Chapter 5
Chapter five
Frankie
The Parnell house smells like heaven. Cinnamon, roast potatoes, and whatever alchemy Leah uses in her gravy that makes people volunteer to do dishes unprompted.
I step through the door behind Tamara, who met me at the GO station with a dramatic sigh about how she’d sacrificed her entire afternoon of wine intake just to pick me up.
The sisterly martyrdom is strong with this one.
She breezes past the kitchen, calling something over her shoulder as she disappears toward the living room, laughing at something Eli appears to be bothered by.
The Parnells at Christmas is like stepping into a snow globe: twinkling lights, comfortable chaos, and that golden hum of being somewhere safe and familiar. Somewhere that once saved you.
“Frankie!” Leah Parnell swoops in with a hug that smells of Chanel and sage stuffing. “Look at you—God, you’re all grown up.”
“I’m twenty seven, Leah.”
“Yes, and stunning as ever,” she says, pulling back to beam at me. Her eyes drop to the bag slung over my shoulder. “Let me take that upstairs for you—your old room’s all made up.”
“Oh—no, I actually booked a cabin a few streets over,” I say quickly. “Just for a bit of space. You know… a quiet pocket.”
Her expression softens. “You sure?”
“Promise I’ll still be here most of the time.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “But don’t blame me when Tamara eats your share of the cinnamon rolls.”
“I knew you liked her best,” Tamara calls from the other room. “Frankie walks in and she’s getting cinnamon rolls, meanwhile Eli and I carried half the province’s groceries and barely got a nod.”
“Should’ve stayed closer to home,” Herb calls from the kitchen doorway. He’s wearing an apron that reads Kiss the Cook, He’s Retired. “Instead of swanning off to Denver with that boy of ours. Frankie stuck around a bit longer.”
My throat pinches softly at that. I didn’t expect to feel emotional already, but here I am. Herb and Leah were the lifeboat when Mom and Dad died: always feeding us, checking on us, filling in the gaps of adulthood we weren’t ready for.
They didn’t have to take me in—they weren’t technically my family, but they became it.
And they’re like that for half of Maplewood. No judgement, just the unconditional kind of love you never forget.
“Nice to see you, Franks,” Herb says, pulling me into a brief, warm hug that somehow feels more like home than my apartment ever has.
“You too, Herb.”
“You staying long?”
“Just a few days. Got a cabin closeby—didn’t wanna overcrowd.”
“Pfft,” Leah waves a dismissive hand, turning back to the stove. “You are the crowd.”
Before I can reply, there’s a thud from the living room followed by an exasperated “Logan!”
“What?” comes a voice far too innocent to be believed. “It bounced.”
I poke my head in to see a stupidly handsome man with dark hair and broad shoulders, retrieving a bauble from under the couch, as though this is a perfectly normal activity. He must be Logan Miller, Eli’s teammate and Lulu’s fiancé.
Eli glowers at him from beside a fortress of neatly wrapped presents. “You chucked it at my head.”
“I passed it. It’s not my fault your reflexes are slowing with age.”
“You’re four years younger than me, jackass.”
“Exactly.” Logan spreads his arms. “Prime of my life.”
“Your prime nearly decapitated me.”
“I would’ve caught it,” Lulu says from the armchair, legs tucked beneath her and cheeks pink with laughter. “Don’t blame me for loving someone with superior aim.”
Eli groans, gesturing between his sister and teammate. “I still can’t believe I have to see this with my eyes.”
“You shouldn't have let Lulu buy the house across the road from him, then,” Tamara says, smiling at me as I flop onto the loveseat beside her.
“Yeah well, I didn’t think he’d betray me,” he mutters.
“Me neither,” Logan says, tossing an arm over the back of Lulu’s chair with a sit-eating grin. “But then I saw her ass in those tight blue leggings during her morning run and knew I was done for.”
“Get out.”
“Eli.” Leah’s voice floats in. “Don’t scare the guests.”
“She’s not a guest, she’s family,” he grumbles, his eyes catching mine and softening. “Good to see you, Frankie.”
Logan finally turns, eyes landing on me with easy friendliness—and yeah, I suddenly get why Lulu’s glowing. “Hey, I’m Logan.”
“Frankie,” I say, giving a small wave. “Nice to finally meet the guy causing Eli lifelong emotional damage.”
He grins. “Oh, I plan on making it worse.”
Lulu nudges him with her foot. “Behave.”
He kisses her temple, purely to irritate Eli, and God help me, it works.
I’m still smiling when I notice the girl curled in a beanbag in the corner, half-hidden behind a sketchpad. Ash-blonde braid, big blue eyes, that familiar guarded posture that used to be so much sharper.
“Hey,” I say, crossing over and crouching. “Aurora, right?”
“It’s Rory,” she says softly. “Only teachers call me Aurora.”
“Got it.” My smile widens. “I’m Frankie—only teachers call me Francesca. We met years back, but you were probably too cool to remember.”
She gives a tiny smile. “I remember you.”
I nod toward her sketchpad. “What’re you working on?”
She hesitates, then flips it toward me. It’s Eli, mid-lunge and face contorted, clearly about to be nailed by a bauble.
My laugh is bright and immediate. “Please tell me that’s his Christmas gift.”
“Thinking about it.”
“She’s got talent, huh?” Herb says, appearing behind us with a dish towel slung over his shoulder. “We’ve got a whole gallery wall going. Ran out of fridge space.”
“She’s incredible,” I say honestly.
Rory shrugs. “Helps pass the time.”
She goes back to sketching, and something in my chest swirls. She’s older and steadier now, but I remember the early days when Rory was quiet, skittish, and heartbreakingly young.
Herb and Leah gave her home a couple of years ago, after what I can only guess was a brutal start to life. Now she has a landing place. A future. She seems to be so much happier now.
“Leah,” I say, catching her eye as I stand, needing to shake off the sudden swell in my throat. “Tell me what I can do to help,”
“You,” she says, brushing a hand over my arm with a soft smile, “can grab a glass of wine and sit. Let us spoil you a little.”
Before I can answer, Herb calls back as he walks toward the hallway.
“And I need a couple strong backs to clear the driveway. Eli! Logan!”
Logan’s head pops up immediately. “Yep—on it, Herb.”
Eli collapses forward dramatically. “Dad… we just sat down.”
“And you’ll sit again when my drive doesn’t look like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Logan nudges him. “Come on, old man. I’ll do the heavy lifting. Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”
Eli mutters darkly, but stands, shooting Tamara a look so dramatic she could frame it. She just lifts her wine in a silent toast to his suffering.
The mudroom door shuts, and a beat later there’s the unmistakable sound of someone hurling a snowball with the velocity of a small meteor.
Tamara groans. “They lasted, what, eight seconds?”
“Generous,” Lulu says, handing me a glass of wine as I settle beside her. “Honestly, that’s a new record.”
I peer out the window at the flurry of movement—Eli diving behind a bush, Logan lining up a retaliatory shot like they’re pro-athletes in a game of World War Snow, not the NHL.
“Wow,” I deadpan. “Look at them. Two best friends shovelling snow so responsibly.”
Lulu’s face softens as she watches Logan dodge another snowball and immediately return fire with sniper accuracy.
“He’s never really had a Christmas like this before,” she says quietly. “His parents don’t do holidays. No traditions, nothing that looks like…” She gestures around the room at the twinkle lights, the gifts, Leah humming from the kitchen as she bastes the turkey. “This.”
“That’s awful,” I murmur.
Lulu shrugs, glancing at the giant diamond sparkling on her finger.
“He pretends it’s not. But I think being here kinda guts him, in a good way.
He’s finally being surrounded by the love he deserves.
” Then her eyes narrow playfully, turning straight on me.
“Which brings me to a much more interesting topic.”
“Yes.” Tamara sits forward like she’s been waiting all day for this. “Let’s discuss your love life.”
I choke on my sip of wine. “Jesus. Can we talk about literally anything else?”
“No,” they say in unison.
“Don’t you two have your own relationships to obsess over?”
“We’re already obsessed,” Lulu replies, wiggling her ring so it catches the light. “Now it’s your turn.”
“You do realize I haven’t brought anyone here for Christmas since college, right?”
“Exactly,” Tamara deadpans. “We’re overdue.”
I sigh into my glass. “Fine. There was someone.”
Tamara gasps. “Was?!”
Lulu leans in as though she’s about to hear state secrets. “Tell us everything. Who is he? How’d you meet? What does he look like?”
“Don’t know.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what he looks like. We never met. It was all voice.”
Their twin expressions of shock would be funny if this weren’t already mortifying.
“You never met?” Tamara repeats slowly. “Francesca Monroe, are you telling me you got catfished?”
“No! I mean, I don’t think so.” I pause, then wince. “Okay, maybe. I don’t know. We met on that dumb voice-first matchmaking app—the one where you don’t see anyone’s face unless you both agree to reveal.”
“Oh my god,” Lulu breathes. “You were on Banter?”
Tamara’s eyes widen. “That app where people seduce each other with their voices?”
“Seduce is a strong word.”
Tamara arches a brow.
“Okay, fine,” I groan. “Yes, we seduced each other. His voice should be illegal. The man could read tax law and I’d still need a minute.”
Lulu’s mouth falls open, and I look down at my hands.
“We were talking for over a month.”
“A whole month?” Tamara hisses. “You were in an anonymous voice-sex situationship for a month and didn’t tell me?”
“What part of he ghosted me are you not hearing?” I snap, but it comes out more wounded than I mean it to.
Tamara softens. “Oh, Franks…”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “It’s stupid. It was just voice messages and flirty texts. That’s it.”
“Okay,” Tamara says after a beat. “Give us the rundown of what you do know. What was his name?”
“Didn’t get one.”
Lulu looks scandalized. “You didn’t even get a name?”
I nod, grimacing. “Just a sexy voice and orgasms.”
Tamara’s eyebrows fly up. “You had voice-only orgasms?”
“Best orgasms of my life.”
Lulu actually squeaks. “From his voice?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, it was like… Pavlovian. He’d send one voice note and my brain would just—” I snap my fingers. “—short-circuit.”
“No wonder you’re devastated.”
“I’m not devastated,” I lie.
They stare.
“Fine!” I throw my hands up. “I’m devastated. And horny. It’s been a week, and now every time I reach for my vibrator, all I hear is his stupid perfect voice saying something filthy, and my brain just stops cooperating.”
“That’s tragic,” Lulu says solemnly.
“I know! I even had to buy myself a Christmas present to cope.”
Tamara narrows her eyes. “What kind of present?”
“A… festive… toy.”
Lulu gasps. “You did not.”
“Red and gold. Glittery gem on the end. Very on theme.”
“Please tell me it jingles.”
“It does not jingle.”
“Missed opportunity,” Lulu says solemnly. “Still, I’m proud of you. Self-care queen.”
“I know it’s dumb,” I whisper, twisting the stem of my glass. “But it felt real. And now I can’t stop replaying everything in my head. And the longer the silence goes on, the more pathetic I feel.”
Lulu shakes her head. “Frankie, that’s not pathetic. That’s human.”
“And for the record?” Tamara gently turns my chin to face her. “Ghosting is coward shit.”
“Agreed,” Lulu says. “He had the hottest girl in the world on the end of his phone and he still managed to fuck it up.”
A tiny broken laugh escapes me. “Maybe he’ll come crawling back.”
“And if he does, you make him crawl.”
“Yes you do,” Lulu adds, clinking her glass with Tamara’s. “A woman who buys festive butt plugs deserves excellent grovelling.”
Wine goes up my nose as I snort, but the coil in me eases just a little. Enough to breathe, enough to laugh. Enough to feel the faintest spark of myself again.
I reach for a pretzel on the cheeseboard when there’s a knock at the door, but I barely look up.
This is the Parnell house on Christmas Day—of course there’s a knock at the door.
Firefighters rotate through here like bonus family members.
Leah’s practically got a sixth sense for feeding underpaid public servants, and Herb’s a walking invitation.
“Merry Christmas, Chief. Sorry I’m a few minutes late, brought some reinforcements.”
Something flickers at the base of my spine as the voice floats down the hallway. Familiar in the way a dream feels right before it slips away.
“Merry Christmas, son,” Herb replies. “Come on in.”
My head tilts instinctively toward the hallway, brows pinching.
It’s probably someone I’ve met before, or maybe he just has one of those voices. Warm and rough, a little cocky. The kind that wraps around your neck and tightens.
Footsteps sound—Herb’s heavier stride, a slightly quicker one behind it, then they round the corner and step straight into the living room.
“Girls,” Herb says, gesturing with a hand. “This is Mason Fletcher—Fletch, you’ll remember Lulu of course, but I don’t think you’ll have met Tamara or Frankie here. Mason’s one of the full-timers out at the station. Been there, what, three years?”
“Four now, give or take,” Mason replies with a smile, then turns back to us. “Hey ladies—sorry to barge in and ruin the fun.”
Lulu and Tamara chime in with warmth and welcomes, but I don’t speak. I don’t move. My body forgets how to exist.
Because that voice.
I know that fucking voice.
Fireboy.