Chapter 4
Frankie
The bell over the diner door jingles as I step inside, and I’m instantly hit with the smell of coffee, bacon grease, and something sweet baking in the back.
I scan the room, my heart hammering a little faster than I’d like to admit.
And then I see him. Cole Whitaker.
He’s sitting alone in a corner booth, his gaze steady and fixed on me. And those eyes.
Even from here, I can see they’re blue-gray, like the color of the sky after a storm—that strange, beautiful calm when the thunder’s gone but the air still crackles.
His jaw is covered with a neatly trimmed beard, and his hair sits in a wild mess on top of his head.
There’s something untamed about him. Like he was carved from the mountain itself, with rough edges but still managing to be devastatingly handsome.
And for the life of me, I can’t figure out how this man needs to advertise for a wife. Even a fake one.
Cole stands as I approach, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Francesca?”
“It’s Frankie,” I correct him quickly, offering my hand that feels a little too shaky. “Sorry I’m late. My car wasn’t exactly built for snowdrifts, and my phone decided to die about five miles back.”
He nods, and that one small motion makes something flutter in my chest. “Roads around here can be pretty rough this time of year.” His voice is deep, low and steady.
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to stare at his mouth. “Found that out the hard way.”
He gestures for me to take a seat, and slides back into the seat across from me. Neither of us say anything. It’s clear that he’s not the type to fill silence with small talk, and I’m too busy trying to act like this isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever done.
After a moment, he clears his throat. “So, logistics.”
Straight to business, I can appreciate that.
Cole pulls a folded sheet of paper from his jacket and flattens it on the table. “It’s a short-term agreement. Just paperwork. We get married, keep up appearances until after Christmas, and then we file for divorce after the first of the year. No strings. No expectations.”
I nod. “That’s fine with me.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You didn’t ask why.”
“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted me to know.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, like he might actually smile, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Fair enough.”
“I assume you have your reasons,” I add, folding my hands in front of me on the table. “And I have mine. Maybe it’s better if we don’t share them.”
Giving me a small nod, it’s like that answer has earned me a sliver of respect from him. “You’re probably right.”
The vinyl creaks under his weight as he leans back. “I booked us each a room at the inn down the road. We’ll head to city hall first thing in the morning to get married.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like we’re discussing a grocery list and not the most impulsive decision of my life.
“Sounds good,” I say, pretending my heart isn’t creeping up into my throat.
Cole reaches out his hand across the table. “Deal?”
I look down at his hand, noticing how big and strong and rough they are.
Each callus earned from hard work, not sitting in an office like my brother.
I slide mine into his and his palm swallows mine completely, warm and solid.
The spark that shoots through me is instant, but I school my features so it doesn’t show.
This is a business arrangement. That is all. Nothing more.
But as his thumb brushes the edge of my hand before he lets go, I can’t help the tiny thought that sneaks in anyway. If simply shaking his hand has me reacting this way, what else can that hand do to me?
I clear my throat and pull my hand back. “So, city hall in the morning?”
He nods once, the corner of his mouth lifting again. “City hall in the morning.”