Chapter Thirteen #2
She wasn’t surprised he was staring at her a bit like she’d grown a second head.
Because she was yammering on about what she liked about cults for God’s sake.
“Fictional purposes, obviously,” she tacked on lamely.
“That stuff is all interesting to me for my…fictional world.” She shut her mouth, because how bizarre must that sound to someone who didn’t write?
But Royal didn’t look confused or horrified. He still looked very, very serious. “Brooke and I were born into the Sons.”
He just…said that. Like it was a normal thing to tell someone. I was born into a notorious, murderous biker gang.
“Oh,” was all she could think of to say.
“Brooke managed to get us out when I was pretty young, but we got separated and the foster families I was tossed around to weren’t much better. So I went back.”
Franny nodded along like this was a normal conversation she knew how to deal with. Her with her privileged upper class, only child upbringing.
He studied her, like he was keeping track of every last reaction she had to this information.
“You’ve got eight million questions, but you won’t ask them,” he said. “Why? Because it’s crass?”
She shifted in her chair. That was the word she’d used when they’d discussed Daisy Delaney. It wasn’t the only word that applied here, and she wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. She wasn’t sure what was the right way to deal with this. Maybe just…try to keep it simple.
“Yeah, it is. I like to research. I use a lot of real-life stuff in my books. I follow a lot of…stories and things that interest me because people interest me. But I’m not going to make you uncomfortable to get some questions answered for a book I might write someday.
That’s not nice or right, and I like to be both. If I can.”
She didn’t have to tell him she was already thinking about how she could fit it into her current book. Giving her federal agent hero or her cop heroine a background of having actually grown up in a cult, or at least something dangerous, had about a million new ideas springing to life.
Maybe that sowed a lot of distrust when they had to work together—the fed didn’t trust a cop from such a background? Maybe they both came from horrible backgrounds and bonded over it?
But she wasn’t going to let her mind go down that road right now.
He shook his head. “You’re just about the strangest woman I ever met.”
She felt a little stung and knew that was stupid. But it didn’t stop the words from falling out of her mouth. “You are not the first person to say that to me, but I’m not going to lie it’s far more insulting coming from a cop that grew up in a biker gang.”
Then he laughed. Really laughed. Not caustic or bitter or anything.
“Hell, Franny.” He shook his head. “I’m not trying to insult you.
You’re interesting. I don’t find people very interesting as a whole.
I tend to want to know as little about everyone as possible, because more often than not, people suck. ”
She thought about that. He hadn’t really asked any questions about her. Maybe he was right and he didn’t have any—considering she had approximately eight million for him.
But…not being interested in people, believing they all sucked, didn’t add up. “You wouldn’t have gone into helping people if that were totally true.”
He looked down at his plate, a puzzled kind of expression on his face. Then he got to his feet. “I should get going. Thanks for dinner. Can I help you clean up?”
Franny shook her head. “No, don’t worry about it.”
Still he collected his dishes and took them to the sink. For a moment, she just sat there, then she finally pushed herself into a standing position.
Obviously, he’d done what he’d come for. He wasn’t just going to hang around all night. He had his own place, and he was probably exhausted since he’d had to work twelve hours today. Not just lie in bed all day like she had.
“I really appreciate not having to make myself a meal for once,” he said as he moved for the door.
Right. He really was kind, but it was clear he wanted to head for the hills, and who could blame him?
But he didn’t stride right out. He turned and gave her a kind smile. “And the company’s not bad.”
“Except for the poking into your tragic past, I would assume.”
“Pretty sure I gave that up of my own free will. It’s not something I just go around telling everyone.” He studied her in that intense way of his. She wondered if he did that to criminals or if she was special.
You are not special in this scenario, Franny. A step above criminal maybe, but not special.
“So what’s your childhood story? You didn’t grow up here.”
“No. Washington state. My dad is an engineer. My mother is a math teacher. Aside from being a dreamy, head-in-the-clouds artistic type, which made and makes no sense to my parents at all, I had a very easy, lovely upbringing. Probably even spoiled thanks to my health issues.”
He frowned. “Health issues?”
She waved it away. “Oh, it’s all sorted now. Just some allergies and asthma. It just took a while to figure out, so I had a few hospital stays when I was very little to freak my parents out. Kinda stuck with all of us. Trauma for them, trauma-lite for me.”
“Trauma-lite,” he echoed.
“Should we call yours extra-mega trauma?”
He laughed again, the nice one not the harsh one. “Yeah. At the very least. But I guess it makes sense then. I’d rather be a sick head-in-the-clouds dreamer than a sick realist.”
It was…shockingly astute. She had used books and fiction and her own little stories to take her mind off her allergy issues growing up.
“And I’d rather be just about anything other than a math teacher,” he added.
It made her laugh, because same, but then he moved for the door again. He was leaving, and of course he should. He needed to. But…
The thought of being there alone with her thoughts and security camera and…everything, it caused a little spiral of panic to move through her.
He reached for the door, and she just couldn’t bear the thought.
“What about dessert?” she asked, desperately she could admit. To herself anyway.
But Royal studied her like he fully understood. “You know, if you’re afraid to be alone, you can tell me that. You’ve every right to be afraid.”
“Says the guy who escaped from a biker gang and became a cop.”
“Am I going to regret telling you that?”
“Probably.” What was the point in pretending? “Why did you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why I do a lot of things when it comes to you.” He said it with a smile, but his eyes were serious. They were always serious. And he did tend to look at her…
She didn’t have words for it, and she had words for everything. There was just this…weight to it. Like he looked at her and saw her.
Surely she…was just imagining things.
“Night, Franny.”
She should say good night. He wanted to leave, needed to leave, and she had no right to keep him there.
But…
“Okay, I admit it. I’m afraid. I don’t want to be alone in here. It freaks me out. Not just some guy out there wanting to threaten me or worse, but being in here with cameras so you can hear my every talking-to-myself moment if you want to.”
“You talk to yourself?”
“I could make cookies,” she said, totally desperate now. “And you could just stay a little longer. Just… Please, I know it’s silly and intrusive and a million other things you didn’t sign up for, but…”
“Sure.” He took his hand off the knob. “I like cookies.”
Relief swelled through her like a tide, and since she desperately wanted this to be okay, to not be ruining his life, she walked over to the couch, grabbed the remote and handed it to him.
“You can watch TV if you want. I’ve got the streaming services in the first row, and then if you scroll a little bit, I’ve got a baseball subscription.
There should be a few games on tonight.”
He took the remote but looked at her dubiously. “You like baseball?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because you just don’t seem like the type. You told me yourself you’re head-in-the-clouds artistic.”
“Sure, but sports are stories, Royal. And baseball is stories and history. Baseball has marked the time.”
“Did you just quote Field of Dreams?”
“Obviously. Besides, I don’t know if you noticed, my cousin-in-law is Duncan Kirk.”
“I noticed.”
She grinned. “I’ve got his rookie card. Signed now—though I didn’t ask until the wedding was over so as not to be crass.”
“Well, as long as you weren’t that.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got a baseball card collection?”
“Yes. At the ranch. I didn’t have room to store it here.” Which kept her from talking about all the other collections she had: unicorn figurines, antique toasters, her late grandmother’s gigantic salt and pepper shaker collection.
“Well, you’re going to have to show it off sometime.”
She really wished her heart would stop doing this fluttering thing.
“Sure. Yeah. I… I better get started on those cookies. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen,” she said, turning back to the kitchen, hoping she had all the ingredients necessary.
She knew she had chocolate chips and butter—she always had chocolate chips and butter.
She scrounged enough of everything together to create a kind of half batch. It was funny how much more relaxed she was with him there.
They were still being filmed. It didn’t change anything whether he was here or across the street watching, but it felt different. It felt safe. But once he ate some cookies she was going to have to let him go and that filled her with such dread.
Be a grown-up, Franny, she scolded herself as she pulled the cookies out of the oven. She piled them up on a plate.
“Here we…” She trailed off. He sat on her couch, head slightly bowed, though his arms were crossed over his chest. His breathing was steady and even and his eyes were closed.