With a roll of his eyes, Mr. Gregory sighed heavily as he strolled out the door. Dave and Lucy were right behind him, Lucy sadly shaking her head and remarking how unfortunate it was that Sandy had so many problems. Sandy, close on their heels, enthusiastically agreed, and was beginning a discourse on yet another of her illnesses for Lucy’s benefit.
And of course Chantal and Tiffinnae were taking their own sweet time, stealing glimpses of Rachel while making yum-yum sounds at Flynn. When they had at last gathered their things, Chantal warned Rachel, “Now don’t go doing nothing I wouldn’t do!” And with that, she and Tiffinnae exited stage left, falling over each other with loud laughter.
Rachel could only hope that her face wasn’t glowing siren red like it felt at the moment, and glanced uncertainly at Flynn.
Oh Christ, she’d forgotten Jason, who reluctantly got to his feet and picked up his stack of travel brochures. Oh no—she’d been so rattled by Flynn’s surprise appearance that she’d forgotten that, too. For a moment, Jason stood awkwardly, looking at Flynn from the corner of his eye, nervously handling his brochures.
“Jason, I’m so sorry!” Rachel exclaimed, and walked back to where he was standing. “I meant to ask you to show the brochures to class. Can I see them?”
Jason looked sidelong at Flynn and shrugged. “Nah . . . that’s okay.”
“No, really. I’d love to see them. Please?” she asked, putting a hand on his arm. But Jason couldn’t take his eyes off Flynn, and unthinkingly, Rachel looked beseechingly at him.
Flynn instantly seemed to understand and came to his feet, peering curiously at the brochures Jason held. “What have you got there, travel pamphlets? I’d love a peek, if you’d not mind. I’m constantly racking the old noggin for an idea of where to go on holiday.”
Rachel smiled gratefully.
Jason looked at Rachel and said, “Okay.” And he proceeded to spread them out on the top of the table. “These are for England and Ireland,” he said, pointing to brochures that said Ireland, 2000! and 1999 Self-Drive Tours of England: The Cotswolds. “I really like these because they have good pictures,” he said, opening one and showing them a lovely photo of a thatched-roof house somewhere in England. “And these,” he said, picking up three more, “are for Spain. I got ‘em a couple of years ago, but I don’t think I really want to go there. Anyway, there’s some pretty cool buildings . . .”
As Jason talked, Rachel took a seat on the end of the table, watching him. She’d only spoken to Jason a couple of times, but she knew there was something not quite right about him. She had a sense that he was a boy in a young man’s body, someone who perhaps dreamed of great adventure but did not have the capacity or courage to seize it.
There was a look of genuine compassion on Flynn’s face. He listened to Jason, asked questions, made comments about the brochures. A smile slowly spread across her lips. He was a gorgeous, nice man.
When Jason was through with his brochures, he sort of stuffed them under his arm, looked at his feet. “Okay. I guess I’ll go now. Next week I’ll bring my books.”
Rachel had no idea what books he meant, but nodded all the same. “That would be great.”
With the barest hint of a smile, Jason walked out of the room, head down, without looking at Flynn. When he had slipped out the door, Rachel turned a bright smile to Flynn. “Thanks,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what? I really do like looking at brochures.”
“And what about weaving? Are you really interested in that?”
He laughed sheepishly, thrust a hand through his hair, dislodging one thick strand that fell over his eye. “Truthfully?”
“Truthfully.”
“I’m not entirely certain it’s my cup of tea . . . but I will admit to a certain perverse fascination with all this talk of warp and woof . . . and I’m completely bewitched with warp and woof instructors.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Absolutely. I have squads of dirty magazines and videos featuring warp and woof instructors and their looms.”
Oh God, here went the red siren face again, and Rachel laughed, rubbed the nape of her neck. “So . . . how did you find me?”
“Rachel!” he laughingly protested as he reached for the corner of her shawl and felt the weight of it. “You can’t possibly ask me to give away my secrets! I consider myself quite lucky that I found at least one place from which you can’t easily flee or hook up with some other guy to avoid me altogether without causing talk,” he said with a grin. “And I should hope that you’d reward my diligent efforts to find you by agreeing to a coffee.”
Rachel smiled; Flynn glanced at the corner of the lavender shawl he held between finger and thumb. “That’s really stunning, you know,” he said, lifting his gaze to her eyes. “Just . . . a stunning color. It’s marvelous on you. Frankly, you’re stunning.”
She blushed so furiously she forgot to be excited that her color spell had obviously worked.
“So, then, will you allow me to buy you a cup of coffee?”