Spotlight: Chapter 8

My nerves are shot. I’m sure Flynn assumes it’s from the creep who put his hands on me, but I’m more spun up about him. Talking to him, seeing him, seeing him with his freaking shirt off. I was not prepared. He’s tall and broad so I assumed underneath he would be muscular but seeing it is a whole other thing.

I fumble with my seat belt twice before it clicks into place, then start the engine. My heart is still racing so it isn’t until I go to put the SUV in gear that I realize all the dashboard lights are on.

I glance to my left. Flynn stands a foot away, watching me through the closed window. I give him a wobbly smile and try to start it again.

The engine turns over slowly but doesn’t start. I groan. “Come on. Don’t do this to me now.”

Another two tries give me the same result.

He steps closer and speaks through the glass. “Won’t start?”

I roll down the window. “Guess not.”

“Pop the hood. I’ll take a look.”

“It’s fine. You’ve done enough. I can get a⁠—”

“Pop the damn hood, Olivia.” His bossy tone does something to me that I’d rather not examine in this moment, so I do as he says and then get out and walk around the front of the SUV.

Flynn’s got the hood propped up and is using his phone’s flashlight to peer underneath.

“Do you know what you’re doing or is this another play from your gentlemanly playbook?”

He cracks a smile and tosses a wink back at me. “Why can’t it be both?”

He goes back to looking at my car’s engine and I stand there awkwardly.

“Can I do anything?”

“Here.” He holds his phone out to me.

Stepping up beside him, I aim the light approximately where he had it. His attention is on the car, so I take the moment to study him.

Impressive back muscles ripple as he leans forward. When he reaches out to mess with some knobs or wires or…whatever they are, his bicep flexes. He has this pensive look on his face, and he pushes the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

His reddish-brown hair is covered by a blue Mustangs hat. He has one of those straight Nordic noses and a jawline that looks like he’s perpetually clenching.

That tattoo on the inside of his right forearm is the only ink in sight. Five black circles in a horizontal line. The last circle is filled in, but the others are empty. I saw a picture of when they got the tattoos on Brogan’s social media page while I did my deep dive of all things Flynn Holland (Flynn’s page was far less active). Five circles for five brothers and the solid dot represents where they fall in birth order.

As he pulls back, his arm brushes against mine. His skin is warm and a waft of his cologne or deodorant hits me.

“Do you have jumper cables in the car?”

“Umm…”

He flashes me another grin. “Your battery looks pretty new, but we could try to jump it if someone has cables.”

“I replaced the battery a couple months ago.”

“Probably your alternator then,” he says. He takes the phone from me and moves it closer to the problem. “This wire is a little worn.”

I glance to where the light shines. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”

I know it’s such a cliché girl response, but I’ve always had my grandfather around to ask about car stuff. And he’d smile and take my keys, and then voila, my vehicle would be good to go. Everything I know about cars, I know from him. Which is probably less than he’d like.

“This is the alternator.” He touches it with his free hand. “It charges the battery and powers the electronics in the vehicle.”

I nod along.

As if he can tell I’m not really getting it, he adds, “Easy fix. If I had tools and parts, I could do it for you.”

“Of course, you could.” Oops. I did not mean to say that out loud. I so don’t feel like dealing with the hassle of calling a tow truck tonight. “Thank you. I’ll get a ride home and call someone in the morning.”

Grinning, he shuts the hood and then asks, “Can you leave it here overnight?”

“Yes.”

He nods and holds up his phone. “Want to share a ride?”

“I can change a tire, you know? And change the oil. Although I only did that once because it was so messy.”

He’s wearing a knowing smirk as he pulls on his wet T-shirt. Even soaked in beer, he makes it look good. It probably says something that I don’t want him to think I’m a complete idiot, but it’s not just for me. It’s for women everywhere. We can know stuff about cars or sports. I hate the stereotypes. Even if I happen to fall into a few of them. I could be good at car stuff. I just don’t want to be.

“Is that a no to sharing a ride? Xavier will be here in thirty seconds,” Flynn says.

I open the door to my car, intending to sit and wait by myself while I call a ride. I’m used to doing things on my own, not needing or depending on anyone else. Sure, I have my family and they’re great, but outside of that I don’t let a lot of people in. Certainly not men who are only offering up their services with one goal in mind. Maybe that isn’t fair. Flynn seems like a good guy, and he probably doesn’t have some conniving ulterior motive by offering to share a ride with me or take a look at my car, but I know too well how easy it is to get lost in those small acts of service. Pretty soon you’re expecting it or relying on it. And when they’re gone, it hurts all that much more.

I already rely on other people more than I like. My family helps with Greer, my grandparents dote on me any way they can, my sister is babysitting for me tonight. And my schedule is so chaotic I rarely get to repay the favor for any of them.

I wave at Flynn from the safety of my car. He waits a few feet away until his ride arrives. The car sits there, unmoving until my driver shows up minutes later.

Only once I’m in the Uber does Flynn’s driver finally take off.

“Freaking gentleman through and through,” I mutter, but I can’t help but smile.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I get inside my apartment. The lights are out but the TV in the living room is on and the colors from the screen shine bright enough I can make out my sister on the couch.

She wakes when I sit on the far edge.

“Hey.” Her voice is gruff. “How was work?”

“The usual,” I say, even though Flynn’s face and words are on a constant loop. “How was Greer?”

“Perfect. As always.”

I snort a laugh. My daughter has her aunt wrapped around her cute little finger.

“Thank you for watching her tonight.” A little of that guilt for needing someone to help me with my daughter slinks in. If the bookstore wins best in the city and gets the attention and recognition to bring in more customers, then maybe I can finally quit the club.

“Are you kidding me?” Ruby yawns. “I love hanging out with her. She helped me replot a scene in my book.”

“You let Greer read it and not me?”

“No.” She laughs softly and yawns again. “She made me watch again and it gave me an idea.”

“In that case, I’ve seen it about a billion times so maybe if you let me read it, I can help even more.”

“Nice try.” She smiles, eyes barely open.

“Are you staying over?” I ask as I stand. Exhaustion is creeping in, and I can’t wait to wash my face, brush my teeth, and fall into bed.

“I should go back to my place,” she says, and then curls onto her side before her eyes fall shut again. Ruby lives in the same building, two floors up.

“Night.” I toss the throw blanket from the back of the couch to her and then turn off the TV.

The door to Greer’s bedroom is cracked open. I push it another inch and peer in on her. The bedside lamp casts a warm glow over the space. We aren’t able to paint the walls here since it’s a rental, but we compensated by hanging pictures and posters, plus stringing pink twinkle lights.

She’s on her back, snuggled up in the light pink comforter and sheets, clutching her stuffed pink rabbit under one arm. She loves that thing. I have a backup in my closet just in case something happens to it. Though at this point she’s loved it so hard that it doesn’t really look like the original. My heart squeezes, and my body relaxes for the first time in hours.

It’s a reminder that everything I’m doing is worth it. The long hours at the bookstore, followed by late nights at Lilac Lounge. I want to give her everything. Opportunities and love, security. I had a great childhood filled with happy memories, two parents who loved each other and me and Ruby. Plus, grandparents who were active and involved in our lives. Basically, I have the family most people could only dream about. It’s hard not to compare what I had to her situation. She has a great family and life, but her parents aren’t raising her together and she doesn’t see her dad that often. Some days I let it get to me more than others. I hope my loving her more than anything else in the world is enough.

I cross the room to her and pull up the comforter tighter around her shoulders. Her lashes flutter open and then right back closed.

Leaning down, I brush her blonde curls out of her face and place a kiss on her forehead. She smells like toothpaste and lavender. God, I had no idea it was possible to love someone so damn much. I’d do anything for her.

“Momma,” she whispers, still half asleep. She lets go of her bunny and her arms go around my neck.

“Hi, baby girl.” I lie in the small space next to her and wrap my arms around her.

She cuddles right into my chest and falls back asleep. And so do I.

I wake up with a groan.

“I’m hungry.” The volume in which Greer speaks does not account for our close proximity or the early time.

I crack open one eye. Her face is inches from mine, making her green eyes look like one big eye.

“Me too. You should make me an omelet,” I say, voice thick with sleep. “Oh, and some yogurt with strawberries too, please.”

I roll over and pretend to go back to sleep.

Greer isn’t fooled for a second. “You said I can’t use the stove, remember?”

“Right.”

She giggles and climbs onto my side. Her blonde curls fall into my face as she peers down at me. “I want pancakes!”

“How about cereal for both of us, then?” I suggest, sitting up and rolling my neck. I slept in my clothes, including my shoes, and there’s a painful kink when I move my head to the right.

“Okay!” She bounds from the bed and out of the room. She has endless energy, but she’s such a happy, easy-to-please kid.

With a groan, I rub at my sore muscles and get up a lot slower than my daughter had. I follow her into the kitchen and help her get her cereal.

Ruby is already gone. The blanket is folded neatly and laid over the arm of the couch, and she made a pot of coffee before she left. Bless her.

I pour myself a cup to take with me as I get ready for the day. By the time I’ve showered and changed and finished my coffee, I almost feel human again.

When I come out of my bedroom, Greer is sitting on the floor in front of the TV. She’s changed out of her pajamas into one of her many princess costumes. Today she’s Belle in the big, yellow dress and gloves, complete with a tiara on top of her head.

“Are we going to the nursery?” she asks when she spots me in my pink overalls.

“Yep. Do you want to wear that?” I ask.

She nods quickly as she gets up and twirls. “Can we get roses like in Beauty and the Beast?”

“We’ll see.” I laugh quietly. “Find your shoes.”

I take my empty coffee cup to the sink, rinse it out, and then put it in the dishwasher.

The doorbell rings as Greer is coming back out of her room with her sparkly tennis shoes in hand.

Greer looks to me like I can see through the door better than her.

“Maybe your Aunt Ruby?” I move to the door and open it, smiling when I see who it is.

I glance back at Greer and then slowly inch it wider to reveal Sabrina.

“Aunt Brina!” Greer has perched herself onto the couch and she jumps up and down.

Before I can tell her not to stand on the furniture, she’s already launched herself off and is coming toward us.

“What are you doing here?” I ask my best friend as my daughter wraps her arms around Sabrina’s waist.

“I missed my favorite girls.” Then she looks at me. “And I heard you had an interesting night.”

My skin flushes at the indirect mention of Flynn. “How did you find out so fast?”

“Archer,” we say at the same time.

“We’re going to the nursery,” Greer tells Sabrina.

“Well, you are dressed perfectly.” She takes Greer’s hand and spins her. The two of them giggle.

“We can go later if you want to hang out,” I say.

“Can I tag along?” Sabrina asks.

“Yes,” Greer and I say in unison.

The nursery is within walking distance—one of the perks of our apartment location. Greer holds on to Sabrina’s hand and talks a mile a minute on the way, leaving me to my own thoughts.

I find myself wondering what Flynn said about last night and about me. As much as I want to pretend he hasn’t gotten under my skin, he has. I like him. Okay, I’ve always liked him. Basically, from the moment I laid eyes on him I felt something. But I’ve spent a lot of years second-guessing myself when it comes to feelings and navigating dating relationships. I don’t trust myself more than I don’t trust him.

At the nursery, Greer runs ahead to the cut flower display. Every morning, they put flowers that have fallen from their plant or needed to be pruned in a cute display for the kids made of pallets with attached mason jars filled with water for vases.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Sabrina notes as we watch Greer pluck a pink rose from one of the vases.

“I fell asleep in Greer’s bed last night,” I say as I absently rub at the sore spot on my neck again.

“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with running into a certain baseball player?”

I cut her a look that must not be intimidating because she laughs.

“Fine. Not ready to talk about it,” she says.

Greer runs back with her flower clutched in one hand.

“An enchanted rose!” Sabrina picks her up and bops her on the nose. “I hope you don’t turn into a horrible beast!”

I grab a cart, and we wander down the aisles of the nursery. I’m easily distracted by the plants and flowers, and Sabrina and Greer chat happily about roses and beasts.

I got into gardening at a young age with my mom. She’d bring me and Ruby with her to pick out flowers or plants and then we’d get home and she’d plant them while we played in the yard.

As soon as I moved out on my own, I filled the apartment with greenery. Something about it just makes every space feel more like home.

I stop by a section of succulents. I need something small and low maintenance that doesn’t need a lot of sun for a shelf in my bathroom.

Sabrina steps up beside me while Greer wanders just ahead of us where I can still see her.

“I have news on the bachelorette party.”

“Ooooh.” I look from an aloe plant to Sabrina. For weeks now she’s been going back and forth on where and how she wanted to celebrate her upcoming wedding. She and Archer are getting married this summer. They want to keep the wedding simple, but they are going big on all the fun activities leading up to it.

“How do you feel about a mountain getaway?”

“What happened to Vegas?” That was her most recent plan. One night on the strip, gambling, drinking too much, and dancing the night away. Followed by a spa day.

“I realized I don’t really want to deal with other people. I just want to hang out with my friends.”

“Mountains are fine by me.”

“Perfect. There are these cute cabins just out of the city. We’d all go up on a Friday, have a chill night in and then Saturday do all the usual fun bachelorette things.”

“That sounds great.”

“I’m trying to finalize everything this week. Does the first weekend next month still work for you?”

I nod. “I already asked my grandparents if they could watch Greer.”

I don’t love leaving her for that long, but I know how important it is to keep my friendships too. Sabrina has been a real friend to me. I lost most of my closest girlfriends when I got pregnant. A few tried to keep in contact, but we were just at two different points in life. I couldn’t go out with them, and I was worrying about breastfeeding while they were figuring out college or dealing with boyfriend drama. It wasn’t all their fault. I’m sure I wasn’t as interested in their lives as I should have been either.

But with Sabrina it’s different. Maybe it’s our age or maybe we just get each other. We met at Lilac Lounge when she first moved to Lake City. She worked as a dancer, and I was bartending. I thought she would be one of those work friends who as soon as I mentioned my daughter would never ask to hang outside of the club. But she surprised me. She not only wanted to hang out, but she also wanted to meet Greer and made a point to suggest kid-friendly activities. We went to all the parks and museums in the city, and she didn’t blink an eye when Greer would have a meltdown, or plans had to change because suddenly Greer wasn’t feeling well or needed a nap.

Being a parent is a constant game of agility, and people who haven’t experienced it, don’t always understand. I didn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” I say, smiling when she gets that soft, happy expression that makes her pale skin flush from head to toe. “What is Archer doing for his bachelor party?”

“He hasn’t decided. Brogan came up with more than a dozen ideas and has been pitching them to him one-by-one each night. Last night he suggested bungalows over the ocean in the Maldives. He had a slideshow and wore a Hawaiian shirt.”

“I feel like I got invited to the wrong party.”

She elbows me playfully. “I told Archer he couldn’t go anywhere I haven’t been. We still need to pick a honeymoon spot.”

We fall quiet for a beat as I continue to look at the succulents. I have two aloe plants, one in each hand.

“Maybe I should get a plant for the apartment.” Sabrina picks up a beautiful Easter cactus. I have one at home on our entertainment stand, where it gets just the right amount of indirect sunlight.

“Oh no, that one is finicky.” I decide to get both aloe plants and put them in the cart. I pick up a potted moon cactus and hold it out to her. “This one is basically impossible to kill.”

Laughing, she takes it. “Thanks. I think.”

I take the cactus from her and put that in my cart too.

After I’ve bought too many plants, we pay and start back toward the apartment.

Greer wore herself out twirling around the nursery and Sabrina carries her while I lug the plants in a paper bag.

“Okay, I told myself I wasn’t going to bring it up, but I have to know about Flynn.”

That uncomfortable, skin too tight for my body sensation spreads through me. “There really isn’t much to tell. He came into the club with some of his teammates.”

“And almost got into a fight defending you from what I heard.”

“I nearly forgot about that,” I admit. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. Some guy got handsy. I had it under control.”

“Still, had to feel good to have someone there in the moment.” She shudders in a way that says she might be remembering her own interactions with drunk people at the club. It doesn’t happen that often, thankfully, but the exchanges always leave me feeling gross.

“Yeah, until I accidentally tossed the beer at him.”

“What?” she asks, clearly having not heard that part.

“I was aiming for the other guy and Flynn stepped in the way,” I defend myself, then finally laugh. The look on his face was priceless. So damn adorable, even with beer dripping down his forehead and soaking his shirt.

“That reminds me, I need to call someone about my car.” I don’t have to work tonight, and I can walk to the bookstore for my usual Sunday afternoon week prep, but I’m going to need my vehicle eventually. I start to take out my phone and Sabrina places a hand on my arm.

“You can borrow mine until then. Archer has been driving me to the studio every morning anyway.”

“Adorable.” I grin at her and pocket my phone again. How many guys would wake up early to chauffer their partner to work just because they want to spend time with them? “Ruby rarely drives her car, so I’m sure I can borrow hers, but thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” she says, and I know she means it.

As the apartment complex comes into view, Greer lifts her head from Sabrina’s shoulder.

“Can we go to the studio and have a dance party?” she asks with those big, pleading eyes.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Sabrina says and sets her on the sidewalk in front of her. “Miss Zoey is teaching an adult tap workshop this afternoon.”

Greer sticks her bottom lip out and stares at her feet.

“Who is going to help me pot our new plants?” I ask as I reach out and take one of her hands.

She thinks for a moment and then asks, “Can I paint the pots?”

“Absolutely.”

Greer is mostly appeased by that, though I have no doubt she’d leave me with my gardening in favor of twirling around Sabrina’s studio if she had her way.

A truck pulls up to the curb in front of us. I glance up at the driver absently and then squint.

“Is that Archer?” I ask Sabrina.

“Yeah.” She moves toward him as he opens the driver’s door.

“Momma. That looks just like our car,” Greer says as another vehicle pulls up behind Archer’s truck.

“That’s because it is,” I say, feeling dumbfounded. It’s an odd thing to see big, hulking Brogan sitting behind the driver’s seat of my little SUV.

“What are you doing here?” Sabrina asks, draping her arms around Archer’s shoulders and hugging him.

When they break apart, he looks to me.

“We’re just dropping off Olivia’s car.” Archer smiles, tipping his head to me slightly, then he stares down at Greer.

How? And why? And what the ever-loving-hell? Those and many more questions float through my brain, but I don’t ask any of them because I already know.

“

!” Greer signs his name as she says it, then goes right into showing him all the new sign language words and phrases she’s learned since the last time she saw him.

He squats down and signs back, praising her and giving her attention and adoration that has my heart squeezing. I want that for her. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy she has it with Archer and Brogan and Grandpa Earl. But what would it be like if she had a father that was around more to give her these moments daily?

Brogan is out of my SUV and standing in front of me with a big grin before I’ve snapped myself out of the weird thoughts swirling around.

“Drives like a dream.” With a wink, he holds out the key to me. It’s attached to a little purple tag that has Sabrina’s name written on it. I gave it to her months ago when she needed to borrow my car and never bothered to get it back from her.

I glance to Sabrina, who is wearing an appropriately guilty expression.

“You gave him my keys, didn’t you?”

“I still had the spare and it was for a good cause.” She smiles hesitantly.

“So much for offering up your car. You knew this whole time?” I ask her.

She laughs before saying, “The offer was legit. I didn’t know if he’d be able to fix it, only that he was going to try.”

Brogan scoffs. “You wait until I tell him that. Flynn can fix anything. He’s just like Knox.”

Archer nods. “It’s true. He’s great with engines and even if he weren’t, he’s stubborn enough that he would have done whatever it took. Especially for a girl.”

“Lucky me,” I quip, then sigh because I am lucky, and this is nice. Too much, but really nice. “Thank you, guys. I don’t know how to repay you. I’ll cover the parts and labor, of course, just let me know what I owe you.”

That all too familiar feeling of gratitude mixed with discomfort makes it hard to look any of them in the eye.

“Not necessary. Happy to help,” Archer says.

“We barely did anything,” Brogan says. “It was all Flynn.”

“He would have loved to drop it off himself, but he had to be at the field early,” Archer adds.

Which begs the question, when did he find time to fix my car?

While I’m spiraling, Brogan picks up Greer and spins her around until she squeals with delight. It sometimes takes her a beat to be comfortable with men, but Archer and Brogan won her over with their fun, goofy personalities and being so consistently interested in her. It’s a rare thing, honestly, that adults, especially my peers, treat Greer and other kids like they’re worth getting to know.

Sabrina steps closer and her arm brushes against mine, pulling me from my thoughts. She has this knowing smirk that tells me she is acutely aware that I’m spinning out and why.

“Baby Holland has a crush,” she says in a singsong voice.

“Don’t tell me you’re in favor of this.” I wave a hand toward my vehicle, but what I really mean is, there’s no way she can want me and Flynn together or dating or whatever it is that he wants.

“I’m in favor of people doing nice things for you,” she says in a very matter-of-fact tone. “No matter who they are.”