His brother sniggered. “Do you know how to build a float?”
“Not the point.” He knew how to Google. Choosing between the fun designs Sierra had helped the kids create—that was the hard part. “I think, after all their other epic bad choices, the Marshals Service did us a favor dropping us in this tiny, weird town. We could make lives here. Be happy. Rafe’s already pretty well planted with Mollie. But as long as there’s a chance it could disappear, isn’t it stupid to let ourselves, well, care?”
Kellan dropped the funny face. Grabbed him by the shoulders, looked at him intently, and with utter somberness said, “YOLO.”
Flynn jerked out of his grasp. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sure, Kellan was the jokester of the family. But Flynn didn’t drop his guard very often. Not anymore. Couldn’t K play along and be serious for five freaking minutes?
Kellan didn’t seem phased by Flynn’s flare of temper. “YOLO—you only live once. Were we happy leaving Chicago? Hell, no. But when we were busy licking our wounds about that, we made ourselves even more miserable. And we fought like three fucking betta fish dumped into one bowl.”
“It sucked.” Being at odds with his brothers was the last thing Flynn had ever wanted. It was supposed to be the three of them against the world. For a while there, it felt like every man for himself.
Flynn didn’t ever want to feel that way again. Even if a lot of it had been his own damn fault.
“It still does, sometimes. It’s getting better. We’re getting better. Worrying about what’ll happen at the trial will only make every day until then a living hell. So live in the moment. Be the king of the bar tonight. Then go kiss your pretty girlfriend and call it a good night’s work.”
The kid was right. Flynn stood and ruffled his little brother’s hair. “When did you get to be so smart?”
“Did you see the size of my law school textbooks? I know things now. Lots of things I’ll never get to use. Doesn’t matter. Law school was a different moment. I’ve moved on.”
“Have you?” Because the mere fact that Kellan brought it up meant it was still a big fucking deal to K.
Flynn didn’t care that he wasn’t running the construction company anymore. It turned out he liked tending bar—making up drinks, the back-and-forth with regulars, helping people celebrate or wash away a bad day. Rafe had turned his hobby of working on cars into a job here. Kellan was the only one of them who still seemed to not have clue one as to what to do for a living.
Aside from the fact that he hated the cranberry plant.
“I’m working on it. Don’t hassle me when you’re the one so paranoid that you’re whispering over a speaker.”
Flynn plugged it in, then finally put his mouth right over the mic for a check. “Kellan Maguire is my favorite brother because he trusts that life is good. And he makes kick-ass egg salad.” His announcement made the table in the corner turn and giggle. It made Kellan duck his head and stare at his feet.
“Can I have that beer now?”
“K, you just cleared out the cobwebs in my head. You can have all the beer you want tonight. On me.”
Too bad it wasn’t as easy to get back on even footing with Rafe. His actual favorite brother, not that he’d ever say so. A free beer wouldn’t cut it. Not after he’d been such an asswipe to him. Flynn didn’t have a clue in hell where to start with that.
Chapter Ten
Sierra hitched herself onto a stool to give her aching feet a ten-second break. It was almost midnight, so things were finally slowing down on this crazy busy Saturday. Not that she was complaining. It turned out that drunk fishermen were generous tippers.
“You’re staying to close, right?” Mariana asked.
“To the bitter end.”
“Take your fifteen now, then, so you get a rest in before I go. I’ll do a sweep through your tables and make sure they’re taken care of. If you know what I mean . . .” And then she gave an exaggerated wink and burst into a hearty laugh.
“Thanks.” Mariana wasn’t the kind of person she’d ever had as a friend before. Big and bold and unabashedly flirtatious. She didn’t hold back on anything, and Sierra kind of loved that about her. Sierra hoped that she could learn to channel some of that brashness and come out of the shadows.
She’d spent all her years in foster care trying to be invisible. At both of her art schools, everyone did their own thing and barely noticed the other students. If Sierra was truly going to take a stand and declare that Bandon would be her home, her place to belong, then she needed to be a little more bold.
Flynn was a great place to start. Being bold with him got her lots of long, lusty kisses. She looked at his dark head, the gorgeously thick hair that she loved to thread her fingers through. It was bent in concentration on a line of four glasses in front of him. He wasn’t working at his usual breakneck pace. He was just sort of . . . considering the drinks.
“Whatcha got going over there?”
“A surprise for you.”
“I like the sound of that. But I haven’t done anything to deserve a surprise.”
“Sweetness, you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’ve given me the best week I’ve had in months.”
Sierra’s first thought was how sad that made her. Gratified that she could make such a difference. But also sad that Flynn had been so unhappy that just spending time with her was such a treat.
On the other hand? When his words settled into her brain? She felt exactly the same way about him. Like she’d been just floating through life, and Flynn had finally anchored her safely. She wasn’t scared all the time anymore. Opening up and being truly herself with him was a gift that had opened her heart back up. He listened to her as if every word truly mattered. Not to mention the connection that defied description. It was just an . . . ease. Knowing she’d say whatever was in her heart and he’d get it. He’d get her.
It made her realize how much Rick hadn’t listened, hadn’t gotten her. That he’d pretty much used her, kept dating her for his own profit. It made his betrayal of her a little easier to bear.
Just a little.
Sierra beamed at Flynn. Channeling Mariana’s boldness, she said, “I feel exactly the same way about you. This week has been amazing, Flynn. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”
“Next is you trying your surprise.” He beckoned her closer. Sierra shifted over two stools. “Realized something as I was thinking through a specialty cocktail for Elena.”
She eyed the purply-pink drinks lined up on the bar. “Ooh, what are you making for her?”
“I’m working on a couple different options. But these aren’t for her. They’re for you.”
“You’re making me my very own drink?” Nobody had ever done anything like that for her before. No foster parent made her cookies when she was having a bad day or brought home a great report card. Nobody in art school drew her a picture. Sierra absolutely loved Flynn’s surprise.
“Of course. I’ve got to make a Sierra Special. I’m honing in on the right recipe, but you should taste and vote.”
“What are they?”
“You told me how much you like blackberries. I’m trying to make the ultimate Blackberry Pie Martini for you.”
“Might as well just fill a glass with sugar cubes,” Mick grumbled. He tugged at the brim of his USMC ball cap as he shoved his empty beer mug forward for a refill. “Only difference being that you couldn’t upcharge the shit out of it.”
The old vet’s crotchetiness didn’t do anything to still the flutter in Sierra’s heart. Omigosh. She and Flynn had talked about the Cranberry Festival during their beach picnic, and she’d admitted that she preferred blackberries. And then had probably gone on a little too long about her favorite blackberry pie. The dining hall at the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design had it through the beginning of October, and there wasn’t a day that Sierra didn’t snag a piece.
He’d listened. Not just let her words wash over him. No, Flynn had taken what she said t
o heart and then made an effort to do something special based on it.
What a wonderful man. He wasn’t with her out of convenience because they worked at the same place. Or for a good time in bed. This was a thoughtful man who cared. A man who believed she mattered.
A man she could trust with her heart.
Bracing her elbows on the bar, Sierra boosted herself over to kiss Flynn right on the lips. It wasn’t the appropriate thing to do while they were both still on shift. But his gesture required a response. “Thank you. For paying attention most of all, and for the drinks.”
Mick barked out a laugh, thwacking his palm against the bar. “I’ll make you a drink if it gets me that kind of service.”
“How about you get one just for being patient when I tended bar the other night?” Sierra gave him a peck on the cheek. Because she didn’t have a grandfather. But there were many days when Mick’s gruff concern made her feel special.
“Hey. Get your own girl, old-timer,” Flynn threatened playfully. “Or I’ll cut you off.”
Mick put a fist to his chest. “You found my weak spot. My arthritis couldn’t take the damp air without my medicinal hops.”
Medicinal. He was adorable. Sierra beamed at the older man. Flynn just ignored him, touching her chin to bring her attention back to his creations.
“Don’t thank me until you try them. I think I’ve narrowed it down to these two.” Flynn pointed at the martini glass. “Blackberry vodka, vanilla schnapps, whipped cream, and a few drops of Chambord for color.”
Sierra lifted it and took a small sip. Cautiously. Because she had very little experience with mixed drinks, and didn’t want to embarrass herself by choking if it was super strong. “It’s sweet.” Surprisingly so. “Creamy. I think I could too easily drink quite a few of these.”
“Hang on. No deciding until you try option two. It’s a little more complicated, but probably worth it.” He pushed a champagne flute toward her. “Muddled blackberries, lemon juice, simple syrup, gin, crème de cassis, and a splash of Cava.”
“What’s Cava?”
“Sparkling wine. Like champagne, except from Spain originally.”
“I’m not fancy enough to merit sparkling wine.”
His blue eyes squinted to slits of confusion. “Are you kidding? You’re very sparkly. Every time you smile, every time you lavish attention on elderly customers who look alone and lonely. When you were helping the kids with the float, so many sparkles came off you it was like fairy dust filled the patio. Just try it.”
Well. Sierra certainly felt sparkly after that flattering description. So she reached across the bar to take Flynn’s hand. Gave it a long squeeze, and then kept holding it as she tried the second cocktail.
Wow. Holy crapballs of yummy deliciousness. Her gaze flashed up to his. “It’s amazing. It’s bursting with blackberry flavor. It tickles my tongue like . . . like stars twinkling.”
“Funny you should say that.” He took his own sip, turning the glass to drink from the same spot that Sierra had. And that tiny gesture set off supernovas exploding in her heart. “There’s an old story that the monk who made champagne famous said he was tasting stars the first time he tried it. Not true, of course, but a fun legend.”
Sierra took the glass from him to have another small sip. Mmmmm. “I’m very impressed that you’re quoting a monk. You’re so worldly.”
Flynn cocked his head, as if considering. “I actually haven’t seen much of the world. Never traveled much of anywhere before we, ah, moved.” Then he looked down. Scrubbed his hand across his eyes as if trying to erase something. “I’ve seen a lot, though. Things I wouldn’t want you to see. Or know. This little corner of the world’s probably enough for me.”
His voice had gone low and dark, like when storm clouds suddenly rolled in and turned the afternoon sky black. Whatever he had seen, it had left a shadow on him, that was for sure. Sierra didn’t know what to do. Or say. How to pull him out of the bleakness that so swiftly had turned down his mouth and shuttered his eyes and stiffened his entire body.
A series of shouts followed by a big, loud thud had Sierra twisting around. Over by the jukebox, a woman, whose long red hair looked vaguely familiar, was slumping slowly down the wall. And a big man stood over her with a threatening scowl. But not still. No, he jittered a little, head to toe. Sierra had seen that before, too many times, at both her colleges. The man was high on something. Which made him dangerous, volatile, and probably not willing or even able to listen to reason.
“Flynn—”
“On it.” As he rushed out from behind the bar, Sierra half stood on the stool to yell down the hallway for Carlos. To her horror, the burly man in leather pants and the matching vest that she’d seen motorcyclists wear bent down to lift the woman just by her arm. It looked horribly painful. Then he pulled back his other arm as if about to smack her across the face.
Sierra gasped and held her breath. It sounded like everyone else in the Gorse did, too, because the crowded bar went extraordinarily silent. She could actually hear the crack of pool balls coming from the back room.
But before the man’s hand connected, Flynn was there. He grabbed the wrist and gave it a twist that instantly unfisted his hand. “Let her go.” It wasn’t a low, scary growl. It was a simple command. Like Flynn was so certain of a response that he didn’t need to put any threat behind it.
Leather Guy was the same height as Flynn, but with easily thirty pounds on him, mostly paunch. It scared her, how much bigger he was. What if Carlos didn’t come out in time with his trusty baseball bat to help? The surrounding tables were mostly full, but no one was standing up to help. Admittedly, they were all pretty well toasted by this time of night.
He did let go of the woman, and Flynn dropped his hold. She immediately cradled one arm in the other. From her position, Sierra guessed that she’d cracked it hard on the jukebox when he’d thrown her into the wall.
Slowly, he shifted to face Flynn. “Who are you to tell me how to handle my woman?” A threat rolled off of him in waves, like heat coming off asphalt on a hot day. He shifted constantly from one foot to the other. And one hand sort of shook. Definitely drugs. Probably got dragged here by friends for the fishing tournament, because this was not the usual clientele of the Gorse at all.
Ignoring him, Flynn looked at the redhead. “Are you hurt, Rosalie?”
“Not really. I mean, I think my arm is broken.” At that, Mariana, who’d at some point joined Sierra and held on to her hand for dear life, whipped her phone out of her apron and dialed 911. After a brief sniff, Rosalie shook her head. “But don’t make a fuss.”
“No fuss.” He smiled. Kindly at Rosalie, and then it transformed into more of an ugly, threatening sneer as he turned back to Leather Guy. “Just a reminder of a very simple rule here at the Gorse.”
The bigger man crowded in on Flynn, shaking out his hands. “I don’t have to follow your stupid bar’s rules.”
Carlos was on the other side of Sierra now. He held what he called his Bouncer Bat in both hands, but didn’t move to join Flynn.
“Aren’t you going to help him?” she whispered.
“Flynn doesn’t need any help.”
“I don’t care who you are or where you come from. You walk in this door, you respect women. Period.” As he said the last word, Flynn’s arm shot out and up to punch Leather Guy in the chin. “You don’t ever, ever raise a hand to them.”
Sierra gasped again. He’d moved so fast. Leather Guy hadn’t even had time to flinch or try to move out of the way. The dead quiet in the bar continued, so she could hear his embarrassingly high whimper.
Another lightning-fast punch, this time to the man’s considerable gut. He staggered backward toward the door. Blood trickled down his face from a split lip. “If you don’t treat the women of Bandon right, you’ll answer to me.” Then he grabbed the jerk’s arm and half dragged him to the door. One kick opened it, and he flung the big man outside.
The whole room erupt
ed in applause and cheers. Don and Jeremy, half of the band just packing up, hurried over with their extension cords. “Way to go, Flynn. We’ll tie him up for you. Keep an eye on him until the police get here.” A handful of other men crowded outside with him, echoing offers to keep him contained.
It didn’t escape Sierra’s notice that it looked like it was taking half a dozen men to clean up what Flynn had tidily handled all by himself.
Over his shoulder, Flynn called out, “Sierra, put some ice in a towel and come help Rosalie.”
Sierra’s hands now shook—just a little—as she filled a white bar towel with ice cubes. Seeing that kind of violence up close took her right back to the horrible events that sent her running across country.
But she couldn’t get bogged down in the memory. That would just be letting Rick ruin her life more than he already had.
As she neared Flynn and the growing circle around Rosalie, she heard Carlos say, “Nice job.” Sierra handed the ice off to a woman she knew was a nurse, and already fastening a sling. Then she stood next to Flynn. She needed the nearness. Needed to reassure herself that he was okay after that fight.
Even though he’d totally won it, hands down.
Flynn looked at his fingers and Sierra noticed the streak of blood across the knuckles. After wiping it on his jeans, he bent his fingers, and then shook them out. “I didn’t pull my punches to teach the drugged-out piece of trash a lesson. Hopefully it’ll stick.”
“You’re one hell of a bouncer.” Carlos clapped him on the back of his shoulders twice. “I lucked out the day you came in looking for a job. You’re just what this place needed.”
“Actually?” Flynn turned to sweep his gaze over the buzzing bar. Almost absently, he tucked Sierra under his arm. “I think this place is just what I needed.”
“You were incredible, Flynn.” Heroic, really. The way he didn’t wait for reinforcements. He just saw a wrong and stepped in to fix it. Flynn took charge. And it was unbelievably sexy. “The way you stood up for Rosalie was amazing.”
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