Melinda Curtis - Summer Kisses

For a moment, Becca doubted the penny.

Flynn got out of the car and walked toward the trunk, adjusting his baseball cap over his shoulder length, reddish-brown hair. Faded blue jeans. A wrinkled white Comic Con T-shirt. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, same as Becca. His wasn’t the domineering muscularity of a military man. His was the tall, wiry frame of an athlete built for speed.

For the first time in years, Becca looked at a man and her body buzzed in appreciation.

A totally unexpected response. She was looking for a job, not a date. And there’d been that penny.

She opened Edwin’s door and assembled a smile as carefully as if it were an unfamiliar yoga pose. “I’m Becca MacKenzie, a certified nursing assistant. Agnes Villanova recommended I stop by and ask about the job.”

“Wasn’t expecting you.” Edwin’s words slurred as he shook her hand, his hospital identification bracelet too tight on his swollen wrist. “Told Flynn. I’m done with nurses.”

“You’re done with hospitals.” Flynn’s voice was deeper than she expected, rumbling along her nerves like drawn-out thunder after a lightning strike. “But we need a nurse at home. While you get better.”

Hope strengthened Becca’s smile. The sharpness in Flynn’s gaze may have been due to worry, not lost optimism.

“I’m not muddle-headed,” Edwin said. “Don’t need a jailer.”

Abby put her paws on the Cadillac’s bottom door frame, stretching to sniff the old man.

Edwin patted the dog, his fingers exhibiting the bluish tinge caused by very poor circulation. “Who’s this?”

“Abby.” Becca snapped her fingers and Abby trotted a few feet away. “Can I help you out of the car?”

“Please.” There was a determined twinkle in his eyes. “I can’t dance like I used to.”

“None of us can.” Becca steadied Edwin as he stood. She didn’t dare look Flynn’s way for fear he’d start a conversation with, “Thanks for coming by.” And end it with, “But we’ve already hired someone.”

“You did great,” she told Edwin, rubbing a sweaty palm on her jeans, feeling the penny in her pocket.

Abby barked her approval once, high and sharp, pacing behind Becca as if she and Edwin were two sheep in her care.

Flynn closed the trunk. A walker appeared to Becca’s left. “You’re not from the agency. Those candidates are coming by this afternoon.”

They hadn’t made a decision. Becca wanted to sag with relief.

“I’m an independent C.N.A. I have letters of reference. And a résumé.” Emotion tinged her voice, the way it did when she didn’t speak the entire truth. There were gaps in her résumé, names and dates missing. She cleared her throat and produced the envelope with her qualifications from her back pocket. “Agnes told me you’re looking for someone to help your grandfather regain his sea legs. And it just so happens I’m available.”

Edwin gave her a half grin, and a thumbs-up. “Until I’m okay, I’m sold.”

Becca grinned. Edwin was just what her lawyer suggested—a recovering client who’d give her a stellar character reference within the next few weeks. There would be no honoring a last request, no gift, no deathbed vigil. Edwin was recovering and after a few weeks, Becca would move on.

Flynn took the envelope reluctantly, as if it contained germs, and stuffed it into a plastic bag from the hospital. “Don’t set your parking brake just yet, Grandpa. We should review all the candidates before we make a decision.”

“Why?” Edwin asked.

“Because selecting a caregiver is almost as important as selecting a doctor.” The edge to Flynn’s voice was more pronounced. “You don’t just pick one up off the street. Or off your driveway.”

And then their gazes collided—hers and Flynn’s. It wasn’t a cursory glance like the one he’d given her from across the roof of the car. His scrutiny landed on her and delved deep in one surprisingly quick hit that left her breathless and panicky.

Because in his gaze she saw recognition.

Of her? Of her desperation? She didn’t know which.

Becca pulled herself together, trying to salvage the opportunity, along with her smile. “I have eight years experience, mostly in transitioning patients from rehab to home life.”

“Sounds super,” Edwin slurred, at the same time that Flynn said, “We have to choose carefully.”

Abby circled Flynn’s ankles, doing a bit of character judging with her nose. Flynn leaned over to scratch behind her ears. She licked his hand approvingly and then ran up the front steps, giving them a satisfied smile as she sat.

“Even the dog thinks we should hire Becca,” Edwin said.

At Flynn’s frown, words tumbled from Becca’s mouth. “I tailor my care to each client. I work toward my patient’s goals as well as their doctor’s orders. Abby’s a licensed therapy dog. She’s well behaved and loves everybody. I can work whatever hours you need if you’ll let me park on-site.” Becca pointed at her motorhome and rushed on. “I hear you’re building a winery in town. You’re probably incredibly busy and need someone right away...”

Flynn caught sight of the wedding band on her right hand and raised an eyebrow.

“My husband, Terry, was killed in Iraq three years ago.” Saying it no longer brought tears to her eyes, just the memory of a nameless marine with bad news and a stoic expression.

Someday she’d put the thin band of white gold and its small, princess-cut diamond away. She’d tried a few times, but could only move it as far as her right hand.

“Becca, I appreciate you coming by. But you know as well as I do...” Flynn seemed determined. “I have to interview other candidates.”

She knew, but she’d hoped—

“Nonsense.” Edwin frowned with both sides of his mouth now. “She’s a war widow. It’s my duty to help her.”

“Grandpa Ed, let me take care of this.” Flynn edged the walker closer to his grandfather, dismissing her.

Because she wasn’t sweet or loveable or trustworthy.

* * *

“I LIKE HER,” Grandpa Ed said once Flynn had him settled in his recliner in the living room. “Hire her.”

“Slow down.” Flynn opened the ancient gold brocade living-room curtains, letting in the afternoon sunlight. It did nothing to cheer him. Instead, it aggravated the sledgehammer-like pounding in his head. He’d seen something familiar in Becca’s expression. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, not while he was preoccupied with his grandfather.

“I like her,” his grandfather reiterated.

“It’s time for your pills and to check your blood sugar.” Flynn changed the subject, ignoring the light blinking on the answering machine. It was most likely the usual messages from Grandpa Ed’s friends in town—help with a leaky faucet or something heavy that needed lifting. He’d become a go-to resource for the locals.

Flynn rummaged through the bag of medicine and paraphernalia they’d brought home from the hospital, searching for his grandfather’s pill box and the flap that said Sunday lunch.

As he did all this, his mind flashed to the past, to a time without worry. To warm nights out on the back porch overlooking the Harmony River, while Grandpa Ed regaled him and his friends with stories of loyalty, honor and espionage.

How he longed for those days.

Flynn and his business partners had made millions in the dot-com world, but money couldn’t buy health or happiness. Not for an eighty-year-old man with advanced heart disease.

“Why not hire her?”

“Because.” Because people had tried taking advantage of Flynn’s wealth already. He’d had to change his cell phone number twice and Grandpa Ed’s home number. There’d been too many calls from out-of-the-woodwork entrepreneurs and college buddies wanting to manage, or rather, spend his money. Not to mention the temporary reconciliation with his mother. She disappeared after he’d written her a check. Only his ex-con father hadn’t shown up for a handout. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll call Agnes later. She’s the one who recommended Becca.”