20. Frankie
TWENTY
Frankie
“How did it go?” Mattie pounced on me from behind the reception desk as soon as I walked into the lodge for my evening shift at Marie’s.
“Okay,” I said, straightening my black shirt before tossing my wild mane into a high ponytail.
“Just okay? That’s it?” she demanded, following me all the way into Marie’s and spilling over the bar as I hurried to clock in.
I glanced up at her. “It went amazing, actually.”
The elevens between her eyebrows immediately softened.
I’d crushed my next round with the company in New York. So much so that they said they’d get back to me this evening, rather than in the following days like I’d initially expected. I’d been blindsided by rejections before, but I had a really good feeling about this one. I couldn’t help but feel like it was mine for the taking. It was about damn time. I’d been on the hunt for nearly a month at this point. I was past due for something to go my way.
“Thank God,” Mattie breathed, placing a hand to her forehead. “Don’t scare me like that. You’ve been a ball of stress preparing for it. I don’t think I could have handled you if it didn’t go well.”
“ Please . I always have a good attitude,” I said, taking clean cups out of the dishwasher tray that had been left behind the bar and stacking them up.
“Right. You had a real winning attitude when you first got here.”
I scowled at that. “Hey, my life had just fallen apart.”
“I guess.” She waved a hand. “So you really think you’ll move to New York if you get this?”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “It would be fun to try somewhere new, and it’s not like I have all these roots in Atlanta. I can either sell my condo or keep renting it out. Once that’s taken care of, I can just get my things, and it’s like I was never there.”
I hadn’t realized how sad that was until the words came out of my mouth. How had I lived there for so many years and had only casual acquaintances at best? The girls I lived with had texted me once since I left just to say what a bummer it was that I was laid off. Oh, and they had asked me if their friend could move in. They direct deposited the rent money and that was it.
Damn. That really was sad.
“I guess it could be fun to visit you in New York,” Mattie mused.
“We could see a Broadway play,” I said.
“Try every pizza by the slice place there is,” she continued.
“Go shopping.”
Our eyes both sparkled at the possibilities.
“It would be fun,” Mattie sighed, clearly romanticizing it all. “I mean, almost as fun as you staying here. ”
“And what? Be a bartender-slash-waitress the rest of my life?”
Mattie pursed her lips. “I mean, you do seem happier.”
I glared at her.
Even though I wanted her to be wrong, she wasn’t. I had a glow about me these days. I noticed it every time I passed a mirror. In a lot of ways, this was the least put together I had ever been. My hair was never straightened, my outfits were always casual, and my makeup was hardly done. But those were never the things I noticed lately. Instead, I saw my worn-in smile and the healthy flush that always graced my cheeks. I’d attributed the change to a vacation glow, but it was likely more of an Oliver glow. That boy had me off kilter in the best possible way.
“I am happy,” I said. I wasn’t blind to that fact so there was no use in denying it, but everyone was happy on vacation. That didn’t mean they should pick up their lives and toss away their dreams to create a new reality.
“You’re happy because of Oliver,” Mattie said bluntly.
I threw up my hands. “Yes, Oliver is one reason, but so are you. It’s been nice spending time with my only sister. And now that I’m finally free of the spell my last company had me under, I can realize how overworked I was. Being here has been the reset I needed.”
“And Oliver made you realize that,” she added.
“Why are you so obsessed with talking about him?” I asked, my eyes narrowed.
The door chimed and a small group walked in from the front entrance to Marie’s. I waved in greeting. “Sit wherever you like. I’ll be right with you.”
When I turned back to Mattie, she was staring at me thoughtfully. “I’m glad you’re finally having some fun. I just hope you don’t forget how to have a life once you land this fancy new job.”
My skin bristled. Even after all these weeks, it still bothered me when people insinuated I had no life. I didn’t care if it was partially true, it raised my defenses all the same.
“I know how to have fun. Oliver isn’t making me fun,” I said. “I’ve done plenty over the years.”
“Uh-huh.” Mattie blinked at me.
“I have.”
“Sure.”
“Ugh!” I let out a frustrated groan. “I have! Remember that time I went to Cancún last year?”
“Wasn’t that a work trip?”
“I also joined a book club right before I left Atlanta,” I added.
“Were the books nonfiction?” Mattie asked.
I snapped my mouth shut. “So what if they were?”
“I’m just saying, if the book club had the words ‘self-betterment’ in the description, then it doesn’t count as fun.”
That shut me up. Because our first book was about how to get ahead in your career as a woman in a male-dominated field.
“Whatever,” I muttered.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Mattie’s tone was gentle now, as if I was a toddler she was trying to coax out of a tantrum. “I like Oliver and I’m glad you’re having fun with him. I think this is probably the healthiest way you could spend your time right now. I mean, you could spend less time job hunting but?—”
“How am I supposed to find another job if I’m not looking?” I interjected. “You’ve seen how much effort I’ve put into it and I’ve only just started making progress.”
Mattie was the older sister through and through. It didn’t surprise me one bit that she was so insistent that she knew what was best for me. She’d always been like this. I knew deep down she was trying to protect me, but I was perfectly capable of handling my own life.
She sighed. “You’ve been obsessing about your career trajectory since college. Why not take a breath and figure out what you want to do?”
“ I know what I want to do !” I exclaimed. “I want this job.”
Despite my outcry, the words held little underlying conviction. With every passing day I spent liberated from that office I’d been trapped in for years, I felt a little lighter. My head used to always be down—blindly working toward the next goal. It was nice looking up for a change instead of ahead.
I stalked off, leaving Mattie so that I could take the orders of the group that had just sat down. Throwing on a cheesy customer-service smile was definitely something I had gotten better at, but I still struggled to give all my attention to the table. After a few minutes of me asking them to repeat what they wanted, I walked back over to the bar and started making their drinks. Thankfully, Mattie had taken the hint and wandered back into the main lodge, away from Marie’s.
Good.
I loved my sister more than anything, but I needed a break from her probing questions.
Before I’d finished pouring the last beer, Bev waltzed in. My eyebrows shot up when I saw that Oliver trailed behind her.
My smile grew. “Here for dinner?” I asked.
“Nope.” He pinched the black shirt he had on and held it out. My eyes narrowed as I read the script font— Marie’s .
“You’re working here now?” Excitement bubbled to the surface.
“He’ll be replacing me most nights.” Bev patted him on the back. “I figured it’ll be less busy, and the two of you can handle tonight’s shift.”
“Bold statement,” I said.
She laughed. “I know, but I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
Bev walked away, leaving me and Oliver just as another few tables walked in.
“Train me,” he said with a grin. “I’m yours to mold.”
“That’s the worst margarita I’ve ever had,” I said, wincing as I took another sip. “It tastes like straight tequila.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and took a sip before cringing as soon as he tasted it. “I guess it’s a little strong.”
“ Strong ? That thing could melt steel.”
He tossed the rest of the drink in the sink. “Okay, let’s not take it out on the new guy. I seem to remember you’ve had your share of drink mishaps.”
“Nope. I’ve made every drink perfectly.”
He smiled, his hand lingering close to my waist.
Even though Marie’s had been relatively dead, the shift had gone by shockingly fast working with him. His stolen touches behind the bar, the flirtatious banter. It was even better joking around with him behind the bar than it was when he came in most nights for dinner.
“Was this your plan all along?” I asked. “Become a bartender?”
He swiped his hand across his chin and stared at the ceiling, pretending to mull it over. “I mean,” he finally said, “I did surpass your skills with only one shift.”
“Hey!” I swatted him with the dish towel I had in my back pocket. He wasn’t far off. To no one’s surprise, Oliver was infinitely better at charming the customers than I could ever be.
“Did you ever work in restaurants?” I asked.
“Never. In high school, Harrison and I usually did odd jobs on a farm nearby. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a job that didn’t entail physical labor.”
“A farm boy?” I teased, poking him in the ribs. “I can picture that.”
“I baled hay and everything.”
“That sounds perfect for you.”
He laughed. “Maybe if this doesn’t work out, I can fall back on that plan.”
Ever since our date, Oliver hadn’t been nearly as uncomfortable sharing little tidbits about his past. He’d shared with me how strained he felt talking to his mother, and how important his still-growing relationship with his brother was. It meant the world to me that he trusted me enough to let me in.
“But seriously, speaking of plans, I have been thinking about a few things,” Oliver said, eyeing my reaction.
My mouth parted in shock at his admittance. “Oliver Shaw,” I said, using his full name. “Thinking about plans?” I reached up to press a hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
He grabbed my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine and bringing them between us. “No, seriously, it’s nothing huge, but I’ve been saving up most of the money I’ve earned while I’m out here.”
“And…” I waited with bated breath.
He looked at the floor, almost as if he was nervous to tell me. “It’s nothing big or anything, but I figured since I might be wandering for a while—rafting this summer, and then maybe mountain biking somewhere in the fall—I figured it’d be nice to have a homebase. I’m looking at buying a camper trailer. Something small I can tow with my car. That way, even if I’m moving around, I can still have somewhere that’s home.”
Warmth spread through me.
“Oliver, that’s?—”
“Stupid, I know,” he joked, dropping his hand and running it along the back of his neck. “It’s nothing like the goals you probably had in mind, but I figured it’s a start.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, grabbing his hand back.
He smiled, looking down at our fingers. “You think?”
The way he sought my approval made me want to burst into tears. He cared what I thought. And even though a camper trailer wasn’t exactly a statement of stability, it showed that he wanted something consistent. Something that felt like home.
“I love the idea for you.” I stood on my tiptoes and he met me halfway, stealing a kiss. Marie’s was empty now, and we were only minutes away from closing the place down for the night.
“I wish I could see it,” I murmured without thinking.
For a second, something flashed in Oliver’s eyes. His neck tensed before he cleared his throat and went back to the bar. He pulled out another glass and resumed attempting to make a margarita. “Well, it’s probably for the best. It’ll be a small space. Barely room to cook dinner, let alone host a guest.”
His subtle pull-away stung a little, but I wasn’t surprised. We never talked about us. About the fact that there wouldn’t be an us for much longer.
“It’s not like you cook dinner now,” I teased, attempting to lighten the mood. “I’ve seen your bare cabinets firsthand.”
“Maybe that should be a goal of mine,” he said thoughtfully, adding triple sec into the glass in front of him before pulling out a long metal spoon and stirring .
“A goal. Perfect!” I exclaimed. “We can learn to cook together.”
“Sounds like fun.” He winked at me. “Fun and a goal? Talk about killing two birds with one stone. Here—” He held out the drink he’d been working on. “Try this.”
I swirled the ice in the glass before taking a tentative sip. My lips puckered immediately. “It’s perfect if you’re going for the record for the sourest margarita in history,” I said.
Oliver tossed his head back, laughing. “Such a hater.”
And just like that, everything was easy again.