Flynn opened up a bag of chips and put a handful in his mouth. “Why not?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

“Because that’s not what I do, Flynn. That’s not who I am,” I argued, feeling irrationally annoyed that he didn’t get what I was trying to tell him. I knew this only demonstrated our communication barrier. I knew that I had to be patient and try to explain what I was thinking. What I was feeling.

But I wasn’t in a very patient mood.

“You’re getting angry,” Flynn said, still chewing his food.

“You should wait to speak until after you’ve swallowed,” I pointed out with more than a little anger.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. If you don’t want to work at JACs then don’t work there.” He saw things in black and white. He didn’t see things in the varying shades of grey that lay between those two extremes.

Not for the first time I wished it wasn’t so hard to tell him exactly how I felt. I wished he could hear what I was trying to tell him and I wished I were better at getting him to listen.

“I need money, Flynn! I need to feel like I’m contributing! I don’t want you to take care of me financially! I want to be able to take care of myself! That’s all!” I shouted and then realized I was taking my frustrations out on him and that wasn’t fair.

We sat silently for a while. I was embarrassed at my outburst and Flynn looked upset. I hadn’t wanted to upset him. I had come here to spend time with him. I wanted to enjoy our time together.

What was I doing?

I had thought when I left school and came here that this was our fresh start. That we could build on something wonderful we had created together.

I hadn’t prepared myself for what life would really be like living with Flynn…trying to create a unified world where we co-existed harmoniously. It had been a delusional dream. Because I had my demons and Flynn had his limitations. And they were crashing into each other with the force of a wrecking ball.

Flynn got up from his desk chair and did something that shook me to my core. He dropped to his knees in front of me, resting his hands on my knees. I sat back in shock, holding myself completely rigid.

Flynn’s eyes were on mine. Unwavering. Steady.

“I want you to be happy, Ellie. I want you to smile and kiss me. I want to hear you laugh. I don’t like it when you look sad. I don’t like hearing you yell. You’ve been yelling a lot lately. I feel like I’m always asking if you’re happy because you don’t look like you are. I’m tired of asking. Tell me what you want to do. I know you’re mad at me. I just don’t know why. Why are you mad at me, Ellie?”

His simple, heartfelt question tore at my heart. I covered his hands with mine and leaned down, pressing my lips to his. His mouth was warm beneath mine and instantly opened for me.

I pulled back, our noses touching. Flynn’s eyes closed, our breath mingling. “I’m sorry I yell at you. What I’m feeling inside has nothing to do with you. It has to do with me and my stupid insecurities.”

“That’s dumb, Ellie,” Flynn said softly, his lips brushing against mine.

“I didn’t say it made sense. But it’s what I feel. Here, I’m too close to being the old Ellie. The one who treated people badly and hated herself. I thought I could be someone else. I just worry that I’m becoming her again.” It hurt to admit such a horrible thing.

Flynn kissed me. Not urgently or passionately but lovingly and gentle. “You aren’t two Ellies. You are one Ellie. And I like you just as you are,” he said simply.

“Flynn…” I said his name on a sigh like a prayer.

Flynn rose up on his knees and wrapped his arms around me. There was no hesitation. There was no reluctance. He pulled me into the solidity of his body and I fell against him.

Flynn had always been my safe landing.

With him, things were okay.

Our kiss slowly became more passionate. I buried my hands into his thick hair and he groaned low and loud in the back of his throat. He began tugging at the hem of my shirt, pulling it out of the waist of my pants in an effort to get to my bare skin.

“I love you, Flynn. So much,” I breathed as he started to suck on my neck. My body started to tingle in the best possible way.

“Excuse me, Flynn,” a voice said, and I almost jumped out of my seat. I pulled back, repositioning my shirt over my exposed chest. Crap! When did that happen?

I tried straightening my clothes but it was a lost cause. Flynn was resistant. He tried to pull me into his arms again but I pressed a hand to his chest, holding him back.

“Flynn, someone’s here,” I whispered. His eyes were still closed and he slowly opened them, scowling.

He looked to the doorway, obviously annoyed. “What is it, Imogen?” he asked, brash as always.

I looked up at the woman Imogen and remembered she was one of Flynn’s co-workers. The one who had watched Murphy during my graduation weekend. He had been right, she did look like his mom.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need your grading report. Do you have it ready? It’s due to the dean by the end of the day,” she said, giving me an apologetic smile.

“You should have knocked instead of walking in, Imogen,” Flynn chastised, his face still flushed.

“I did knock, Flynn. I guess you didn’t hear me,” Imogen replied, looking uncomfortable.

That made two of us.

Imogen held her hand out to me and I shook it reluctantly. “I’m Imogen Stafford. I’m the Dean of Art Studies here at the college,” she said and I appreciated her efforts to smooth over this awkward situation.