Chapter Twelve How to Accidentally End Up on a Date
Chapter Twelve
How to Accidentally End Up on a Date
Frankie
I don’t know how I end up in these situations. One minute, I’m just trying to get through my day, and the next, Charles is roping me into some errand that holds zero appeal.
“I just need you to check it out,” Charles says, leaning back in his chair like he’s asking me to grab him a coffee and not go scope out a multimillion-dollar real estate deal. “Tell me if the place has good bones.”
I squint at him. “I have no idea what good bones look like. I live in an apartment where the sink leaks if I breathe too hard.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “You have instincts. Just go see if it feels right.”
“Then why is he coming?” I jerk my thumb toward Hayes, who is standing near the window, scrolling through something on his phone, looking predictably unimpressed with this conversation.
“Because Hayes actually knows real estate,” Charles says. “And because he was standing here when I had the idea, which means he’s now involved.”
I turn to Hayes, arms crossed. “You don’t have to go.”
He doesn’t even glance up from his phone. “Believe me, I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”
“Well, great.” I sigh. “This’ll be a blast.”
And that’s how I find myself standing in an absurdly fancy house with Hayes Winters, being mistaken for his wife.
“This would be perfect for you two,” the real estate agent chirps, beaming as she gestures toward the massive living room. “It’s so open and inviting. Great for entertaining.”
I blink. “Oh. We’re not—”
“We’re not entertaining anyone,” Hayes cuts in, giving me a look.
The real estate agent giggles, because of course she does. Hayes has that effect on people. He could mutter something about property taxes and women would still twirl their hair and ask him to repeat it more slowly.
“Well, even if you’re more private,” she continues, undeterred, “the chef’s kitchen is stunning. Top-of-the-line appliances.” She nudges me playfully. “Bet your husband loves to cook.”
I choke. Husband?!
“Oh, he’s just the absolute best,” I say with all the saccharinity I can muster, slapping a hand on Hayes’s arm before he can correct her. “Nothing like a man who can whip up a five-star meal after a long day of brooding over the stock market.”
He slowly turns his head to look at me, jaw tightening.
This is actually kind of fun, messing with him. I bat my eyelashes. “He’s probably too modest to admit it, but he actually has a knack for whipping up fancy dishes using only gas station ingredients. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
His nostrils flare. I can tell he’s debating whether to argue or just let me dig my own grave.
“Hmm.” The real estate agent tosses her hair over one shoulder. “Like what?”
“Oh, like give this man a packet of coffee creamer, some tortilla chips, and a can of spray cheese, and look out.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, a hard edge to his voice.
“Babe. The world needs to know.” I plant my hands on my hips and glare at him, signaling that I mean business.
The real estate agent practically swoons. “That’s so romantic. A man who cooks and buys his wife beautiful homes? You are one lucky lady.”
Hayes exhales through his nose, clearly regretting every decision that led him here.
I smirk up at him. It’s not my fault he’s fun to mess with.
“Yeah.” I shoot him a grin. “I guess I am,” I say, gathering momentum. This is the most fun I’ve had since arriving in Hawaii.
He scowls at me hard, clearly exasperated, before wandering out to the pool alone. I mentally pat myself on the back. I may have won the battle, but I wasn’t cocky enough to think I’d won the war.
“Just wait until you see the primary bathroom. His and hers bidets,” the real estate agent says, leading the way.
“Oh, just wait until you hear about Hayes’s love for a good bidet . . .”
What could I say, other than it was fun to mess with him. He was always so buttoned up. It was annoying! Which meant there was something deeply satisfying about riling him up.
“What do you say we call a truce and stop and get a drink on the way back,” Hayes asks as we pull out of the driveway.
His offer surprises me, but I don’t let on. Instead, I give the most beautiful house I’ve ever stepped foot in a wistful look from the window and shrug. “Sure, why not?”
A few minutes later, he pulls the car into a restaurant called The Drunken Coconut.
The menu is sticky and plastic, and I don’t miss the way our server practically swoons over Hayes. Gross.
After we order our drinks—a vodka tonic for him and a strawberry daiquiri for me—I peruse the appetizer menu. I find all the usual suspects—chicken wings, sliders, onion rings, and poke bowls—but I’m in the mood for something else . . .
When our drinks are delivered, I smile and pull mine toward me. She’s glorious in a tall, fluted glass adorned with a fresh strawberry garnish.
“Anything else I can get you?” the server asks, batting her eyelashes at Hayes.
He motions to me. “Anything she wants.”
Okay, that was kind of nice. I’m not used to Hayes acting like an actual gentleman. “The fried mac ’n’ cheese bites, please.”
“Sure thing,” she says, before turning to waltz away.
I realize I’ve never sat like this—one-on-one—with Hayes before. He’s very tall with broad shoulders, and he has a certain presence about him. His skin has a sun-kissed glow, thanks to our time spent at the beach these past few days.
Objectively, he’s cute.
There, I said it. Tessa would be so proud. And if he weren’t such a total goober, I might feel tingly and intimidated. Thankfully, I don’t, because it’s Hayes. And that would just be weird.
I take a sip of my drink and moan. “This is soo good, you want to try it?”
Hayes shakes his head.
“So, what was it like, growing up being you?”
“That’s a loaded question.” He barks out a laugh. “What would you like to know?”
Based on his reaction, I suddenly feel a bit foolish for asking, but I’m already in this deep, I might as well forge ahead. “I mean your family has capital M money.”
He removes the straw from his drink. “We do.”
“And I guess I’m just curious . . .”
He shrugs. “It’s nice. I’ll never complain about that.” He takes a sip of his cocktail. “It means having the world at your fingertips, but it also means you’re never really your own person—every move is a reflection of the family’s legacy.”
I never considered there were downsides, so that’s interesting. “What are your parents like?”
He laughs, a short humorless sound. “They’re a complete mess.”
All of this comes as such a shock that I’m momentarily speechless. I figured his family, on the cover of countless magazines, would have it all together. In my head, I’d built it up that they were the perfect family.
“My parents met in the nineties. Dad had a brief stint as a drummer in Cradle to Grave.”
I knew that band. They had one or two massive hits that got significant radio play in my youth. “They had that one song . . .” I tap my knee, trying to remember the catchy beat.
“Exactly. They were a one-hit wonder.”
“‘Velvet Riot,’” I snap, proud that I remembered.
“That’s the one.”
“It’s a cool song.”
He shrugs. “Anyway, my mother went to one of their shows and talked her way backstage—which wasn’t difficult. She was Evelyn Winthrop—she was used to getting what she wanted.”
“And what she wanted was a fling with a rock star?”
“Yes. Or more precisely a drummer. Maybe it was some rebellious thing to piss her parents off, who knows.”
“Well, what happened?” I take another sip of my drink.
“What happened was that they hit it off and started dating. Dad was never in love with her or even ready to be a husband. He was young and getting his first taste of success. Then his best friend and bandmate overdosed and died, and it struck something in him. He realized how short life could be and didn’t want to waste any more time.
They were married within two months and pregnant with me weeks after. ”
“I think I read about that at some point—their lead guitarist—heroin, right?”
Hayes nods. “The band broke up shortly after that. The rest is history.”
“Well, this is a revelation. I always imagined you having this perfect upbringing.”
“Not hardly. My parents can barely stand each other, and my dad fathered a secret child. Maddie—she’s eight now. But they’ll never divorce.”
Did this explain—at least in part—why Hayes was so cranky and jaded? Maybe. I’d need to investigate it further.
But the server takes that moment to deliver my mac ’n’ cheese bites, so any further introspection has to wait. I dig right in—like a voracious trash panda. Hashtag no regrets. The outside is crispy, and the inside is cheesy, gooey goodness.
He tells me a little more about his half sister, Maddie, while I eat, and I’m surprised to learn that they actually hang out.
He takes her to the mall and out to eat.
He shows me a friendship bracelet she made him.
In my brain, Hayes is so one dimensional that it takes me a full minute to comprehend it.
“What about you?” he asks, passing me a stack of napkins. “Family back in New Jersey, I suppose?”
I wipe my hands and shake my head. “Sadly, no. Not anymore.” I fill him in that I was raised by a single mom and that I didn’t know my dad.
Hayes looks somewhat shocked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I know. It’s a shock I’m so well adjusted and sweet.” I grin and take another sip of my drink.
He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Doesn’t it bother you that your father couldn’t even be bothered to stick around?”
I raise one shoulder. “Not really. Everyone’s on their own path. He had to follow his. My mom took good care of me. Why should I complain? Others have it much worse.”
Hayes doesn’t seem to have a response to this, but his jaw tightens.
“Where was your first kiss?” I ask him. “Mine was at a middle school football game.”
He smiles at my rather abrupt topic change. “Paris.”
I gasp. “That is incredibly romantic!”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Believe me, it wasn’t. My braces got in the way, and I was terrified I had bad breath. And I probably did. I’d just tried escargot for the first time.”
I laugh. “Okay. Gross. But I feel like I could go toe-to-toe with you on who’s had it worse in the dating realm, though. Trust me, I have gone out with some doozies.”
He takes a swallow of his drink, considering this. “I don’t know, I feel pretty stupid for bringing Olivia here.”
“Why?”
“Because I hardly know her. Because she was all wrong for me.” He shrugs.
I could just nod and sympathize, but something in me pushes back.
“Listen, as someone who’s made a lot of questionable dating choices, you could just take a break from dating altogether.”
He frowns. “A break?”
“Yeah. Stop looking and actually figure out what you want. Maybe the problem isn’t them. Maybe it’s you.” I give him a playful smirk to soften the blow, but the words land more heavily than I expected.
Maybe because I’ve been thinking about this myself.
About all the times I rushed into something just to feel less alone. About how easy it is to keep blaming the other person when you haven’t really looked inward.
He exhales, shaking his head. “Gee thanks.”
I shrug. “Hey, I’m just saying, maybe if you quit chasing after the wrong women, the right one might actually have a chance to find you.”
He rolls his eyes, but his silence tells me that he’s wondering if I have a point.
Since it’s possible I’ve offended him by basically saying he’s the problem, I decide to be a little bit vulnerable. “I’ve actually been on a boy ban for a while now. It’s allowed me to sort of figure myself out.”
“I’ll consider it. Thanks. And how do you know so much about all this?”
“A lot of therapy,” I answer, probably too quickly. “You pick things up.”
“Why have you had a lot of therapy?”
My mouth drops open. “Seriously? I’m a walking disaster. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t noticed.” I give him a hard look, and Hayes doesn’t argue. “Anyway, it starts to get to a person.”
He looks at me, his gaze softening, and the way his eyes linger on mine seems to communicate something that even words can’t say.
It’s like he sees beyond all the layers I hide behind, sees not just the girl sitting in front of him but the strength and the vulnerability that I guard so fiercely.
The way that I want to be the best version of myself, but something—namely me—holds me back.
“Anyways . . .” I draw out the word, needing to break whatever weird connection this is. “We should go. I promised Charles we’d have a Scrabble rematch when I got back.”
“Sure. Of course,” he says, blinking.