44. Frankie
FRANKIE
Logan can’t stop touching me and I love it. It’s so indulgent and I don’t care. We stay in bed all afternoon, only getting dressed when we go outside to take a walk before sunset, because I do have some houses I want to show him.
There’s an open house for one, and the other we just walk past, because I can tell him it’s very similar to the other house on the inside. They’re both nice, but neither seems to excite him.
“What do you love about your house in Buffalo?”
He shrugs. “I have a really nice couch. And a good gym set up. That’ll be important here, too, although I bet I can find—” He cuts himself off as we walk past a twenty-four hour gym. “I mean, that’s an option right there.”
Next door is a bike rental stall, so we grab two bikes and turn around, heading in the other direction so I can show him the historical canals district, one of my favorite parts of the city.
And even though I bought some food for the apartment, we end up going out for dinner, in the name of neighborhood research. We get amazing salads, and we entertain each other by doing dramatic readings of these overly romantic sayings that decorate the menu.
“Find someone who wants to make poetry with your heart,” I say, giggling.
“Be the butterflies in your lover’s soul,” he adds.
We both laugh. And as Logan promised, we talk and talk and talk. About anything and everything, as we finish eating, and then slowly push our bikes into the canal district.
“How long have you had a beard?” I ask when we stop on a little bridge over one of the canals not far from the restaurant.
He crowds me against the railing and I reach up to tug on the short strands of hair along his jaw. “A few years.” He clears his throat, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.”
“You know about the tradition of growing a playoff beard?”
“Yes.”
“This is, uh, my never-going-to-make-the-playoffs beard. I grew it one summer, and just didn’t shave it off again.” He meets my gaze. “I’m pretty sure I’m cursed.”
“What?” I shake my head. “You’re so confident about hockey.”
His chest heaves with a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
He winces. “It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.”
“I promise I won’t think it’s ridiculous.”
“I’m one of of five kids, yeah? And my other brothers were all born in February and March. It’s wildly consistent. I’m the only boy who was born in December, and that’s because I’m the only kid who was conceived after a season where my dad didn’t make the playoffs.”
I stare at him.
He’s serious.
So I don’t laugh.
Because it’s not ridiculous, but it is very detailed and specific.
“So…” I try to remember his brothers’ names. “Camden was conceived…”
“After my dad went to a conference final. And he has gotten as far as a conference final.”
“Forrest?”
“First round playoff exit, which is as far as he’s gotten. And Wyatt, that lucky fucker, was made in the weeks after my dad won a Stanley Cup. And he’s the only brother to win a Cup.”
“Wow.” I press my hands to his never-going-to-make-a-playoff-beard and exhale slowly with him. “That’s a lot of coincidences. It’s remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Am I laughing?”
“No.” He kisses my forehead. “But on the inside?”
“I’m marvelling on the inside. Because when you make the playoffs this year, and you are going to, you’re going to be the first brother to break the chains of this coincidental—”
“Curse.”
I nod. “Yeah, breaking a curse. You’re going to be so powerful when you do that.”
“God I love—I love your confidence.” He exhales and smiles.
“It’s the same thing as you reminding me that I need to believe I’m going to match with UCLA, right?”
“Okay, use my hype strategies against me, I see how it is.” He glances past me. “That house is for sale.”
I twist around. It’s a house right on the canal, tall and narrow, with big windows on the third floor, similar to the apartment that we’re staying in.
I know right away that it’s preposterously expensive, even though it needs some work.
It wouldn’t have shown up in my searches, but I don’t want to talk about money right now in this moment where he was just so vulnerable about his professional dreams. “It’s gorgeous. ”
As we look at it, the front door opens and a woman steps outside, carrying a recycling bin.
“Excuse me,” Logan says, lifting his voice. “Hi!”
I whisper his name, but he just squeezes my hand before he quickly makes his way down the bridge to the walkway.
“I noticed the for sale sign. We just had dinner a few blocks away, and were walking through here. I’m moving out here in the summer, and my wife and I are looking for a house. Would you mind—we don’t need to look at any rooms you aren’t ready to show or anything—but could we have a brief tour?”
I fully expect her to shake her head and slam the door in his face. She doesn’t know us from Adam.
But Logan Granger has a certain charm to him. I’m fully aware of it. And just like he talked a ring onto my finger, he gets us inside the house.
“Please ignore the dishes,” she says. “And I’m in the middle of a project…”
It turns out she’s an artist, and her project is a large canvas in her studio on the second floor. Paint is everywhere.
“My real estate agent strongly suggested I stage the house,” she admits.
“We don’t mind at all. Your work is incredible,” I say, and I mean it.
There are three small bedrooms up on the third floor, and a tiny rooftop patio. I fall in love immediately, and it’s so hard to stay excited about the other houses I was going to show him tomorrow, because they don’t compare at all to the beating heart of this home.
When we thank her for the tour, she gives us her real estate agent’s card from a stack by the door. “In case you want to come back and see it again?”
“We probably won’t have time,” Logan says apologetically. “But just in case.”
“I understand. Good luck with your house hunt.”
He pulls out his wallet as we head back to our bikes, tucking the card away.
I pull out my phone and look the house up. The asking price takes my breath away. And even with my limited knowledge of the market, I’m pretty sure she’s asking too much.
“What are you thinking?”
“If she drops her price, it’ll probably sell before I get a match confirmation.” I shake off a little pang of regret. “But I really do like this area.”
He catches my hand and weaves our fingers together, bringing my knuckles up to his mouth for a kiss. “So do I.”