He stared at her with disbelief and shook his head. His handsome, angular face was dialed to irritated and his full lips were twisted. He ran a hand through dark strawberry blond hair just this side of wavy. Flynn had a tendency to forget routine trims.
Mavis made her way back to the booth. Her gaze zeroed in on Flynn. “Decided to eat in?”
Habit had him turning to Gabby. He could read lips, but sometimes people spoke too quickly or didn’t face him fully so he couldn’t see what they were saying. Gabby signed Mavis’s question.
He grinned, back to his usual glower-free self, and nodded.
Well, it wasn’t a date, but Flynn was better company, anyway. Gabby looked at the waitress. “He’ll have a beer, whatever’s on tap, and can I get the largest piece of tiramisu you can find?”
“You got it, sweetie pie.”
Gabby watched her walk away before letting out a sigh, chest deflating. When she looked at Flynn, his expression indicated he was patiently waiting for her attention again.
He leaned forward as if to punctuate a point. “He’s an asshole.”
She laughed. “Aren’t they all?”
“Not all.” He pulled a styrofoam container of lasagna from the to-go bag, opened it, and grabbed her fork from her place setting. He waited for her to take it from him before signing, “Dig in.”
He picked up his fork and took a bite, then did a double take when she just poked at his lasagna. “Hey. You all right?”
“I’ll be okay. Just not today. Today, I mope.” He was one of the few people she’d admit that to, and since his gaze had softened and worry wrinkled his brow, she forced herself to take a bite. “Thanks, Flynn.”
He nodded, watching her intently. “Movie night. My house. I’ll even let you pick.”
Why the hell wasn’t he dating someone? Seriously.
Sad truth was, women tended to overlook Flynn because of his disability, just like they overlooked her for being in the friend zone. People sucked. “Maybe we should make one of those pacts. You know, the one where if neither of us is married by the time we’re thirty we marry each other.”
One eyebrow quirked in his custom you-done-gone-crazy. “I’m thirty and you turn thirty in a couple weeks. That ship has sailed.”
Yeah. “Fine. Throw logic into my delusions.”
His shoulders bounced in a silent laugh.
She smiled. “Okay, hot date. What if I pick a sappy movie?”
He shrugged. “I’ll hide my man card. Tell no one.”
Covering her face, she laughed until her chest ached. When she sobered, her mood was irrevocably lighter. Praise God for good friends. “Just for that, I’ll share my tiramisu.”
“Deal.” He ate a few more forkfuls before his smile slipped a fraction, the hint of seriousness reflecting in his eyes. “For the record, I would’ve taken the pact.”
She dropped her chin in her hand before moving to sign. “We would’ve had such cute babies, too.”
“Word. Now eat or I’ll make you watch Die Hard again.”
She scooped a bite of cheesy carb goodness. Calories didn’t count on crappy days. “Which one?”
He whipped her a “duh” look. “All of them.”
Death by Bruce Willis. Could be worse things.
Chapter 2
Flynn barely resisted an eye roll. Parked on the couch in his living room with Gabby’s bare feet in his lap and the cheesiest rom-com playing on his TV, he counted down the last five minutes of ridiculousness. The only saving grace from the movie had been Meg Ryan’s fake orgasm. Funny shit.
He didn’t even need to glance at Gabby reclined beside him to know her eyes would be red-rimmed with “happy” tears. Women and their romance. At least it got her mind off her non-date tonight. He’d love to pummel Tom’s face for putting that dejected look on Gabby’s.
She tapped his chest with her foot to get his attention. “Am I unattractive?”
His hand stilled in the process of massaging her arches. No matter how he answered this question, he was screwed. To lie and tell her she was not beautiful would put her deeper in some kind of female depression. To speak honestly would hint at something he’d long buried, even from himself.
Truth was, he always kinda had a little crush on her. Nothing serious or monumental. No pining involved. Just…there. At the edge of consciousness. An awareness of her.
It had started the first day of kindergarten and had gone into hiatus in high school when he’d forced himself to ignore it. What made him first descend had been a five-year-old blond sprite with compassion in her eyes who’d marched home after school to insist her parents take her to the rec center to learn sign language because there was a deaf kid in her class. That was Gabby, forever thinking of others. He’d dug his heels in to quash his crush for the same reason. She’d do anything for him and had slowly stopped noticing other males. Such blips would ruin what they had as friends.
Pulling her feet from his lap, she sat up, her expression telling him she was forming her own conclusions during his lack of response. Hell.
He went for humor. “You’re hideous. I can barely look at you without gagging.”
Her pretty pink mouth twisted. Her baby blues narrowed in unamusement. “I’m serious.”
“Me, too. I might need to run to the toilet to retch.”
She sighed. He couldn’t hear it, of course, but he could feel it like a warm caress on his cheek. What in the hell was wrong with Tom, anyway? Gabby was ten times the woman her sister was. He had perfection right in front of him tonight and he’d walked.
Flynn tugged on the ponytail she’d put in when they’d arrived at his cabin. She’d changed out of her dress and into an old pair of his sweats that she’d had to roll three times at the waist before they stopped falling.
“You’re adorable.” Safe answer, but she was. Adorable.
“That’s the problem.” She waved her hands as if trying to conjure a cyclone. “Cute little Gabby. She’s so adorable.”
He didn’t see the negative in that comment, so he kept mum.
“No one wants to get it on with cute. I’m never going to get laid again, am I?”
He wasn’t touching that one with an eight-inch…pole. He lifted his hands to sign a placating answer, like she’d find the right guy one day or something, but she wasn’t done venting.
“I mean, I want a man to look at me how Cade looks at Avery.” Her face relaxed into a whimsical kind of serenity as if picturing Flynn’s brother and fiancée in her la-la land. “Like she’s his everything.” Her gaze drifted back to him, sad and gutting. “I’ve never been anyone’s everything.”
First thought? Romance movies were bad for her psyche.
He had to force his hands not to respond with she was his everything. A gut-punch reaction, but true nonetheless. She was his best friend, his link to sanity, his vet assistant who kept the business end of his life in order. None of which were romantic, and he knew exactly what she meant, though. Things hadn’t been very active in his bedroom either, never mind proclamations of love.
“I’m