“Flynn. I broke my leg playing football,” he said.
“Whew!” Sandy laughed, waving her hand at him. “Don’t even get me started on broken limbs!”
Flynn rather thought he’d take her advice on that score. “So what have we here?” he asked, looking at the giant loom. As Sandy began to explain, he felt Rachel come up behind him. He knew, because he caught the faint scent of vanilla, and because he felt her energy. That rattled him a bit—Flynn was not the sort of man to “feel” energy—but when he turned around, Rachel was smiling down at him, and the radiance of that smile filled the room.
It was little wonder Jason was such a besotted bloke. She wore a white turtleneck sweater and a gray knit skirt that hugged her curvaceous frame, and a pair of dangling crystal earrings. She wore her dark curly hair in a rather remarkable and complex knot at her nape.
“Hello,” she said.
“Miss Lear!” Chantal suddenly shouted across the room. “Tiffinnae done jammed this thing!”
Rachel’s smile did not hide the glimmer of exasperation in her eyes, and with a sigh, she said, “I’ll check back with you guys later.” She went off to fix the misbehaving loom.
“Mr. Gregory’s wife died,” Sandy announced.
“Oh dear,” Flynn said.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sandy said. “I sure didn’t think he was straight. And married? Uh-uh, I would never have guessed that. Well anyway, the funeral is tomorrow, and we’re all going.”
“Are you?” he asked as he reached to touch some of the yarn already strung through the loom.
“Don’t touch that!” Sandy said sharply, then quickly smiled. “I’ll show you how to do it,” she said, and resumed her explanation of how the loom worked.
And just as Flynn was about to doze off, Rachel reappeared at his side and he’d never been quite so happy to see her. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Sandy was telling me all about the loom.”
Rachel’s sympathetic smile indicated she knew his agony.
“I told him about the funeral tomorrow, and how we’re all going,” Sandy added.
“Oh. Well.” Rachel glanced uneasily at Flynn. “We just thought . . . not that you should think this, but . . . it’s just that poor Mr. Gregory has no family or friends. And we thought, how horrible to lose someone as precious as your spouse, then face that final good-bye alone,” she said, and for a moment, she lowered her head, touched a hand to her eyes.
That puzzled Flynn greatly—yes, of course it was sad and all that, but to be so distraught for a man she couldn’t possibly know? He felt a little embarrassed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I, ah . . . I really am very sorry.”
“Uh . . . Rachel?” Jason had turned around, was eyeing Flynn suspiciously. “I did what you said.”
“Okay,” she said, and walked away to help Jason. Flynn watched her intently, fascinated by her sorrow.
“Hello? We’re doing a project here, remember?” Sandy reminded Flynn.
“Righto, that we are.”
“Sorry if I seem a little mean, but I think I’m getting a migraine,” Sandy informed him, and picked up a pharmaceutical bottle. “I hope I brought the right medicine.”
God in heaven, so did Flynn.
When the class thankfully came to an end, the others packed up their things and left—Chantal and Tiffinnae helping Sandy, who could not possibly negotiate her very large bag and her crutches—which left Flynn and, predictably, Jason, who seemed determined to wait Flynn out.
Flynn obliged him. He got up, walked to the door, and looked back at Rachel. “Ah, Rachel, there was something I meant to inquire.”
“Sure,” she said, and walked to where he stood.
Flynn smiled, glanced over her head at Jason, who was pretending to examine the loom. “I’d rather hoped to have a chance to chat, but I think Jason won’t allow it,” he whispered.
She smiled sadly as she glanced over her shoulder. “He’s a very lonely kid. I think he sees me as some sort of big sister,” she whispered back.
“Actually, I think it’s possible he sees you as the love of his life.” He smiled. “But I’m the lucky fellow who has the date, and frankly,” he glanced over her shoulder, to where Jason was still hunched down over the loom, waiting for him to leave, and moved closer to Rachel. “Since you left that rather provocative message on my telephone, I’ve been imagining what it is, exactly, you do with your loom.” He laughed low at her blush. “Shall I come round at eight?”
“That would be great.”
He opened the door, and walked out.
“Ah, Flynn?” Rachel said, poking her head out the door as he began to walk down the corridor.
“Yes?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.