Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FRANKIE
“Twice?” Paige’s eyebrows shoot up at the same moment she sucks hard on the straw in her Moscow mule. “How did the cot not collapse?”
I scrunch my eyes closed on a laugh and shake my head. Boy, it’s good to see her.
But even though it’s been less than two weeks since we last sat in the Orange Parasol, our favorite bar, it feels like it’s from a completely different era of my life. Or from a completely different me.
Its shiny white interior, glossy tables, and orange-upholstered chairs and benches are a stark contrast to life in Grandpa’s ramshackle house and mucking out the donkeys. I guess I’ve slipped back into that Warm Springs life easier and more comfortably than I’d realized.
How can I be both these people at once?
“It’s sturdy.” I can’t suppress a dirty giggle. “They must have been better made in Grandpa’s camping days.”
I take a sip of my red wine—I held off on the cocktails since I have to leave for the airport soon and the idea of flying tipsy makes me feel nauseated.
“Show me the message again,” she says.
I call up my texts from Miller.
Last night he’d sent me a picture of the miniature donkeys all safe in their stable just before he shut the door on them, along with a message saying, “Thought you might want to know I’ve kept them all alive so far.”
It’s followed by some jokey back-and-forths about how ominous I thought the “so far” sounded, and ended with a good luck from him for my meeting.
This morning, I’d forced myself to hold off on texting until he’d had time to let them all outside and muck out the stables.
Then, right before walking into the room with the YouTuber and the ad department, I sent him a message asking if he’d slept better in the house and telling him to help himself to anything for breakfast.
It’s his reply to that that Paige wants to see again.
MILLER
Amazing. I’d forgotten what a real bed felt like. But I do have fond memories of the cot.
“See,” she says, loud enough for the people at the next table to turn their heads to look at us. “No man would say fond memories if he didn’t want to do it again.”
“But what’s the point?” I ask.
She falls back in her seat and lets her head flop until she’s staring at the high ceiling that has parasols in various colors hanging from it.
“The point is,” she says on a long, frustrated exhale as she rights herself, “you’re getting some from a super-hot guy, who seems to be loaded, is capable of delivering multiple screaming orgasms and, bonus, he also sounds kinda nice.”
“He is kinda nice. You only have my word about him being super-hot, though.”
“No, I don’t.” She points at my phone again. “You showed me the thing with him crouched under the donkey.”
I flip to the sanctuary Instagram account and scroll back past my recent videos of amusing donkey antics to the post where Doris is scratching her belly on Miller’s hat. I guess it is possible to see that he has awesome shoulders, a great ass, and generally perfect proportions.
The video instantly sparks a giggle.
“Look at you,” Paige says. “Totally fucking smitten.”
Sadly, none of my other posts feature Miller. He either offered to hold the phone and film me doing things or explaining donkey-related fun facts or else jumped out of shot, saying he was ruining the picture.
“I am not smitten.” But watching that video again sends a flutter swan-diving from my chest to my belly, then rippling even lower.
So it’s best to change the subject. “But look at the jump in followers since I’ve been posting regular funny donkey videos for a few days. Engagement is up too. And shares.”
“You’re just changing the subject because you know I’m right.” Her words are followed by a loud burbling sound as she sucks her copper mug dry.
We’ve been able to read each other from the day we met.
It was a drab winter afternoon, and way too many staff were crammed into a boardroom for a quarterly briefing from some dull guy about something even duller. He’d been droning on for what felt like eternity when he said, “…and it’s been erect ever since.”
I couldn’t tell you what words came before that phrase because I had zoned out, or after it because I was fighting so hard to control my childish giggles.
When I subtly glanced around the room to see if it had tickled anyone else, I found Paige looking at me over the hand she had pressed firmly to her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking.
We chatted afterward, and that was that. Fast friends who met over a dick joke.
“Whether you’re right or not, it’s still pointless.
” I darken the phone and place it face down on the table.
“I’m only there for a little while. And once he’s bought a new van, or had one built for him, or whatever he’s doing about that, he could take off at any time to go try out another town a thousand miles away.
He doesn’t seem to need to be in one place to do his job. ”
“Even better, then,” she says.
“How is that better?”
“Because you get mind-blowing sex on tap for a few weeks with no commitment. You can enjoy that beautiful man, then come back here able to give your full attention to being Dickish Darren’s boss, which you surely will be by then, without worrying about holding down a relationship at the same time.”
The word “relationship” sends a shiver down my spine.
And, for the first time in years, it’s a good, tingly shiver, not a cold, terrifying one.
As I run my finger around the base of my wineglass, a series of images of a fantasy future dance across my mind—Miller bringing me tea in bed before we get up to let out the donkeys, holding hands as we wander down Warm Springs’ main street, picking up food for dinner.
Of him helping to run the donkey sleigh rides at the annual Christmas festival, then snuggling up to him as we hold mugs of spiked hot cocoa afterward.
I’ve just realized that not one of those scenarios involves Chicago, when Paige gasps and jolts me from my reverie.
I look up to see her eyes wide, mouth open. “Oh, God. You want a relationship, don’t you? With hot donkey guy? You actually like him. Like, like him like him. For reals. For keepsies.”
My cheeks heat. “I hardly know him. I don’t even know what type of investment business he has or what he does day-to-day to run it.”
“You’ve met his family, for fuck’s sake,” Paige says. “If he was a bank robber, I doubt he’d have asked his dad and brothers to rebuild a barn for you. Or, at least, I doubt they would have come.”
“They were nice. Sitting around the kitchen table having dinner with them all felt…nice.”
She leans toward me across the table. “Like family?” Her voice is softer and more serious now.
She knows I’ve always loved how close and boisterous her family is, and that my life with parents who worked every hour they could to earn enough to get by has always felt isolated in comparison.
I gaze down into my drink and shrug. “Maybe.”
“Then maybe”—she takes my fingers and gives them a squeeze—“he’s everything you’ve been waiting for your whole life.”
“What I’ve been waiting for is to be financially independent and able to have a good standard of living without working myself to the bone every hour of the day.”
“Didn’t you already get that?” Paige lets go of my hand and sits straighter. “If your salary isn’t enough to make you comfortable enough to enjoy life, you’ve got bigger problems than how to make that sanctuary solvent.”
“But I want to be the VP of digital marketing.”
“Why?”
“To stop Dickish Darren from getting it.” For a second, my knee-jerk answer baffles me. Is that who I’ve become? Someone who wants something just to stop someone they don’t like from having it?
“I mean, of course I’d rather sleep in a pile of donkey dung than have him as my boss.”
There has to be another reason, though. A reason that the corporate version of me wants a bigger job with a bigger salary.
“And because it’s the next step,” I add. Yes, that’s the reason. “The next rung on the ladder.”
And suddenly that feels like a pathetic answer.
“I’ll give you the Darren thing,” she says.
“But I’m not sure you’ve ever paused for a second to realize you’ve already achieved your goal.
Great job with a great salary with one of the coolest furniture stores in the country.
And where you met the bestest best friend you could ever have wished for.
” She tips her head and gives me an exaggerated grin.
“Not sure about the last one.” I take a sip of wine.
“Just because you don’t want to hear anything about maybe taking your foot off the gas for a moment to smell the flowers and enjoy the hot rich guy with the magic dick doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
” She folds her arms across her chest. “And I’ve tried so hard not to harp on about it, but it has to be said—the very best financial decision you can make for the sanctuary is to sell it. ”
Just the mention of that makes my stomach turn in on itself.
I shake my head. “I can’t do that to Grandpa.”
“So what’s the long-term plan?” ever-practical Paige asks. “Even when your grandpa’s recovered, he’s not going to be…well, you know, strong enough to take care of it by himself for forever.”
“I have to hope that by then it’s financially sound enough to support enough staff to run it.”
“That’s going to take—” She pauses, and I have to look away. “Some time,” she adds quietly.
My phone vibrates in front of me. I flip it over to see a notification that the car to take me to the airport will be here in five minutes. “Time’s up.”
“Well, at least think about enjoying yourself before you come back here to wipe the floor with Dickish Darren.”
“Maybe.”
I get to my feet, throw my overnight bag over my shoulder, give Paige a big hug, and head out on my journey back to the man who I, terrifyingly, seem to want a relationship with.