Page 41 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

“They like sardines and wieners,” I drawled, half-conscious.

“We’ll need to stop at a store because I also need clothes.

Real ones. And underwear.” That last part was vital to me because I didn't want to live for however long without panties and bras.

It was awkward enough being naked under the scrubs.

Ira nodded seriously. “Sardines, wieners, and fresh threads. I got it covered.”

I let my eyes close, and despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips. We were on the run again—but this time, I wasn’t doing it alone.

By the time Ira parked the truck just off the old trail leading to the cabin, the sun was already climbing toward its mid-morning peak.

Light streamed through the trees in warm, golden shafts, catching the moss hanging from the branches and setting it aglow.

The air was thick and still, humming with the low buzz of insects and the distant call of birds waking to the late morning heat.

That was enough of me feeling poetic. It'd been a long drive. Between avoiding highways, taking backroads, and making a couple of quiet stops for supplies, we’d burned through most of the night.

My body felt like one huge bruise stitched together with surgical tape and frustration, but knowing the cabin was close filled me with something like relief.

“I should be the one pushing the wheelchair,” I mumbled as Ira pulled out the folded-up chair, already stacking bags filled with sardines, wieners, some random cans of beans, and clothes I could only hope weren’t tie-dye next to it.

“You can be the one pushing it next time,” he replied, opening the door on my side. “Right now, your job is to stay in one piece.”

I grimaced as he helped me into the chair. “I feel bad making you do this. You’re?—”

“Don’t say ‘old,’” he warned.

I grinned up at him. “I was going to say, ‘impossibly spry for a man who claims to be retired.’”

“Much better.”

Ira turned the chair onto the trail, and I immediately cringed at how bumpy the ground was. Branches scraped at our path, and the occasional sharp jolt of uneven dirt reminded me of every bruise I had.

“Just watch out for snakes,” I warned, trying not to let my teeth chatter with the jolts.

“The snakes better watch out for me,” Ira said confidently. “I’ve been wanting a new belt and a matching watch strap.”

The image that conjured made my shoulders shake with a laugh—followed by a sharp twinge in my ribs. “You’re evil,” I groaned, clutching my side.

“Yet you’re smiling.”

The cabin finally came into view, nestled against the edge of the bayou like it had been waiting for me all this time. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“I should warn you,” I suddenly said as Ira wheeled us closer. “There’s only an outside toilet.”

He didn’t flinch. “You think that bothers me? Reminds me of my childhood and the good ol’ days.”

That made me laugh harder. “You’re actually enjoying this.”

“Gabriella, this might be the most fun I’ve had since my youngest grandkid superglued my shoe to the kitchen floor. And that was a great day.”

I didn’t know what to say to that—so I didn’t say a word.

I decided to let myself enjoy the moment.

The bizarre comfort of Ira’s presence, the half-wild sounds of frogs and cicadas rising into the dusk, the smell of moss and earth and old wood as he pushed me up the ramp and opened the creaky cabin door like it was his own.

It still smelled like the last time I was here—pine, damp wood, and faintly of whatever wild animal had claimed the space between visits.

“I’m getting one of these,” Ira gasped with wonder as he stepped inside. “I don’t care if it doesn’t have plumbing. This is heaven.”

I chuckled weakly as he helped me out of the chair and onto the couch—layering the cushions with the blanket from the truck and two of the pillows from where Webb had left them last time. He fussed like a man used to caring for people, and I let him, too tired and too sore to argue.

“You’re not going to make me climb the stairs, are you?” I asked with mock dread.

“Absolutely not. You’re on the ground floor. Me? I’m claiming the loft like a raccoon in a treehouse.”

Once I was settled and he’d gone upstairs, the cabin felt even quieter than I remembered.

Outside, the soft hum of insects drifted through the air, and above me, the floorboards creaked gently as Ira moved back and forth.

My body ached from the trip, every muscle throbbing, but it was the kind of pain I could live with—a dull, manageable hum that paled in comparison to the heavier ache in my chest.

Without thinking, I reached for my phone, but my hand stopped mid-motion. Right, no phone.

The lasttime I’d been here, I’d kept my phone off to avoid being traced—and nothing had changed.

I needed to stay invisible again, off thegrid and out of reach.

But God, I missed Webb. I missed his voice, his warmth, andthe steady calm he carried with him.

There was a quiet certainty in his presence that made me feel grounded, even when everything around me was falling apart.

Somewhere in the silence, Ira’s words drifted back to me.“Are you in love with him, or do you love him?”

I wasn’t sure I’d known the difference either. But now, lying in this tiny cabin with aching limbs and no idea what tomorrow would bring, I tried to sort it out.

Loving Webb felt like safety. Like knowing I could fall and someone would catch me.

Being in love with him felt like fire in the marrow. Like wanting to be known, right down to the deepest part of who I am. It felt like missing him in a place that wasn’t just emotional—it was physical. Like every part of me was stretched thin because he wasn’t near.

I wanted both.

I closed my eyes, still trying to form a plan. Ira had given me my meds before we left—just enough to take the edge off—and now they were kicking in, softening the edges of everything.

The pain eased, and so did the panic. And before I could think anymore, I drifted into sleep to the sound of bayou frogs singing somewhere nearby.