Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
FRANKIE
T he booth seat was sticky from the heat, the kind that clung to your skin and made your thighs stick to the vinyl like it was trying to claim you.
The place looked the same as it always had—plastic flamingos out front, checkered floors inside, faded posters of Elvis and old hot rods on the walls.
But somehow, it felt like everything was vibrating.
Off. Like the air itself knew something was about to happen.
I stirred my milkshake with a straw, watching the swirl of chocolate and vanilla like it held answers. It didn’t.
Archie sat across from me, arms stretched along the back of the booth, sunglasses pushed up into that mess of dark hair like he didn’t have a care in the world.
But he did. I could feel it. His eyes kept flicking to me like he was working up to something.
And I didn’t know whether to be curious or terrified.
“So,” I said finally, just to fill the space. “Nice kidnapping. Five stars. Would get abducted again.”
He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Only the best for you.”
My stomach twisted. I didn’t know why. Maybe because this was the first time we’d been alone in weeks where it didn’t feel like we were running from something. Or maybe it was because, deep down, I knew what he was about to say and I didn’t know how to feel about it.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Frankie.”
Uh-oh.
“Yeah?”
“I need to say something, and I need you to actually listen. Not joke. Not deflect. Just… hear me, okay?”
I sat straighter, nerves crackling in my fingertips. “Okay.”
His eyes searched mine. “I like you.”
I blinked. “You what ?”
Archie chuckled, but there was a tightness in his jaw. “Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head.”
“I—no, it’s just…” I set my milkshake down. My heart was racing. “Archie, we’ve been friends forever.”
“Yeah. Then I started driving you home after I got my car, and bringing you snacks when your mom forgot dinner, and dragging you to movie nights even when you said you had to study. How many times have I taken you to play mini-golf?”
“A lot,” I said slowly.
He gave me a look. “Frankie. It was a date . You wore my hoodie. You let me win.”
“I didn’t let you win,” I muttered. “You cheated.”
“Still counts.” His smirk appeared briefly, but it didn’t last.
I stared at him. “But why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He shrugged, fidgeting with his straw wrapper. “Because you weren’t ready. You never seemed to respond to it. Because I wasn’t ready to be rejected. I thought maybe if I waited long enough, you'd figure it out on your own.”
I looked down at the table. “Archie…”
“I know it’s not good timing,” he said. “I know you’re fighting with Jake, that Coop is in this, probably Bubba too, and whatever the hell is happening with Frenchy. I get that I might be one too many.”
“It’s not that,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m just—shocked. That’s all. You’ve always been… you. Funny. Safe.”
His expression didn’t change, but something about his posture pulled inward. “Right. ‘Safe.’ Every guy wants to hear that.”
“No,” I said, reaching across the table before I could stop myself. My fingers brushed his wrist. “That’s not what I meant. I just—Archie, we’ve always been easy. But now… nothing feels easy.”
He studied me for a long moment. “So let’s make this easy. Just one question, Frankie. Just answer it honestly.”
“Okay.”
He tilted his head. “Does it really surprise you that I have a thing for you? Or did you just not want to deal with what it meant if I did?”
The truth hit me like a gut punch.
“You know, you have dated, right?” Was I a being a bitch to point it out? “Like, a lot.”
“Yes, I’m aware I’ve dated other girls—like Patty,” he said quietly, eyes flicking away.
“None of them meant anything. A distraction. But if I’m honest…
I thought you really weren’t interested.
I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
So I kept my distance, tried to keep things casual.
Maybe dating others would take the edge off. ”
A sigh escaped me. He had gone through a lot of girls, always keeping it casual, light. Patty had lasted the longest, but was it because he liked her or because she didn’t irritate him enough to shake off?
Raking a hand through his hair, he looked at me with a kind of raw honesty I only ever saw from him when it was just us. Vulnerability hidden behind a sharp tongue and eyes that saw too much. “Now… I’m worried. Worried I might’ve lost you before I even had a chance.”
Had I known? I tried to turn it all over in my head. The guys were—the guys. My best friends. We did everything together until we didn’t. My throat was dry. First Coop. Bubba. Jake. Now Archie. I couldn’t even decide if this was a good thing.
Dating would change everything. The last thing I wanted was to lose him. Lose any of them. Walking away this summer had been the hardest damn thing I’d ever done. Now, not even a few days into senior year and…
What?
What did all of this mean?
“I don’t know what to do with this.” With you . I didn’t say the last part aloud as I dropped my gaze, feeling the burn behind my eyes.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let the silence hang between us like a sheer curtain.
“I don’t know how to be what everyone wants,” I admitted. “I keep screwing it up. Jake hates me. Coop’s upset. Bubba asked me to not just choose one guy. And now you…”
“I don’t want you to be what I want, ” Archie said softly. “I want you to be you. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s not with me.”
I looked up, throat tight. “Liar.”
He raised his brows.
A watery laugh escaped me. “You hate to lose.”
“True. As long as I’m in your life, there’s always a chance.”
“That’s not fair.” I scowled.
“Nothing about this is fair,” he said. “But it’s real. And I had to say it before someone else did.”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say.
So I reached for my milkshake instead. Took a sip. Then pushed it toward him with a forced smile.
“Want the rest?”
Archie didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just leaned forward and took the straw, smiling that cocky, broken smile of his.
“Sure,” he said. “But only if we split fries next.”
And just like that, it was easy again. For a second.
But I knew the hard part was still waiting. Waiting for me to make a choice I wasn’t ready to make.
Because this wasn’t a game anymore.
This was real.
And someone was going to get hurt.
Maybe all of us.
Maybe me most of all.
By the time we left the diner, the air shimmered and sunlight made the chrome on every car just shine. Or maybe it was the brutal heat sending waves up from everything. Archie’s sunglasses were back on, but I could still see the corner of his mouth twitching every time I caught him looking at me.
“I’m full of fries and feelings,” I muttered as we stepped outside. “That’s dangerous.”
He snorted. “You didn’t even finish the fries.”
“I panicked. Too much emotional honesty. Salted carbs couldn’t compete.”
“Fair. But you owe me now. I know how you’re gonna pay me back.”
“Oh god,” I said, mock-weary. “Please don’t say karaoke.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Worse. Mini golf.”
I stopped mid-step, blinking at him. “You’re kidding.”
Archie just smirked and unlocked the car. “Dead serious. You and me. Glorified putting. Loser buys Coke slushies.”
“But we haven’t done that since?—”
“I know.” He didn’t let me finish, just slid into the driver’s seat like it was nothing, like this wasn’t déjà vu crashing into me like a freight train.
He used to do this. Take me out for milkshakes and then mini golf. Back when the world felt lighter and we didn’t have to talk about feelings or heartbreak or whatever weird, soft thing was growing between us.
I climbed in, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
The drive to Lakeside Putt & Go was short.
Familiar. It was the same chipped green turf, the same dusty animatronic gator on hole seven that always blinked out of sync.
The neon sign buzzed like a tired bee. And still—my chest squeezed as we stepped out of the car.
Like some part of me knew this wasn’t the same as it had been.
Because it wasn’t.
This wasn’t just a game.
“Okay,” I said slowly as I grabbed a putter, trying not to look at him. “Is this a date now?”
Archie handed me a pink golf ball like it was a peace offering. “Yeah. It’s a date.”
I looked up sharply.
“But—” he held up a hand, “there’s no pressure. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t even have to win. You will , because you always cheat on the gator hole, but still.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s slander.”
“That’s fact.”
I took the ball and stepped onto the first green. “You don’t even like mini golf.”
He hesitated. “Yeah, I know.”
I’d meant it as a joke, but his response made me turn. “Wait, seriously?”
“I hate it,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, sheepish. “Always have. It’s sticky and loud, and the clubs are too short and the balls don’t roll straight. I swear the turf on hole five is cursed.”
“So why—” I started, then stopped, blinking.
Archie shrugged. “Because you love it. You light up every time we come here. You get competitive and trash talk the windmill and yell at the rubber duck mascot. It’s worth it.”
I just stared at him, golf club limp in my hand.
He smiled again—but this time, it was soft. Gentle. “You get this look when you play. Like nothing else matters. Not school, not your mom, not… any of the guys. Just you and this ridiculous pink ball and victory.”
My throat felt too small. “Archie…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly. “I told you, no pressure. But let me have this. Let me make you laugh today. Let me watch you beat the hell out of that gator again. That’s all I want.”
God help me, I felt the laugh bubble up. Because this? This was so Archie.
All bravado and bad plans and casually dropping confessions like grenades.
So I tapped the ball into place and looked him dead in the eye.
“I’m going to destroy you.”
His grin was full of teeth. “There she is.”
When I took the first swing—way too hard, sending the ball ricocheting off the side wall and into a plastic flamingo—I did laugh. Loud and unfiltered. The kind that came from somewhere I hadn’t touched in weeks.
And Archie? He laughed, too.
Even if he did groan when I sank a hole-in-one on number three and did a smug little dance in celebration.
And maybe—just maybe—this date wasn’t about golf.
Maybe it was about giving me something I hadn’t known I needed. Something he needed.
Something real.
We played three full rounds, after I won the first game and he won the second. Third was the tie-breaker. I kicked his ass.
The sun was down by the time Archie pulled into the school parking lot, his headlights cutting across the empty rows like searchlights. The place looked strange in the dark—quiet, abandoned, like a memory already fading.
He parked near my car without saying anything, and for a second, neither of us moved. The silence between us was thick, but not uncomfortable. More like a pause we both didn’t want to break.
Then I saw it.
Another rose.
Balanced delicately on my windshield, petals a little wilted, edges curled from the heat of the day and the faint suggestion of cooling off as night crept in. But it was there. Still waiting. Still chosen.
A soft breath left my chest, as Archie glanced over.
He didn’t ask.
His eyes lingered on the small, folded card nestled beneath the bloom—edges lifting in the breeze—but he didn’t speak. Just stared at it for a second longer than casual, then looked away, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
I still didn’t know who the secret admirer was. The roses were nice, but I was already walking a tightrope between too much and not enough.
“Thanks for today,” I said instead, turning to him.
Archie smiled, soft and crooked. “Anytime.”
He meant it. That was the hardest part.
His hand flexed on the steering wheel like he wasn’t ready to let go of the moment yet. Like maybe, if he stalled long enough, I’d lean across the console and kiss him. Or confess something. Or say I’d chosen him.
But I didn’t.
Because I hadn’t.
Not yet.
What would it be like to kiss him?
“You wanna come over?” he asked, casual, like it was just another offer, like there wasn’t a world of meaning tucked behind the question. Or like I wasn’t imagining what his lips would feel like on mine.
I gave a little half-laugh, more exhale than sound. “I can’t. I have to feed the cats.”
His lips twitched. “You’re already late. They’re gonna be mad.”
I shrugged, chuckling “You don’t know the half of it.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I’ve heard Tiddles bitch you out. He is not subtle.”
“Exactly.”
There was a beat of silence between us. The good kind.
The safe kind. The kind we used to live in before everything got complicated.
Today had been the strangest combination of wonderful and weird.
I called out of work, something I never did, and Marsha hadn’t batted an eyelash. She just told me to rest.
He nodded slowly, then leaned back in his seat. “Call me when you get home?”
I looked at him. “Archie?—”
“Don’t make it a thing,” he said gently. “Just… call. That way I know you got in safe. That’s all.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I will.”
He waited as I got out, watched me walk to my car. He didn’t drive off. Not until I was inside, door shut, engine turned over.
Only when my headlights flicked on did he finally pull away.
I sat there a moment longer, my fingers loose on the steering wheel, the scent of the rose already filling the car—faint and fading, but still there.
Still him.
Whoever he was.
I picked up the flower and stared at it, but didn’t touch the card.
Couldn’t.
Instead, I leaned back against the seat, blew out a breath so deep it felt like I was trying to exhale all the confusion out of my lungs.
Then I whispered to myself, barely audible, the question I didn’t want to answer:
“What the hell am I going to do?”
And I had no idea.
Not yet.