Chapter 5
Frankie
“Ican help you with Junie,” I say again, because Cal looks even more shocked by my answer than I am.
“You sure about that?” He turns his focus back to Junie, helping pull on outfit number three.
“I trust you with her, but I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency.
My family’s busy with harvest, and I can’t take her on a call with me when I’ll be in a cattle pen.
” He huffs a laugh. “I can’t take her on a call with me, period. I barely contain her here.”
“That’s true.” I grin at Junie, a bit chuffed Cal trusts me with her. A client’s horse is one thing, but this is his little girl. “You want to hang out with me today, Junie?”
“Yes!” Without warning, Junie dives for me.
I catch her at the last sec, and the reality of what I’ve agreed to crashes into me with as much force as the little Tassie devil.
“You sure?” Cal asks again, but he’s already zipping his baggies and repacking his bag, putting everything back in its proper place.
“Nah, yeah,” I answer with a confidence that could win me an Academy Award, it’s that convincing. “Whattaya need me to do?”
“Just pick her up after preschool—I’ll leave your name at the front, but be sure to bring ID.
You can bring her back here. I’ll give her extra iPad time.
” He unzips a side pocket, pulls out an iPad in a hard case, and swipes it open.
Junie reaches for it and he holds it over his head.
“After school, and only if you’re on best behavior for Frankie. ”
His attention goes back to me, but mine is bouncing back and forth between him and Junie, who’s literally bouncing, grabbing at the iPad.
“She’s got coloring and alphabet apps she can do,” he continues, ignoring her pleas, then lowers his voice.
“But she’s going to want Bluey. That’s your carrot to dangle in front of her. ”
Cal glances at me and must see I’ve slipped out of my Fearless Frankie role, and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed. The corner of his lip tugs upward and his shoulders relax.
“Or let her watch as many episodes as you want. That usually keeps her out of trouble. I’ll pick her up as soon as I can. It’ll probably only be an hour or two—depending on what traffic is like getting back into town.”
We walk out of the bathroom and get a glare from Pearl. “Little help out here?” she grumbles when she passes me carrying two plates to a table only a few feet away.
“So…you want me to keep her here?” I glance around the café, seeing it for the first time through the eyes of a three-year-old.
Four-year-old?
I’m not even sure…
Doesn’t matter. All I can see is how much damage a three-hour Junie tornado could do. She’s already taken out one glass, a few coffee cups, and two outfits of the day in the first three minutes she was here.
“Junie’s pancakes are up!” Flo calls from the kitchen. “She’ll be late for school if you don’t get a move on.”
Cal looks from Flo to me, chewing on his lip. I wonder if he heard the same irritation in her voice that I heard. Most days she laughs at Junie’s antics. This isn’t one of them.
“Might be easier if I bring her to you. Safer, too.”
“For sure safer, but I hate to make you do it. It’s a twenty-minute drive.” He picks up Junie and carries her to her seat between Larry and Gerry where her pancakes wait.
“Twenty minutes of Junie strapped into a seat sounds easier than twenty minutes of keeping her out of harm’s way here.” I go behind the counter to pick up an order.
Plates are stacked at the window, tickets are crowded together, and Flo is sweating up a storm. Taking care of Junie may turn out to be the least stressful part of my day if the diner stays this busy.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind the drive,” Cal says when I come back. “I’m working at the ranch right next to ours, so it would save me a trip back here.”
“Nah, yeah. No worries.” I’ve slipped into my normal voice before I realize it and quickly put on my American accent. “You have my number.” I smile and get a knowing one from him.
We’ve spent a fair amount of time ringing and messaging each other this past week since I put my digits in his mobile. “Text me when you have a minute and give me all the specifics.”
“Okay.” He traps me in his blue eyes for a few seconds before Flo yells, “Order up, Fran!”
For the next thirty minutes, I stay so busy, I don't notice when Cal leaves. A couple hours pass before I have a chance to check my mobile. I’ve got a message from him and my Absolutely Not Malcolm Chat (ANM for short) with Archie, Dex, and Rhys is blowing up about the success of Archie’s Bombora launch, but I go to Google first, like I’ve been doing a hundred times a day since last week.
A whirlwind of worry has been hot on my tail since Junie accidentally outed me to the LA lady and her camera.
Nothing pops up on Google, but I don’t stop there.
I scan all the social media sites too, searching Frankie Forsythe.
A couple things pop up, including a TikTok about a possible Frankie sighting that includes a pic of me in my uniform, but no info about where it was taken.
It’s been posted for a few days, but the views are low.
No viral news is good news, but I feel like a prisoner on parole. One misstep and I could be right back in the prison I left behind, except instead of steel bars, I’ll be confined by expectations, fear, and people without any respect for privacy.
The one thing that brings me any calm is knowing Flo told the LA lady “Fran’s a local girl.”
I was already hiding in back when she said it, but I can picture it, and I hear Flo’s voice every time I do.
I’ve had heaps of titles: billionaire’s daughter, surfer, actor, eco-resort financier, Mrs. McVey (that one came and went in a blink), but “local girl” is the one I like best. Flo doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean. She’s got my back, along with all my regulars at Flamingo’s.
Once I'm sure I’ve dodged being discovered for one more day, I go back to Cal’s text, which is short and sweet.
Thanks again.
But there’s a link to a Google doc that worries me. When I open it, my worries are completely validated.
I don’t know where or when Cal found the time to type out all of his instructions, but he was very thorough.
I’ve got his entire family’s contact info—he’s mentioned his three brothers and sister to me—directions to the Holloway ranch, tips for how to encourage Junie to be on her “best behavior,” detailed steps for not only safely installing her seat into my car, but also how to buckle her into it, followed by a list of tactics to encourage her to stay buckled.
Apparently—as of today—she knows how to unbuckle herself.
Because, of course, my one solid Junie Containment plan would be foiled.
My break—or maybe my attention span—isn’t long enough to read the entire document, but I reckon I can use it more as a reference than a book of commandments. Surely Cal doesn’t think I can remember all of it. He has to know his expectations are a bit unrealistic...right?
Then I remember, this is bullet-train Cal. His precision and reliability are at the top of the list of things I like about him, even if I’m better at rolling with chaos than certainty. Or maybe that’s exactly why I like those steadier traits in him.
So, I determine to follow Cal’s instruction booklet as best I can and sneak a few peeks at it whenever I have a sec, which isn’t often.
At the end of my shift, my feet ache like they usually do, but instead of wanting a nap, I’ve got a flutter of excitement.
Despite Cal’s high expectations, I’m looking forward to my afternoon with Junie.
It’ll be a nice change from my usual routine. My peaceful drives after work and nights reading Georgette Heyer can get a bit lonely. Company might do me some good.
That’s the thought I lock in on. Not the nervous excited ones about meeting Cal’s family and seeing where and how he lives.
We haven’t even been on a proper date yet.
Meeting the parents feels like a huge jump forward, even if I’m playing the role of nanny and not potential love interest. And, yeah, I’ve wondered more than once what his home life is like with so many people around.
But I reckon he and his family live like the rest of us. Roof over their heads, fridge with nothing to eat but ketchup and jelly, unmade beds, stacks of unread books. Laundry baskets full of clothes he’s too tired to fold or put away.
Actually, if Cal’s house looks anything like his OB tote or Junie’s nappy bag, there’s nothing out of place.
In fact, the furniture is probably all covered in plastic and labeled with what it’s for.
Junie’s chair. Junie’s toybox. Junie’s dollhouse.
Junie’s bed. Dog’s bed—I just assume Cal has a dog. Cal’s bed...
Annnnnnd, time to refocus my thoughts.
Junie and I have a fun drive ahead of us! That’s what’s important. That’s what I’m looking forward to.
After clocking out and getting a sarcastic good luck from both Flo and Pearl, I walk the block to Miss Merry’s Little Lambs Preschool.
Merry Lamb is the first customer in the diner most mornings.
I’ve filled up her coffee thermoses—all three of them—at least a hundred times since working at Flamingo’s and wondered every time if she drinks them all at once or spreads them out through the day.
My guess is all at once—that’s how tired she looks most mornings.
I wave to the kid who delivers my groceries as I pass by Al’s Grocer and stop for half-a-sec to watch little girls’ tap dancing in the studio next to Al’s.
I loved dancing at that age. I wonder if Junie wants to take lessons.
Maybe she already is. I add that to my list of conversation topics for our drive.