Page 111 of Gold Rush

The bedroom door hinges rattle suddenly. I sit up, heart thundering.

“What?” Wren asks, frowning at the expression on my face.

“It sounds like someone is here,” I whisper. “Flynn?” I say at a normal volume.

No response.

I slide off the bed and tiptoe over to the door. Again, the hinges rattle, followed by a low scraping sound.

“What’s happening?” Wren questions loudly. “Did someone break in? Call the police!”

I close my fingers around the doorknob, twist it slowly, then yank the door open.

Finch saunters into my room, her tail swishing with annoyance about the delay in being accommodated. There are four neat lines scratched into the white paint by the bottom hinge of the door.

“What’s happening?” Wren demands.

I flip the camera so she can see the marks. “Finch was trying to break into my room!”

Wren frowns. “Why do you sound so happy about that? Get her one of those scratching-pole things before she wrecks your apartment.”

“She has one. Two actually. But she wanted to come in my bedroom!”

“Yay?” Wren says, clearly confused but attempting to match my enthusiasm.

“Finch prefers Flynn,” I explain. “I’m basically a treats dispenser. But she tried to get in here. She wanted to be with me!”

“That’s great, Rory.” Wren sounds like she’s fighting laughter.

I pan the camera to where Finch is circling the upholstered bench at the end of my bed. She jumps up, curling into a gray fluffball at one end.

I crawl back onto the mattress very carefully so I don’t disturb her. “So, what’s the watch update?”

“He’s keeping it. But I had to agree to a maximum amount on all future gifts.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“I’ll just have to get creative. Buy myself a sailboat, but ignore the boom or oversteer. Sawyer won’t be able to resist jumping in.”

I’m as lost as I was during the sailing conversation at Atlantic Crest. The only boats I’ve been on had motors.

“Don’t push him too much, Wren. It’s a good thing he has limits. You don’t want to be with a guy who expects you to fund your entire relationship.”

Wren raises both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nothing. That’s just incredibly similar to something Flynn said.”

“He grew up with money. It’s different.”

Even as I say it, I’m thinking about all the gifts Carson accepted without protest. His childhood was comfortably wealthy, too, yet he’d let me pay. It never really bothered me at the time. I perceived it as he wasn’t emasculated by my money, that he respected my independence. Yet Flynn has insisted on paying every time we grocery shop together or when we ate dinner without his parents. He’s never mentioned the checks I haven’t deposited, but the amount doubled September 1, so he’d noticed I hadn’t taken the August payment.

“Oh, some good news! Remember Gus, Sawyer’s friend?”

I nod.

“He and his girlfriend got back together. Thank God, really, because they’re two of the nicest people and perfect for each other.”