Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Frankie
“I’m sorry.” Story of my life.
“You’re…sure?” Lou’s stricken voice made me wince.
I sat on the couch next to my sister, watching as her throat bobbed and then her whole head followed suit, but it was her eyes that gave her away. Her vacant stare saw nothing but iterations of the truth… of what would happen next…of how this was the end.
“Yeah.”
I took deep breaths in and out, biting into my cheek while I waited for my twin to say something. Twenty-seven years of knowing her meant anything I said right now would go in one ear and out the other. Lou needed time to process while I dove straight into plans.
“He told me he worked in real estate, but I didn’t ask…never thought…I can’t go,” she declared solemnly. “I’ll text him?—”
“Absolutely not.” I took her hand and squeezed. “You have to go Lou. First off, he doesn’t know that I know and now you know that he’s Chandler Collins?—”
“Do you hear yourself?” A broken laugh escaped her. “You sound like a rerun of a Friends episode.”
“Listen to me,” I ordered her and took a deep breath. “This is your chance.”
Her eyes bugged wide.
“You have the advantage,” I pressed on, standing as I spoke. “You know who he is?—”
“And he knows who I am! I told him about Mom and Jamie and Kit—” She broke off when I bent in front of her, meeting her nose to nose.
“And he still asked you to dinner.” I lifted a brow, daring her to disagree.
Lou creased her brow, and I pulled back. Sometimes it was a little disconcerting staring into your own face. Like a mirror, except the reflection moved on its own will.
“I can’t?—”
“You absolutely can. You can find out why he’s here. Why he asked you to dinner. And more importantly—most importantly—you can show him who you are.”
I was shocked and then in disbelief and then angry that the man could, in one breath, refuse to sell my sister the inn of her dreams and, in the next, ask her to dinner. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a heartless businessman. Who bought a beach candle for his mom. I shook off the silly reminder. That didn’t matter. Chandler Collins was enemy number one, and whatever he was thinking, I wasn’t going to let him hurt my sister.
“What?” Lou’s jaw fell dangerously close to landing on the floor.
“This is your chance to give him some insight into you— the woman who wants to buy his inn.” I started to pace, otherwise I’d be tempted to shake my sister into understanding. “You have an opportunity none of the other buyers have—to show Mr. Inconspicuous Collins why you are the best owner for the inn. Why you want it. Why you care. What it would mean to this town to have it restored to its former glory.” I kept going even though her eyes were getting wider by the syllable. “You can tell him how lost you were until we were going to restore the inn. Share all the plans you’ve come up with?—”
“No.” Her head swung side to side. “I can’t do that.”
“You can.” I stepped in front of her again and sank to my knees, taking her hands in mine. “Only you can show him how much this means to you…and how heartless he would have to be to sell it to some stranger.”
The last strains of my breath left my lungs, and I waited for her to agree.
“I can’t do it,” she declared, and then bolted for the powder room, slamming the door behind her.
“Shit.” I shoved off the floor and went to the door, knocking gently. “Come on, Lou. It’ll be okay.” My plea was met with silence. If there was one secret Lou was good at keeping, it was when she was in pain. Her tears. Her hurt. She bottled it inside and tried not to bother anyone with it.
I let out a deep exhale, my head tipped to rest on the door. “All you have to do is be yourself.” It wasn’t hard—it wasn’t like I was telling her to do anything different than she would’ve already… except maybe frame a conversation or two to her advantage.
“I’m sorry, Frankie,” Lou’s soft, unsteady voice eked under the door. “I just don’t feel right…knowing who he is.”
“Don’t feel right being yourself? Telling him the truth about your dreams?” I rested my forehead on the wood, grateful Lou and I were alone at the house; Mom and Gigi had gone out for the afternoon to help my younger cousin, Harper, assemble her beehives. After countless hobbies over the last few years, she’d fallen in love with beekeeping and had sectioned off a corner of Stonebar Farm’s property to use for her hives.
“I can’t do that and pretend to not know who he is.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have told her. Maybe I should’ve tried to figure it out on my own— no . No, this was Lou’s baby. Lou’s dream. I wouldn’t do anything without her knowing. And honestly, I didn’t trust myself around the far too handsome Mr. Collins. Not the way he made my body sizzle and spark like an electric current with no ground. The feeling was…unnerving. My body was only reckless on my command… not in his presence.
And that was all aside from the fact he knew who I was—who Lou was—and still hadn’t revealed himself. It was dubious. Sinister, even. He already had the upper hand, why would he hide who he was? Maybe from Lou. I could maybe see that. Girl takes you on a “tour” date and you realize you’ve been crushing her business dreams for months…awkward. But then to come to my shop…
No, there was something off about Chandler Collins, and it was more than the haywire heat he struck in my body.
“I think you could, Lou. I think you could pretend if your life—your dream—depended on it.”
There was a long pause, and I swore I heard her breathing from right on the other side of the door. Thinking. Considering. And something panged in my chest. I knew my sister better than anyone. She was my other half. The yin to my yang. The calm to my storm. She could do this to fight for her dream…but just because she could do it, didn’t mean she should.
I knew the toll this deception would take on her—even if it was a slight lie. A white lie. A lie of omission. Even if it was justified. And even if it was only an omission that mirrored his own.
My breath went out of me, taking with it all the will I had to push her. She was right; she shouldn’t do this.
Don’t do it.
Don’tdoitdon’tdoitdon’tdoit.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
The door swung open, but I was already halfway up the stairs, my determined stride carrying me quickly through the house.
“What do you mean you’ll go?” She chased after me.
“I mean, I’ll go to dinner and face him,” I said over my shoulder as I pushed into her room. “I’ll tell him what the inn means to you. Everything—all the plans you’ve laid out and how hard you’ve worked to save for the project.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“You know I do,” I insisted, stopping in front of her closet. “You know someone has to shake some sense into this guy.”
“Frankie—”
“Do you really want to see the inn torn down for condos?” I demanded, watching the question crumble the last of her protest.
“Fine.” Her mouth thinned—frowned in a way I was familiar with. It was her “for the record” frown, the one that came out when she begrudgingly agreed to whatever plan of mine she inherently disagreed with.
“Good.” I spun and threw open her closet doors just as my sister grabbed my arm.
“What are you doing?” Her gaze slid to her clothes.
I swallowed hard and then forced a wide smile onto my face. “Changing, and then you’re going to braid my hair.” As her eyes widened, I dipped my chin and said softly, “I’m going as you, Lou. ”
“Frankie…” Lou folded her arms, the timid titan in her returning.
“I can’t go as myself. How does it look that he invited you to dinner and your twin shows up? That kind of bait-and-switch definitely won’t help your case. And to tell him the truth—that we know who he is, and I’m there to convince him on your behalf—that’s even worse.”
She chewed on her bottom lip.“But you hate the idea of…”
I stiffened for a second. “I know,” I said and gave her a brave smile. “But I’ll do it for you.”
I hated pretending. No, not quite. I hated the idea of pretending to be my twin. How many movies, how many stories, hell, how many times had my sister and I been asked if we ever traded places? Until today, the answer was a firm no.
“Now, pick out your most ‘Lou’ outfit and help me get ready.” I pulled her in front of me to sort through her clothes. My taste in clothes ran toward the rainbow, meanwhile, Lou lived calmly in a sea of neutral and beige.
“Okay.” She reached forward, instantly picking tan linen pants, a white blouse, and a long white blazer and handing them to me.
“One Lou Kinkade coming right up.” I smiled and began to strip.
For all my tricks and jokes and shenanigans, I’d never asked Lou to switch places. I was happy to be outspoken, brave, playful, and a little wild at my best. I was also happy to be immature, compulsive, and reckless at my worst. I was happy to be me. Good and bad. Right and wrong. Imperfect in many ways. And no matter what I wanted to accomplish, I never wanted to be anyone else. Let alone the one person in this world who looked exactly like me.
I was me. Take it or leave it.
But tonight…tonight I’d be Lou. Just this once. Because sh e deserved this. Her dream. Her happiness. And if all that took was a little flirting with Chandler Collins, I’d suffer through it.
“Ow.” I winced, my hand crashing into Lou’s spare set of glasses for the third time in fifteen minutes and jamming them into the bridge of my nose.
“Careful,” she chided, pulling my old VW Bug up to the curb to drop me off.
“I’m fine.” Huffing, I pushed the glasses onto my head and rubbed the corner of my eye where it itched, letting the glasses flop back down when I was done.
Then I ran my hands along the braids in my hair. The collar of the blazer. The linen lying comfortably and loosely on my thighs. Breathe, Frankie.
I wasn’t nervous. I shouldn’t be nervous. I was never nervous. But what other reason could there be for my thumping pulse and flushed cheeks? I had to be nervous—had to be afraid to mess this up for Lou. The alternative was the whole haywire sensation starting even before I saw him. And that was out of the question.
“All right, I’ll text you when I’m done,” I said just as she pulled up to the curb in front of the steakhouse, the low-lit sconces and carved topiaries setting the stage for the kind of fancy to expect inside.
“Okay, Frankie?—”
“Be careful, I know.” I smiled at my sister—or at least, I think I did. Even just the slight prescription of her glasses made everything foggy.
It was one of our many differences, but only one of the few physical ones. Lou had contacts and said I could just pretend to be wearing those…but she never wore her contacts. This wasn’t only about convincing Chandler that I was Lou; it was anyone else from town who might be at the restaurant that I had to worry about.
I took the two small steps up to the entrance carefully and then turned. Lou still hadn’t driven away, so I shooed her with my hand and then waited. I wasn’t going inside until she was gone.
She hesitated a beat, then caved with a small wave and drove off.
All right, time to enact the next phase of this plan: WWLD. What Would Lou Do?
I opened the door and stepped inside, inhaling deep as soon as I was firmly planted inside Brazos. Everyone agreed that scent stimulated appetite, but I would argue it did far more than that; scent set the scene whether there was food or not. It was the way salt and brine could take you right to the edge of the waves with your toes in the sand. It was the lingering pinch of cedar embers and smoke that drew you up to a crackling campfire. It was only aroma that had the immense, invisible power to paint a picture of where you were or where you wanted to be.
And here, there was cedar wood. Bergamot. A hint of pepper— no. I flung my eyes wide open. Lou wouldn’t be smelling the room to get a sense of therestaurant, she’d be scanning it. Cataloging her surroundings for who was there—who was new and who she knew. So, I wrinkled the last hint of thyme from my nostrils and set my eyes farther into the space.
The shadowed atmosphere was tempting. Sultry, even. Pools of light peppered the space, centering around each of the round tables, some secluded by booths along the perimeters; others, larger and in the center, on display for everyone who walked by. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been here. The dark wood, midnight tablecloths, and rich bronze sconces were all new. But in spite of the updated interior, I instantly picked out the roots that tied this place to Friendship. A portrait of the original owners. The farm. Several large seascapes spaced along the walls.
I looked back to the hostess stand, instantly recognizing the blond at the podium. Charlie Moore. My body tipped forward, about to take a step, and then I caught myself; Lou wouldn’t approach the podium. She’d either send me or she’d wait until the hostess noticed her and called her forward.
Linking my hands in front of me, I stayed put, lowering my gaze to the floor and imagining roots growing around my feet, securing myself from the urge to take charge.
“Hi, Lou. You can come up,” Charlie called.
My head snapped up, the room wobbling through Lou’s glasses for a second. Only when Charlie addressed me did I step forward. “Hi, Charlotte.” Lou never called her Charlie, only Charlotte. “I’m here to meet a…friend.” Lou would’ve faltered on the word, but so did I. “I’m not sure exactly what the name is under, but it’s for two people at seven?—”
“It’s under Chandler,” a deep voice spilled from behind me, the edge of his name lifting on the quirk of his smile.