Page 7 of Don't Want to Fall
“You’re a nurse?” Flynn asks from below the bridge where he’s carried the cooler to a beat-up picnic table I haven’t noticed until now. The old wood blends so well with its surroundings that it’s not intrusive.
“That surprise you?”
“Just thought a nurse would know better than to wear flip-flops on a hike.”
“No one said anything about hiking,” I point out. “And in my defense, I packed for Cancun.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” I think he means to mutter that last part to himself, but there’s an echo where he stands, carrying his words to me.
“Ipreferthe mountains,” I say. “But I wasn’t in charge of the planning.”
“My mom’s going to Cancun for her honey mood,” Tabby says.
“Honeymoon,” Flynn corrects.
It occurs to me that I didn’t consider that Flynn, father of the most adorable little girl on the planet, might be married. Or at the very least, that he might be attached. Just because I jokingly asked Winnie to assign me a single tour guide last night doesn’t mean Flynn is the romance novel hero I ordered.
“Why is it a moon?” Tabby asks.
“Good question,” I reply, checking my phone to see if I have any signal to Google the answer.
Two bars.
Huh, maybe this place is good luck after all.
Before I can navigate to my browser to search the origins of the wordhoneymoon, I notice the red bubble connected to my Facebook app. The number is surprisingly high. Because I can’t resist the curiosity, I navigate to theAre We Dating the Same Guypage to read the new comments on my post.
Jerek with a Jhas quite the reputation for dining and dashing, it seems.
“Miss Devin, you should put your phone away. This is a really good spot to watch for moose.”
Feeling called out, I stuff my phone in my back pocket with a promise to read all the comments tonight when I’m back in my lodge room eating local takeout and binge-watching reality TV.
“Moose like to come around here?” I ask Tabby, following her down a narrow dirt path to the picnic table. My gaze snags on Flynn’s arms. His flannel shirt sleeves are pushed up, exposing tattoos I can’t quite make out. I always thought it was over the top when a fictional heroine got all hot and bothered over a man with rolled up shirt sleeves. But now, I totally get it.
The very sight of Flynn’s tattooed forearms makes my nipples pebble.
If only we were alone, I’d beg the man to do some very naughty things to me on this picnic table.
“Did you know that moose can stand up to six and half feet tall?” Tabby asks, slipping into a seat and leaving room for me.
“Really?”
“That’s three inches taller than Daddy.”
Do I mind another excuse to scan Flynn Conners up and down? Nope. Not one bit. The mere sight of him causes a quiver low in my belly. Unapologetically dragging my gaze over his ripped body creates a pool of wetness between my legs.
“They can be up to a thousand pounds,” she adds, the excitement in her voice palpable.
“You know a lot about moose,” I point out.
“We learned about them in school,” she says proudly.
My gaze catches on Flynn’s expression. He’s trying to hide a smile behind a sandwich, but the pride in those whiskey-colored eyes is unmistakable. It only makes him hotter.
“When moose are mad, their ears go down,” Tabby says. Because I was temporarily distracted ogling her deliciously rugged father, I’m not sure if I missed half of what she said or if she started in the middle of a monologue. “It’s the only time you’ll see the whites of their eyes. Oh, and you definitely don’t want to get between a mama and a baby moose. They’ll flatten you like a pancake. Hey Dad, can we have pancakes next time?”
“Next weekend,” he agrees, completely unaffected by her chattering. It’s so fuckinghot.“You’ll be with your mom until then, remember? She’s taking you shopping for your dress this week.”
