Chapter 16 Frankie
Frankie
It’s the Frankie-effect
I wake to the sound of my phone buzzing somewhere on the nightstand, shrill and obnoxious after a night of storm winds and… well, other noises. My hand flails across the clutter of chapstick, a hair tie, and about three bobby pins before I manage to grab it.
After we spent another day in bed together, eating whatever snacks Sam dashed home to get, we fell asleep again. I can confirm that sex with Sam is wearing me out to no end.
The screen flashes with my mom’s name, but before I can even slide to answer, the damn thing goes black. Dead.
I groan, flopping back onto the pillow. Of course. No power means no charging, which means my only lifeline to the outside world has just abandoned me. Perfect.
“Everything okay?”
The rumble of Sam’s voice startles me. I’d half convinced myself last night was a dream. He’s propped on one elbow, hair a mess, bare chest unfairly distracting in the early light filtering in.
“My phone died.” I hold up the useless brick for emphasis.
He looks to the other nightstand, where my alarm clock sits, the face flashing. “Power’s back on. You can charge it.”
“It is?” I sit up looking at the blinking numbers that don’t mean much, but it’s a sign of life, or normality again.
For two days, it’s been nothing but him and this bed and unlimited orgasms. Now, with that tiny flicker of the outside world again, everything will quickly come rushing back, invading our bubble.
There’s a faint ache low in my gut like something small and perfect might be coming to an end.
It’s the same feeling I get once Christmas is over.
“I’d say put some coffee on,” he says, already reaching for his jeans on the floor, proving my earlier point of that bubble being popped, “but I already know we’ll have to make it over to my house for that.”
My stomach growls on cue, which earns me a low chuckle from him.
“Get dressed, bring your charger, we’ll go to mine and I’ll feed you. Real food, not just the snacks we had last night. I need more sustenance to keep up with you.”
My entire body shivers at those words. He wants more time with me.
I internally preen at the way his voice is light and airy, and indulge in the memories of the last twenty-four hours that play like a mirage of pleasure in my head.
A delicious ache pulses between my legs as I stand and grab sweats to throw on with my favorite old college shirt.
On his way past, he dips to press a kiss to my forehead, and something inside me stutters at the quiet intimacy of it.
“I’ll go put the heating on,” he murmurs. “Take your time.”
I nod, though my thoughts are still tangled in him. On every little thing I’ve learned about him in such a short time. He’s caring, attentive, sweet, and a complete stud in bed. Who knew the perfect gentleman, Christmas dislike aside, would live across the street from me?
By the time I’ve wrangled my charger and tied my hair up, Sam’s already at his house.
I smile at the sight of my living room and, without a second guess, I flick on the Christmas lights because I can, now everything is back on.
The glow instantly reflects inside me too, my mouth tipping into a smile without any effort.
I grab my boots, coat, and everything else I need and head out.
I trudge through the thick snow. It’s freezing and unforgiving, coming almost to my mid calf, but at least it’s mostly stopped snowing now.
I’ll have to check flights again to make a plan for what happens now.
Across the street, his porch light is on, and through the window, I catch a fleeting glimpse of him moving around.
I pause, the sight tugging at me, because he isn’t the man I thought he was yesterday.
I’d written him off as the kind who preferred silence to company, the kind who kept the world at arm’s length and notoriously grumpy…
hot but grumpy. But watching him now, shoulders relaxed in his own space, I know better.
There’s more to him than the scowl he hides behind.
I like him.
The realization makes heat prickle in my cheeks.
I don’t judge people often, but with him, I was too quick, too blinded by his refusal to join in the Christmas cheer.
And maybe, if I’m honest, I wanted him to be nothing more than the grumpy neighbor—because anything else feels a lot more dangerous.
There’s a potential with him I haven’t experienced in a really long time.
Walking up to his door, I raise my hand to knock when it flies open and reveals Sam bundled into a jacket, a bag balanced in one arm, and a thermos in the other. Steam curls into the cold air. “Thought I’d save us the trek. Supplies,” he says simply, holding up the bag.
The smell of fresh coffee hits me, and I almost moan. “You’re officially infected.”
His brow furrows deep. “Infected?”
“With Christmas spirit. Coming to the neighbor’s house bearing gifts, food, and caffeine?” I grin. “It’s terminal. Sorry.”
He laughs, and I realize it’s quickly become a sound I love to hear from my… neighbor feels less intimate, but what is he? Friend? With… benefits? Probably not the best time to overthink this.
“I blame you,” he says, expelling plumes of white smoke into the cold air.
“It’s inevitable.”
“It’s the Frankie-effect. And I’m scared to see what spending more time with you will do to me.”
I should laugh it off, should throw back a quip about how I can corrupt him further with cookie dough and Christmas lights, but instead, my chest squeezes.
Because, under the teasing, his voice had an edge of truth.
And maybe I’m scared too, of what happens if this keeps going, if last night wasn’t just storm-induced madness but the start of something neither of us planned.
Before I can respond, the creak of a door cuts through the quiet morning. We both glance down the street just as Mrs. Kline, Sam’s elderly neighbor, appears, bundled in a robe with a bin bag half her size dragging behind her.
“Bloody hell,” Sam mutters, already moving. “Take these inside for me,” he says, pressing the thermos and bag into my arms before striding across the snow. His voice softens as he calls out, “Morning, Mrs. Kline. Here, let me get that.”
He takes the bag from her, his big frame bent low as she pats his arm in thanks. My throat warms in a way that has nothing to do with the anticipation of the coffee in my hands and everything to do with the man he is, but maybe I couldn’t fully appreciate before now.
I hug the thermos and head back into my house.
Setting everything down on the kitchen counter, I walk back into the living area and plug my phone in and watch it power back to life.
Messages ping one after the other, the most notable being my sister begging me to call because our mom is going mad with worry.
Pressing the video call button, I sit on the sofa, and she answers on the first ring.
“Finally!” Ivy, my sister, all but shouts. Behind her, I catch the blur of wrapping paper and the faint chaos of Christmas morning prep. “Where the hell have you been? Mom is two seconds away from calling the FBI.”
Before I can even say hello, the phone jostles and our mom leans into the frame, her face flushed with equal parts worry and relief.
“Oh, thank god,” she breathes, her hand covering her heart.
“Frankie, don’t you ever disappear like that again.
A storm this bad and not a word from you? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Guilt tugs at me hard. “I’m sorry, Mom. The power was out, my phone died. I’m okay, I promise.”
Her eyes soften, but she shakes her head. “Too long without contact, sweetheart. The last message we got was that you couldn’t make it and were heading home, then nothing. I was so worried. What have you been doing? Are you okay?”
Ivy leans back into view, arms crossed, a knowing smirk pulling at her mouth. “Yeah, sis. Two whole days, snowed in. Alone.” She drags out the last word like she’s testing it.
Something hot prickles across my face. My lips part, but nothing useful comes out. Images flash unhelpfully through my mind… Sam’s mouth on mine, his laugh echoing in my kitchen, his hands gripping my hips as he... yeah, not helpful.
“I, um—”
The front door bursts open on a rush of cold air. Sam stomps in, bundled in his jacket, cheeks red from the wind, muttering with a theatrical shiver. “It’s bloody freezing out there. I hope you’re ready to warm me up, Frankie, because I’m half ice already.”
My mom’s mouth drops open on the tiny phone screen. Ivy lets out a screech of laughter. And me? I just about wish the snow would swallow me whole.