18. Laine
18
LAINE
“When did you first realize you liked Sutton?” Frankie asks from behind the sound desk.
“I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions, remember?” I glance at Frankie from under my eyelashes. Fake relationship or not, my skin flushes at the mention of Sutton. “Why did you want to buy the radio station?” I ask, desperate to focus on work.
Frankie drums her fingers along with the rhythm of the song playing. “I never thought I would buy it,” she explains. “I don’t know if I even truly wanted to. But you remember Clive?”
I nod, thinking back to the old, weathered man who was working at the station earlier.
“His wife’s family started the radio station, and his wife took it over. After she passed, Clive tried to run it himself. He was old, though, and was having a hard time learning the ins and outs. I was working at U of M’s student radio station, so when I heard what happened, I offered to work at Clive’s whenever I was home. Eventually, Clive told me he was going to sell the station. It was hard to find anyone who wanted to run a station in a tiny town. He was going to settle for selling the transmitter to a bigger station, maybe one in Missoula that could use it to broaden their reach.” Frankie’s face twists.
“And you didn’t want that to happen?”
“No,” she says, nearly a gasp. “The station is for West River , not for the big city.”
I try not to laugh at the thought of Missoula, Montana—population seventy-five thousand—being “the big city.”
“We broadcast things like the school lunch menu, birthdays, community events, lost and found. It’s all about the locals, for the locals. It ties the community together, keeps us close-knit. I couldn’t stand to see us lose that.”
“What did you major in at U of M?”
Frankie grins and says proudly, “I got my Bachelor of Arts in Music with an emphasis on Composition.”
“You didn’t want to be a rancher like your father? Or teach dance like your mom?”
“My mom had me in dance from the time I was two all the way up to my high school graduation. But we both knew I cared a lot more about mixing tracks for the recital than actually dancing in it. And while I love being on the ranch part-time—a bit more than part-time with everything going on lately…” Her voice trails. She shakes her head, her expression dropping for a split second before she repaints a wide smile across her cheeks. “Anyway, I need a bit more creativity in my life than the ranch alone can offer. So now, I live the best of both worlds and split my time between the station and the ranch.”
I nod, jotting down interview notes. “Do you still compose your own songs?”
Frankie narrows her gaze. “On the record, you can say something poetic like ‘songwriting will always have a piece of my heart.’ But off the record, no. I haven’t been able to write anything since breaking up with Caleb.”
She says his name as if I’m supposed to know who that is, but I just raise my eyebrows.
“Sutton never told you about my ex?” After I shake my head, Frankie clarifies. “ Caleb Carter? ”
“I don’t think so…”
“And the name doesn’t sound at all familiar?”
I’m drawing a blank. “Should it?”
Frankie laughs, and her freckled nose crinkles. “As if I couldn’t love you more. You have no idea how refreshing this is. Okay, still off the record, I dated this guy, Caleb Carter, all throughout high school and half of college. We started a band together. Well, convinced he was the one with all the ‘star power,’ he put our songs—which I wrote, by the way—out himself. One went viral, even hit number one on the country charts, and he took all the credit. And now, he’s one of the most popular up-and-coming country artists.”
“You’re kidding!” It’s hard to think about anyone being able to do Frankie wrong.
“And now, all anyone seems to talk about in West River is how great he is. It makes me want to poke my eyes out. And I get requests every day to play his music at the station.” Frankie fake gags.
“I need to hear all about this loser,” I insist, tilting forward.
“I’m afraid we don’t have enough time for that. I could fill a book with all the drama that has come from Caleb Carter being in my life.”
“Wow,” I exhale, leaning back in my chair. “So, you’re twenty-four, already you’ve graduated college, bought a radio station, and wrote number-one songs?”
“Pretty great, right?” Frankie practically glows from the praise .
“How do you stay confident in yourself?” I ask. “I can’t order a sandwich without second-guessing my toppings.”
“It’s important to have a vision in life. To know what you want and love yourself enough to go for it, to make your life yours . For me, it's the station. When I see how it brings the community together, it reaffirms my purpose.”
I nod, scribbling down her words. “That's inspiring, Frankie. To have that kind of clarity and conviction.”
She smiles warmly, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. “I wasn't always this way. I had to be very cautious about questioning myself, especially when Caleb's success took off. But I knew that comparing myself to him was pointless. I had my own path to walk.” Frankie claps her hands. “So, any other questions?”
I glance at my phone, where the recording is ticking on. We’ve been at it for nearly two hours, but I still feel unsure. “Nothing else I can think of.”
“Great! Then back to my question. When did you realize you had feelings for my brother?”
Afraid I might project my nerves, and therefore my lying, I resist the urge to fiddle with my jewelry. “You know…Over time.”
Frankie’s eye roll makes it clear she won’t take that for an answer.
“Fine,” I groan playfully. “Looking back, it’s a wonder that I didn’t have feelings for him right off the bat.” The image of Sutton standing on stage during the date auction flashes through my mind, and it suddenly feels twice as warm in the room. “But he was my TA, and I needed him as a tutor, not as a boyfriend.”
Frankie waits, semi-patiently, through a long pause. After a while, though, she prods me on. “You still haven’t explained when you finally started to like him. ”
“I didn’t want to date Sutton,” I admit. I still don’t…right? “My parents were college sweethearts, were married for almost thirty years, and then, one day, realized they didn’t love each other.” My breaths quicken. “I guess that, after a few failed college relationships of my own, I was afraid to settle down. I swore”— swear — “that I would take a long break from dating.”
“But?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the rush of emotions threatening to swallow me whole. How do I explain the tangled mess of feelings I have for her brother when I'm still trying to make sense of them myself?
“But,” I begin, my voice trembling with uncertainty, “then I saw Sutton— really saw him. Not as my TA or my tutor. But as him.”
Memories flood back, bringing with them a wave of warmth and confusion and a nagging deep in my core.
“It was in the quiet moments,” I continue, “the stolen glances across the lecture hall, the late-night study sessions that stretched into the early hours of the morning. It was in the way he listened—truly listened—to every worry I had, every doubt I shared. Somehow, even without speaking, he made sure that I would be okay—that everything would be okay.”
I chew on my lip. “It felt like…like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to step back or leap into loving him,” my voice trembles. “And then one day, I realized that, somewhere along the way, I had jumped—fallen, really—without even realizing.”
Frankie's face lights up with an infectious grin as she leans forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“I’m so happy you jumped,” she declares, her voice filled with genuine love. “From the first time Sutton told me about you—the night after your first date, or tutoring session, or whatever you want to call it—I knew he felt something for you.”
I listen intently, the tangle of confusion in my mind scrambling as Frankie speaks.
“He couldn't stop talking about you,” she continues, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “He had this spark in his voice whenever your name came up, this…this softness that I'd never heard before. It was like he was under some sort of spell, completely smitten by you.”
She’s exaggerating .
“I think he’s drawn to you in a way that he doesn’t even understand himself.”
Neither of us speaks for a long time until I ultimately change the subject, asking to take pictures of Frankie and the station for the Wonderings article. Frankie obliges, thankfully dropping the topic of Sutton.
Anxious that the photos won’t turn out, I take a couple hundred, praying at least a handful will work. Then, as we’re about to head to the cafe for some much-needed caffeine, Frankie’s phone rings.
“Hey, Mom,” Frankie says, winking at me. “Of course I didn’t forget.” She makes a face at me that says Oh yeah, I totally forgot . “Are you sure?” Pause. “Like, sure -sure?” She snorts. “Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
“What did you forget?” I ask when she hangs up.
“I promised I would be at the dress shop for final fittings,” Frankie says, fighting a groan. “But the good news is, Cassidy wants you to come. So now, I don’t have to suffer alone.”
“That can’t be a good idea,” I say. Not only has my every interaction with Cassidy gone sour, but I was also looking forward to spending more time with Sutton.
“Do you want to be the one to tell the bride no?” Frankie asks, the corner of her mouth twitching up. I sigh, and it’s enough of a surrender for Frankie, because she continues, “And I hope you like pink.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Because apparently one of Cassidy’s bridesmaids dropped out—broken leg—and she wants you to fill in.”
“No.” My answer is immediate, my voice so harsh it shocks me.
“Please,” Frankie begs. “ Please . I’ll be miserable without you. I need you there, a tether to the sane world.”
“You’ve seen how Cassidy is with me.”
“I know, I know. But maybe this is a good chance for you two to make amends.”
“There’s no way she actually wants me to be in her wedding.”
“With less than two weeks to the big day, it’s either you stand in or the balance of the entire wedding party will be thrown off.”
“You’re telling me there isn’t another girl in West River who can stand in?”
“It’s a small town—slim pickings. Besides, maybe this is her waving a white flag.”
My scoff communicates more than words ever could.
After fifteen minutes of groveling, I haven’t worn Frankie down one bit. No matter how hard I protest, it’s no use. It’s practically impossible to say no to Frankie.
Of course, West River is too small for a bridal shop, so we have to go back to Missoula for the dress fittings. On the way there, Frankie hands me her aux cord.
“You choose the music,” she says.
I push it back to her. “You’re the driver—it’s your choice.”
Frankie’s head tips back with a laugh. “Laine, I love you, but this is ridiculous. You say you hate making decisions, so we’re going to do some exposure therapy. This isn’t an important, life-altering choice. Just pick a song already.”