Chapter 9
Frankie was a huge proponent of getting a jumpstart on the day, but fitting in a soul-crushing existential crisis while suffering from a debilitating hangover before breakfast was not something she would recommend.
How was this her life? In a few weeks she was turning thirty. It was a milestone birthday. The big three-oh. Her career was…nowhere. Thanks to her putting it on hold to support Tristan, and for what? For him to have sex with his clientele.
She was living with her Yaya. Which she would actually put in the blessing-in-disguise column.
It was clear that Yaya could no longer live alone without assistance.
Frankie had witnessed too many things that Yaya tried to play off as “accidental.” The gas stove being left on.
The front door being left wide open. Her forgetting that she didn’t have a robe on when she went out in the front yard.
But the cherry on top of her thirty-life-crisis was that she’d tried to kiss Liam last night, or she had kissed Liam last night.
That part was still a little fuzzy. What she was crystal clear on was that he’d rejected her.
The memory of him pulling away in disgust and horror was something that kept playing over and over again.
She’d made unwanted sexual advances on Liam.
Her ex-fiancé’s brother. A man she’d loved for more than half her life.
That would be bad enough, but she was also fairly certain she’d brought up the show The Summer I Turned Pretty and told him that it was like a page out of her diary.
Which, although true, was utterly humiliating.
The show was about two brothers that the lead was in love with, and clearly the older brother was her soulmate.
Frankie’s only hope was that Liam wasn’t taking anything she said seriously.
She wasn’t even sure when he’d shown up at JT’s.
One second a dickhead named Dan was hitting on her, and the next second Shelby was asking if she knew who Liam was, and he was saying he was going to take her home.
Why was he there? When did he get there?
How did he know she was there? Had someone called him? Who?
No one even knew that she knew him. She hadn’t told Poppy, because he hadn’t. When Poppy showed up for Girls’ Night, it was clear that after Frankie left the offices the day before, Liam hadn’t said anything about knowing who she was, so why had he gone to the bar?
The copper kettle on the stove let out a high, despairing whistle, causing her head to throb in pain.
She quickly removed it from the burner and filled her mug.
Yaya was old school and did not believe in coffee makers, much to Frankie’s dismay.
She was already on her third cup of Ethiopian dark roast as she slumped back down into the kitchen chair and willed the world around her to stop spinning quite so rapidly.
Her eyes squinted as she gazed out the back screen door and sipped her caffeine remedy.
The scene before her was the kind of gold and green that belonged to charity calendars and nature documentaries, but, Hope Falls had always struck her as more sitcom than PBS miniseries.
The air wafting through the aluminum mesh screen door was mountain-fresh and smelled faintly of peppermint lip balm, courtesy of Yaya, who sat across the table in a pink apron decorated with olives as she rolled out dough for whatever pastry treat she was preparing to bake to bring to the hospital for her daily afternoon visit to her “gentleman friend,” Mr. Santino.
Frankie set her mug down and closed her eyes as she let the warm liquid slide down her throat.
“A man took you to bed last night,” Yaya stated out of nowhere.
The comment caught her off guard, causing her to suck in air and choke.
She coughed as her eyes flew open. “What?”
“You heard me. Two bright headlights flashed in my window. They were from an SUV. A fancy one Then I see him pick you up and carry you, so I pretend to be asleep.”
“You pretended to be asleep?” Frankie clarified.
“Of course!” Her hands flew up, sending white powder fanning through the air like the fountains at the Bellagio.
“Why?!”
“Because I want to see what he was going to do. To test him.”
“Test him?”
“Yes, you have to see what a man does when he thinks no one is looking.” Yaya pointed her forefinger and middle finger in a V shape at her own eyes and then gestured them out, back and forth, several times.
“Yaya, he’s—” Frankie began to tell her it was Liam when she spoke over her.
“No! I tell you! He was perfect! He put you to bed, laid you on your side so if you got sick you didn’t choke, got you water and crackers from the kitchen and put them by your bed, put a blanket on me, close the curtains so no peepers Toms, and locked the front door.
Perfect!” She did a double chef’s kiss. “Oh, and Garfield love him. Even let him pet head!”
That was impressive, Garfield was not a fan of most people, especially men. He was okay with the pastor. Apparently, Yaya had been calling him over quite a lot for ‘repairs’ after Papou passed away, so the cat got used to him.
“You need to call him and thank him.”
No, she didn’t. She needed the earth to swallow her alive. Yaya pushed Frankie’s cell phone towards her. “Call.”
“It was Liam,” she told her bluntly.
“His name is Liam, okay.” She continued rolling out her dough. “Call Liam.”
“No, Yaya, it’s Liam, who I grew up with, Tristan’s older brother.”
“What?!” Yaya’s hand flew in the air again. “How?! When did you…how is this…Where has he been?!”
Frankie winced at the volume of Yaya’s voice, which caused her head to feel like tiny men were using jackhammers on her brain. “Those are all good questions, unfortunately, I don’t have any answers.”
“What do you mean?” the volume of her voice kept increasing. “You don’t have answers?!”
A loud knock sounded, causing her brain to feel like it was being split open. She wasn’t sure if it was just her hangover or if it was really a knock.
“Did you hear that?” she asked Yaya.
“Of course I did. I’m not deaf!” Her hand flew forward, and Frankie felt flour land on her face. “Someone’s at the door.”
“Who?” she asked as she wiped the powder off her nose.
“How do I know?” Her arms flew in the air once again. “Do I have the crystal ball? Can I see through walls? Go answer.”
That meant standing. And walking. If it was anyone trying to sell something, they picked the wrong time. If there was anyone there to visit Yaya, Frankie was going to use the distraction to climb back in her bed, pull the blanket over her head, and try to forget last night ever happened.
Pressing both hands on the kitchen table, she used that as leverage to push up to her feet, then managed to put one foot in front of the other until she found herself in front of the door.
She was fairly certain she was standing perfectly still, but the world was spinning around her.
Flashes of the night before kept coming back to her.
It was pretty much a blur after her fifth shot, and she’d continued drinking after that.
She remembered talking to Liam at the bar, and then they were on the dance floor at some point, where she accused him of being ageist for some reason.
After that she was pretty sure he carried her and she mentioned how good he smelled.
Then, the next thing she knew, and this was where it got real fuzzy, his face was right in front of her, and she leaned forward and kissed him.
He recoiled in horror, and if memory served, she accused him of being a party pooper.
That’s the last memory she had. So yeah, if a sinkhole could just go ahead and open up, she’d be more than happy to slide on down it.
With a deep inhale through her nose and exhale through her mouth, she placed one hand on her stomach and used the other to open the door.
When she lifted her head, she expected to see one of Yaya’s friends holding cookies, flowers, or a card for her to take when she visited Mr. Santino.
Boy, was she in for a shock when instead she found Liam.
His grin was one of smug contentment from being a perfect specimen of a human being, or that could just be her projecting.
He wore a simple navy-blue Henley that molded to his upper body like a second skin, the sleeves pushed up on his forearms, revealing tattoos on both. Her brain must have been in shock because she hadn’t even realized he had tattoos when she saw him in his office, and he had on a white t-shirt.
His hair was damp, not the calculated kind of wetness people got from putting product in their hair, but the kind that resulted after towel drying from a shower. The stubble situation was, frankly, unfair. It was even more grown out than when she’d seen him in the office, and he looked even sexier.
Frankie didn’t even want to think about what she looked like at that very moment.
She’d woken up, gargled some mouthwash, and practically crawled into the kitchen, where she’d been mainlining coffee.
If she wanted to look as put together as him, her own grooming regimen would mean showering, where she’d have to shave her legs, armpits, and lady parts.
Lotion her entire body before drying and either straightening or putting in enough products to tame her wild and wavy, long hair.
Next, a five-step skincare routine before she even put a drop of makeup on.
Whereas she suspected he’d rinsed off, administered a cursory swipe of deodorant, brushed his teeth, maybe flossed, and yet, he still looked a hundred times hotter than she ever would, which was really annoying.
“Morning.” His half-smile revealed his deep dimples as he balanced a white paper bag in his outstretched hands, like a goodwill offering.
She could smell hash browns and bacon. Her mouth flooded with a longing so intense she nearly forgave him for looking so fresh while she felt like she’d been embalmed.