3. Chapter 3
Frankie
“Happy Birthday, Em.” Frankie swallowed, staring down at the tombstone before her.
The previous flower arrangement she’d placed over the headstone had disappeared, but thankfully, the hook was still secure.
She took two steps and set the artificial flowers inside the clasp.
They weren’t as pretty as the ones Frankie brought in the warmer months, but she knew Emily wouldn’t mind.
The site was recently groomed, she noticed, with its grave blanket now in place to add some comfort during the winter months.
A new photograph of Emily had replaced the old one.
“Auntie B must have stopped in,” Frankie continued, studying the picture for a moment.
Emily’s youthful features smiled up at her, cheeks spattered with freckles and ginger hair in a ponytail.
She was lovely, just as Frankie remembered all those years ago.
Except now, the blinding pain of everything she’d lost had faded into a dull, persistent ache.
Squatting down, Frankie used her glove to brush the fresh snow off Emily’s gravestone. “One day at a time, Em, I promise,” she whispered, remembering the vow she’d taken the last day they’d seen each other. “No fear, not anymore.”
The sound of boots crunching on wet gravel behind her stilled Frankie. When she turned around, her Aunt Belinda stood a few feet away, tears glistening in her eyes and her hands clutching the lapels of her button-down jacket. “Frankie. It’s so good to see you, honey.”
Regret gnawed at Frankie as she stood. It had been months since they’d spoken last, longer since they’d seen one another. Frankie was awful at keeping in touch on the best of days, but it was even harder with the wedge she’d thrown into their little family. “Hey, Auntie B.”
“You don’t have to look ready to run the moment you see me.” Auntie B came to stand beside her, reaching for Frankie. Frankie tensed when she felt the gentle caress on her back.
“I’m not,” Frankie lied, turning back to Emily’s resting place. Their visit today wouldn’t be as long after all. She cleared her throat. “I just can’t stay. I’ve got a lot on the go. I’m busy, I can’t just drop everything and—”
“When will you stop running, Frankie?” Auntie B placed her hand on Frankie’s arm, a pleading look on her face as she searched Frankie’s eyes. For what, Frankie never could tell. Maybe that one day she would magically forget and put it all behind her? “She would have wanted you to be happy.”
“How would you know?” Frankie wrenched out of her aunt’s grip, her throat swelling as the seconds ticked by.
A flurry started around them, and Frankie watched as flakes of snow landed on the older woman’s hat.
A snowflake hit her cheek, melting almost immediately.
She swiped the wetness away, swallowing hard.
“Emily’s dead. She hasn’t been able to say what she wants in a very long time. ”
And it’s my fault.
It didn’t matter what tale her aunt spun, or how many years went by. A piece of Frankie had broken away that day. She didn’t think she could ever get it back, or if she even deserved the chance.
When she arrived at work hours later, it looked as if her staff had slipped into full-on crisis mode hours before, and someone had forgotten to notify her.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Lian called in sick, and Dakota started puking his guts up in the kitchen sink,” Sloane announced as she raced past Frankie with a tray of appetizers.
At 4 p.m., the tables were filling up fast, Frankie noticed as she glanced around.
It was too close to the supper rush for it to be just Rain cooking in the kitchen.
“Can you cook?” she asked and followed Sloane to a table full of college-aged guys.
Sloane scoffed, casting Frankie a stink eye over her shoulder. “Do I look like my sister?” Then she blew out a breath and rolled her eyes, muttering, “Don’t answer that.”
“Actually, no, not really.” In her figure-hugging black long-sleeve shirt, the kind with built-in thumb holes, with a black leather skirt and edgy, punk-style leather boots that went up mid-thigh, it was sometimes hard to fathom that Sloane was McCoy’s identical twin.
McCoy, who was an irresistible cross between soft butch and masc lesbian, with a 100 percent golden retriever personality.
Realization dawned on her then, and she trailed after Sloane as she led the way to the bar. “You’re here. On your day off.” Sloane never worked on Sundays. It was actually one of her stipulations when she took the job, one Frankie had respected. “Why didn’t anyone call me, for fuck’s sake?”
Andy, busily throwing together drink orders, pointed to the waiting tray of beers. “Hey, boss.”
Sloane picked up the tray, looked Frankie in the eye, and had the audacity to sigh. “I was gonna call you, but Coy told me not to. She was here too for a while, helping in the kitchen, at least ‘til the old ball and chain pulled her away.”
Frankie frowned, choosing not to reply to that remark. Apparently, Sloane still wasn’t a fan of Sawyer. It wasn’t until she was entering the kitchen that the rest of Sloane’s words sank in. McCoy hadn’t wanted anyone to disturb Frankie, but why?
Surely she doesn’t know about Emily. They had been lovers for what seemed like forever some days, but Frankie had never opened up about her past. She’d tried, so many times, but with every attempt came the voice in the back of her head screaming not to.
“Ugh, what a mess.” Frankie scanned the mountain of dishes waiting to be washed, with more that had already gone through waiting on the other side.
Rain was sweating over the fryer and slinging burgers onto the grill.
Quesadillas were burning on the flattop.
Frankie quickly washed her hands and pulled on an apron before jumping in to help.
Tossing the quesadillas in the garbage, she started anew.
She wasn’t the best cook. Taking over the pub hadn’t been about the kitchen work.
It had been about having something to call her own, about building a community who felt safe to let loose.
She had purposely hired cooks so that she didn’t need to do this part of the job.
“Jesus, how do I flip the fucking thing?” Frankie growled, seconds away from tossing the quesadilla against the wall.
Rain appeared, her deep brown eyes sparkling as she chuckled. She gently nudged Frankie aside. “Quit being so aggressive. Cooking is a delicate process at times.”
“I’m calling in reinforcements. Is Nathan back from vacation yet?” Her third cook had requested two weeks off for personal reasons out of province. Frankie knew he wasn’t due back until the following week, but damn, a girl could hope.
“Not that I’m aware of. Can you grab the fries? Just lift the—yep, you got it.”
Frankie grimaced as the oil splatter came close to ruining her suit. Had she known this was what her night would look like, maybe, just maybe, she’d have foregone her usual fashion for functionality.
“Great. Now how do you feel about dishing some up onto the plates there?” Rain asked, pointing to the lineup semi-assembled on the nearby counter. “Fries and burger to each one.”
Frankie did as instructed, knowing she’d need to dry-clean her suit by the end of this nightmare. One burger slipped off the spatula, shooting toward the dirty floor like a rocket, but at the last minute, Frankie scooped an empty plate under it.
“Probably work better if you take the plate to the burger, not the other way around.” Rain giggled. Frankie snapped her tongs at the young woman like they were pincers, which only made the fit of giggles worse.
“I’m taking these out. I need air. And possibly a stiff drink.” Frankie didn’t wait for Rain to rebuke her, not that she would, and filled the serving tray with the three plates. The moment she left the sweltering kitchen, a gust of cool air hit her rosy cheeks.
“Here, take these,” Frankie said as soon as Sloane got close enough.
She heaved a sigh, relieved to be rid of the tray even temporarily, and slid behind the bar.
Greeting a couple of Sunday regulars who came in for the appetizer special, Frankie’s gaze landed on Evan, who stood a few feet away.
They were wearing the same jacket and identical jeans as the night before but now held a piece of paper in their hand.
“You’re back,” Frankie said in a way of greeting, although she didn’t stop on her way to the bar sink. She grabbed a glass and filled it with ice and water before guzzling half of it. She sighed, enjoying the cold liquid hydrating her parched throat.
Evan watched her drink, and Frankie had to squelch the flutter in her stomach at the sight of them.
After seeing McCoy on her knees for Sawyer the night before, all Frankie had wanted to do was fuck away the deep-seated ache inside her.
She was glad Evan was already gone when Frankie sought them out.
Had Evan been there and willing, Frankie would have taken them back to her office and had them on their back on her desk in no time.
And I’d be dying with regret right now.
Frankie didn’t do strangers. She never had.
It took a lot to trust someone enough to show them her darker desires or learn that they too had the same longing for scene play and kink.
Not to mention, there were sit-down discussions before anything took place, talks of soft and hard limits, needs, wants, and safe words.
Just because Evan’s entire persona screamed submissive, didn’t mean they were aware of it.
“I’m back,” Evan said, their voice coming out rather tentative in the loudness of the pub. “I, uh, wanted to drop this off.” They held out the paper for Frankie to take.
Frankie scanned the paper, her eyes widening a little in surprise before she darted a glance back to Evan. “A resume?” Damn if this wasn’t the best example of what good fortune meant. A laugh bubbled from her chest. “You want to work here?”
Evan shrugged. “I saw the ad in the window. I’m new to town.”
Frankie set the resume under the cash register, side-stepping Andy as she got herself a bourbon. It was far too busy to sit and enjoy an Irish coffee right then. “How about a trial run? Starting now. I’m short-staffed and could use the help.”
“Erm, okay. I guess, so long as it comes with cash at the end of the night.” Evan folded their arms together, looking awkward as hell as Frankie poured a second shot.
“Well, what can you do? Any kitchen experience?”
“I got a few years in the kitchen. Dishwashing mainly, but I can manage my way around the stove okay.”
Frankie smiled, lightness filling her chest for the first time all day. “If you’ll accept a check, then you’ve got a deal.”