to tell you, Ma said she was going to call you regarding the dresser, but if I were you, I’d call her. She’s been running around like a headless chicken the last couple of days so may have forgotten.”

  “I’ll do that.” Freya placed a jug of iced mint and lemon on the table, collected two glasses, and poured the liquid with a surprisingly steady hand. “Take a seat,” she said.

  Flynn pulled out a stool and laid the roll of paper on the table.

  Freya, still standing, looked at him calmly. “The golf course.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be perfectly frank with you, Freya. I made the mistake of taking Archie’s word that he’d sell, and I shouldn’t have, I know that.” He smiled ruefully. “It was a real bad business decision.”

  “Do you think he meant to mislead you?”

  Flynn shook his head. “No. Maybe he had other things on his mind which distracted him. I didn’t want to harry him, so sat back and waited.”

  “And he died without including anything about the land sale to you in his will?”

  “Put like that it sounds a little harsh, Freya.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to, but it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  Flynn shrugged. “I guess. I will always puzzle over his change of mind.”

  “I can understand that.” Freya walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite him. “We’ll never know, will we?”

  Flynn frowned. “Nope. Mike seems to think it was concern over you, you know, suddenly remembering, ‘Heck I’ve a daughter to think about,’ but I don’t buy that. What I mean is, had he sold to me before he died the monies would have been yours now anyway.”

  Flynn leaned over, resting his forearms on the table. “I really would love that land for my golf course, Freya. With the well it’s absolutely ideal. And that water supply obviously pumps the price up in your favor.”

  “Nice pun!” Freya pushed her hair off her damp neck. When those blue eyes focused on her, she found it hard to think straight. “Flynn, two hundred acres is no good to me. I can’t look after it, nor do I wish to. But I have to say, from the beginning I was reluctant because a developer,” she looked at him steadily, “could buy that land then do what the heck he wanted with it. I don’t want a poultry farm or a firearms club, or whatever else at the bottom of my garden!”

  Flynn smiled. “I understand. And you’re quite right, there have been instances where land has been, shall we say, inveigled from owners in the developer’s own interests? But let me assure you”—he unrolled the paper and held it flat with his hands—“the planning consent is for a first-class golf course only, which these plans and papers show. May I?” He stood, walking around the table to place the drawing in front of her.

  Standing behind her, he leaned over her shoulder. “See there,” he pointed to a large blue oval, “that will be a lake flooded by water from the well, a haven for birdlife. Over here, farthest away from your home will be a small clubhouse. On the rest of the course I intend keeping as many trees as possible, there are some beauties down there, blue oak, cedar, sugar pine, alder sycamore, and a fantastic show of native blazing star.”

  Freya could feel his breath waft against the side of her face, smell the fresh tang of aftershave, and she found herself studying his hand holding the plan down, slender with a smattering of dark hair, the neatly clipped nails. She recalled clearly the day of the barbeque, those hands, tender yet strong, holding her. Their closeness, the feel of him, and what she thought he’d said still had the power to make her insides quiver.

  “It sounds fascinating,” she said. “I, um, went down there with Lucy but I had no idea there was such a diversity of trees.”

  Flynn took the chair beside her. “It’s a beautiful tract of land, Freya,” he enthused, “and should I be fortunate enough to own it, I intend keeping it that way, and in fact enhancing it.”

  He’d turned to look at her as he spoke, and they were close. Close enough for Freya to see the true beauty of his eyes, the tiny mole above his well-shaped upper lip, and how he caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he began rolling the plan.

  The top button on his shirt was open and she stared at a spot at the base of his throat, the tanned skin, and felt an unexpected stab of longing.

  “So that’s my sales pitch,” Flynn said with a smile. “Shall I leave you to consider it?”

  “No…”

  He looked at her, startled.

  “You didn’t need a sales pitch, Flynn, I’d already made up my mind. You see, I need the money.”

  Flynn’s eyebrows rose. “You do?”

  “Yes, I’m planning on opening a small business, a boutique inn, or B&B, and I thought as an added bonus to my prospective guests it would be good to offer them free use of the nineteen-hole golf course at the end of the garden.”

  Flynn laughed quietly. “Oh, I like that. Yes, I think that’s an excellent idea. When do you hope to be up and running?”

  Freya smiled slowly. “As soon as
I have your money in my bank.”

  “Sounds great to me. I get my golf course, and you stay in Morvenna. I’d call that a good deal.” And leaning over, he kissed her. It was meant for her cheek, but as she turned her head, it landed on the corner of her mouth.

  “Oh!” Freya said.

  They drew back, looking into each other’s eyes. Flynn’s had darkened. She felt his breath waft over her parted lips and closed her eyes in pure bliss as she felt the pressure of his mouth, his gorgeous mouth, on her own. He pulled away, eyes unreadable.

  “Thanks for everything, Freya,” he said. “I’ll get the surveyor to do another valuation. I suggest for your own peace of mind you do the same.”

  “Who will you be using?” she asked levelly, though inside she was shaking.

  “Thomson Jones & Co. They’re old friends of Ma and Pa and have an excellent reputation.”

  “Then that’s good enough for me. I shan’t bother requesting another.” Freya rose to her feet. She had the strangest feeling of something lost. Not the land—the fact that once the deal went through there would be no further need for Flynn to call on her.

  They were walking down the hallway to the porch and she could think of nothing to say. Flynn opened the door and turned to look at her.

  “I, hey, look, I don’t want this to sound rude, but if you need money, well, the banks charge exorbitant rates, I’ll push through a hefty deposit right away.” He held up his hand and smiled. “Don’t thank me. You’ve done me a great favor. Would you, um, consider celebrating the sale with me? I’d like to very much. What about you?”

  “Yes,” Freya said. “That would be cool. Thanks.”

  “Good. Is Sunday okay? We could go to The Green Frog.” He saw her face and smiled. “It doesn’t serve frog’s legs. The owners collect porcelain ones, they’re mad on them!”

  “Oh, it’s not that, it’s just, well…I’m going out on Sunday.”

  Flynn’s eyebrows rose. “A date?”

  Freya blushed and said, not unkindly, “You can be very nosy sometimes.”

  “Must be the Irish in me. Okay, how about Saturday then?”

  “Saturday’s fine.”

  Flynn nodded. “Cool. I’ll collect you Saturday. Six thirty okay?”

  “Oh!”

  “A problem?”

  “I assumed lunch…?”

  He grinned. “Then you assumed wrong.” And he waved, ambled down the steps, and climbed into his car.

  Freya walked back into the kitchen, picked up their glasses and the jug, and took them to the dishwasher. She was on a high. A dinner date with Flynn!

  She set the dishwasher to run and went to Skype Sammy.

  “Hi, Sis,” she said as her sister appeared. “Questions for you. When you met Joe, how did you feel?”

  “Feel?” Sammy echoed. “Shoo, Joe,” she said over her shoulder. “We’re talking about you. Mm, excited of course. My gorgeous Italian lover? Who wouldn’t be excited? I was mad about him. Still am.”

  “Yeah. So, shaky legs, blood coursing through your veins at his nearness, out of control when he looks at you?”

  Sammy giggled and leaned closer to the screen. “Are you on something? Listen, hon, he’s gorgeous, good company, and a kind, generous man. What more could any woman ask for? We have,” she added, “been married eight years remember.”

  »»•««

  Freya closed the computer thoughtfully. The feelings Sammy had described didn’t come close to the emotional upheaval Flynn caused in her, nor could she see the passing of time changing that.

  Picking up her car keys, she went out, locking the door behind her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Freya found a parking spot and made her way to Margaret’s shop.

  “Freya!” Margaret called out in delight on seeing her. “Flynn’s just told me the news! He’s thrilled to bits. And I’m of course pleased for him. Thank you, dear, I’m sure you won’t regret it. He’ll do a wonderful job.”

  “Well …” Freya accepted the kiss. Jeepers, he works faster than the bush telegraph!

  “Now then,” Margaret rummaged for her diary, “I meant to call you but I’ve been run off my feet again, how would Friday afternoon suit you for the finishing touches?”

  “Yes, Friday’s fine. Flynn said how busy you are.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes. “You can say that again. I bought another six pieces of furniture for orders. I can’t keep up. Though I am,” she added with a smile, “a glutton for punishment. I do love creating something from old throwaway bits. And there will be more! Rochelle’s just taken Flynn to her parents’ house. They have stuff they want gone.” Margaret smiled and closed her diary. The shop bell tinkled and a couple walked in.

  “I’ll leave you to your customers,” Freya whispered.

  “Okay, dear. See you Friday after I close. About five fifteen.”

  Freya drove home feeling irritable and upset.

  He must have been unable to wait to see Rochelle and give her the good news.

  How pathetic I am. Freya yanked the hand brake on as she drew up outside her house. The man can see whoever he wants to see. What do I care?

  Before going inside, she walked around the back of the house. Ian had gone, the shed was locked up, and everywhere looked neat and tidy.

  Indoors, Freya switched on the TV and trawled through the channels. But nothing caught her attention and she finally gave up, showered, and went to bed.

  But once more, sleep was long in coming. She lay awake, hands behind her head, going over the extraordinary events of the last months. The inheritance, Archie, her move to California, meetings with Margaret, Ron, Donna, Mike, Tim. And then the land and Flynn.

  Sammy’s final words after their ongoing conversation rang in her head. “You’ve done the right thing selling, Sis. He’ll be out of your life now, so concentrate on Tim instead of this Flynn character. He’s got what he wanted. Let him have his Rochelle! All that talk of wobbly legs and stuff doesn’t last, you know. You’ll get over him.”

  “Not quite as easy as that,” Freya had retorted.

  Whereupon Sammy had sighed and said, “I fear you’re beyond hope, Sis. You have to get over this guy, you know.”

  Sammy was right, she supposed. But that was easier said than done when you’d discovered a wonderful, slightly scary love for someone—a feeling too precious and new to share with anyone, even a sister, right now.

  She hadn’t closed the curtains, enjoying instead the twinkling deep black sky. Turning on her side, staring out at the vast star-speckled darkness, her eyelids drooped. She snuggled beneath the quilt.

  What would happen?

  It was too much to think about. An owl hooted nearby causing her to smile before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  »»•««

  The following morning, Lucy started work at the kitchen table cutting the lengths for the new curtains for the lounge. Freya took down the old ones and after bagging them, washed the windows and paintwork.

  “Freya, could you pop into town, hon? I’ve managed with these scissors so far, but they’re getting to the stage where they wouldn’t cut hot butter. I need something stronger.”

  “Sure. I’ll be half an hour.” Freya collected her car keys and drove to the hardware shop, buying the sturdiest, sharpest pair of scissors on sale there. About to get into her car, she saw Flynn and Rochelle—he, standing by the open door of his car, and she, laughing, flicking back her sleek blonde hair, reaching over to touch his arm. Freya thought she saw her run a finger along it before walking across the parking lot toward High Street.

  Flynn glanced her way, saw her, and got into his car. Freya, in hers, started the engine and heard the familiar car’s low, throaty growl as it drew up beside her.

  “Hi,” he called out.

  Freya feigned polite surprise. “Oh, hello.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Of course. Everything is just fine.”

  “Until Saturday the
n,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Yeah. It will be nice. The Green Frog, you said?”

  “Yup. Great food, and the company will be good.”

  Freya smiled weakly, waved, closed the window, and drove off. After Saturday, she promised herself, I am going to get myself in order good style over that man!

  The deal on the land was due to be signed the following week, and then that would be the end of Flynn O’Neill in her life. All thoughts of love would have to be quashed.

  »»•««

  Margaret arrived on Friday with what she laughingly referred to as tools of the trade.

  “Basically a large tin of wax, two rolls of sandpaper, and soft polishing cloths,” she said, following Freya into the kitchen. “Oh, love the cupboards, they look fantastic. And hey, you’ve done a great prep job on the dresser. I’m impressed.”

  “Cup of tea?” Freya asked.

  “Love one, thanks.”

  Freya sat sipping her tea watching.

  “First,” Margaret said, “I sandpaper down to the wood on the places we want to look distressed. See? Then clean it.” She stepped back, head to one side. “Well?”

  Freya rose to stand with her. “I love it, Margaret. I really do.”

  “Me too. Enough, do you think?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Less is more I always say.” She took out a cloth and opened the wax. “It’s important at this stage to really rub the wax into the exposed areas. It sort of leaches under the edges of the paint and gives it the distressed look. Here,” she handed Freya a cloth, “have a go.”

  As they worked, Margaret said nonchalantly, “Flynn tells me you’re going to the Green Frog tomorrow to celebrate.”

  “Yes.” Freya polished vigorously.

  “The chef is brilliant,” was all Margaret said.

  With the dresser finished and her basket packed, Margaret gave Freya a receipt for her check.

  “I wonder, Freya…do you intend on going back to work anytime?”

  Freya folded the receipt. “Not work as such. Has Flynn mentioned I might apply for a business license?”

  “He has. And I think it’s a brilliant idea. The town needs something like that. Hard work though. I wonder, in the meantime, would you consider something?”