Without opening my eyes, I lean into Flynn’s lingering touch. He tucks more wayward hair behind my ear, pieces that weren’t even stuck to my cheek. He just wants to touch me. “Is this all right?” he whispers.
I open my eyes, and he smiles at me. I smile back at him. He’s as excited by this development as I am. And, damn, it feels good. A million unsaid things are expressed as we gaze into each other’s eyes. Maybe not a million, but many, and all of them point to two things—I like Flynn, and he likes me. We are more than friends, more than pretend siblings.
Time freezes, and I revel in the magic of the moment. But alas, when he moves his fingers away from my face, the moment is lost.
“We should go in,” Flynn says, clearing his throat.
“Yeah, we should.”
In the house, neither of us mentions a word about what happened out on the porch. There’s no need for discussion; we both know this is huge. Flynn—a guy—touched me, and I didn’t have a meltdown.
Maybe there is hope for me, after all. Like real hope that I can have a normal relationship. I feel more like myself now than I have in a long time. So maybe this is the family I needed all along to help me reach this point.
And then there are my feelings for Flynn. Maybe Flynn is more than just the here and now. Maybe he’s my future.