Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
DANNY
T his is … unexpected. I’d expected a flat out “No” to Nate’s request, but now it looks like I’m riding shotgun in Frankie’s Karmann Ghia convertible. Top down. Wind in our hair and all that jazz.
“Do you think I can door-hop in here like they used to do in those 70s TV shows?” I ask, assessing the distance from pavement to passenger seat.
“You mean The Dukes of Hazzard ?” says Frankie.
“They went in through the windows,” I reply. “And only because The General Lee’s door handle got broken in an early chase scene.”
Only a true vehicle nerd would know that. Frankie remains unimpressed.
“Try it if you want,” she says, with a shrug. “But if you land ass-first on the gearshift, don’t come crying to me.”
Fair point. I’ll use the door. I get in and have to push the seat back a mile because Shelby was in here last and my knees are up round my ears. Frankie’s still on the pavement, but whatever second thoughts she’s having about agreeing to this, she sets them aside and gets in.
I’m used to classic cars being on the compact side. I’m not prepared for how it feels being so close to Frankie that I can feel the warmth from her bare arms. She’s wearing another retro sundress, this one in tangy orange. She looks sweet, juicy and edible, and she smells amazing, an almost masculine musky scent that, if I didn’t know better, I would swear was Old Spice, and I need to stop thinking those thoughts right now or the second she glances my way, she’ll know. I could lift her tote bag off the floor and onto my lap, but that would be more obvious. I think about Dad, instead. Works instantly, like a swift tap with a cold metal spoon.
Fully present and re-focused, I note that Frankie is an excellent driver. Confident and alert. Changes the gears smoothly, which isn’t always easy in these old cars. I watch her hand manipulate the gearshift and hastily picture Dad again. And start looking at the passing scenery because I obviously can’t be trusted to keep my thoughts above my waist.
It’s not a long drive from Verity to Flora Valley Wines, but it’s a pretty one. My family tends to think of me as a city boy now, but I love being out in nature. Often when I run or hike the Topanga trails, I take a moment to stop and sit and take in what’s around me, the colors and textures, scents, and sounds. I’ve become adept at identifying different bird calls. It’s amazing what you can observe when you slow down and look outside of yourself.
“Do you miss living around here?” Frankie’s first words to me in two miles.
“Truthfully? No,” I reply. “Every time I come back, I feel like I’m being crushed by the pressure of my family. I know that’s a me-problem, but I haven’t been able to rise above it so far. It’s only when I get away that I can breathe free again.”
Don’t know why I said all that. Frankie doesn’t strike me as someone who welcomes oversharing.
Sure enough, she goes quiet again. I look out at the passing fields, irrigated and green or crispy summer brown, other vineyards, the distant hills. Frankie deftly and courteously overtakes a bunch of cyclists. They look like serious riders, not wine tourists. The lead cyclist waves in appreciation of us not forcing them into the ditch.
“I think you broke a country code, there,” I joke. “Most of the pick-ups round here have stencils of bicycles on the door, like the bombs on the old World War II planes.”
“I’ll lose my job if I get a conviction,” she says. “Plus, I’m not an asshole.”
Another Danny joke crashes and burns. I prepare to sit out the rest of the drive in silence.
Two minutes later, she says, “Shelby says your father’s hard on you. On all of you Durant kids, I mean.”
Okay, so she’s not giving me the silent treatment. Surprising. Also confusing. I feel like I’m trying to retrace my steps back through a minefield using pure guesswork, where even a toenail in the wrong place spells instant death.
“It’s possible he means well,” I say. “The jury’s still out on that. For me, at least.”
“I’ve always thought it’s one of life’s great rip-offs that we can’t choose our family,” says Frankie. “Think of all the drama and therapy bills we’d save if we could.”
Because Frankie’s keeping her eyes diligently on the road, I can’t tell if she’s lightening the mood or deadly serious.
“Uh, yeah,” is my lame response. Do better, Danny. “Would you choose any of your family?”
“Tricky,” she replies. “Sometimes I’m convinced I’d have been better off as a turtle. Hatching out of an egg buried in sand, then running like hell to the ocean before the birds catch me. No need to worry about family then, only survival.”
“That’s an interesting take,” I say. “But it didn’t answer my question.”
“I know.” I finally see her smile. “I’m a lawyer. We never give a straight answer.”
“I’d pick Mom and Nate,” I tell her. “Izzy and Max are great but they’re too much of a tight unit to be close to me. Dad’s, well … you’ve got the idea. If I was in a real bind, Ava would support me, no hesitation. But until such time, she’ll continue to torment me because she can.”
“Like Chiara,” says Frankie. “She enjoys being a puppet master way too much.”
Does this mean what I think it means? Did Frankie get the Chiara interrogation treatment, too?
“Chiara claims she does it for people’s own good,” I venture. “But then, wheat grass is supposedly good for us and it tastes like garbage.”
I can see a muscle working in Frankie’s jaw.
“Chiara has a theory…”
She’s being cautious, and I think I know why. But I’ll be cautious too, because if I’m wrong, I’ll be hitchhiking home.
“Chiara’s theory,” Frankie continues, “is that you and I have more in common than we think.”
“Yeah. She mentioned.”
Not cautious enough. Frankie flicks me a fierce glance, her eyebrows slanting down in a way that makes her look exactly like an Angry Bird. It’s cute. And I will never tell her because I value my body parts.
“Chiara said the same thing to you ?” she demands.
“Yup. Last night. Ambushed me at Bartons.”
“Bartons? Why were you at Bartons?”
Her tone’s starting to irk me, but I don’t want to start a fight.
“Because I needed a break,” I say. “And apparently a drink with acorns in it.”
“Acorns, huh.”
Good call, Danny. She’s calmed down.
“Chiara ambushed me at The Silver Saddle,” Frankie says. “Managed to enrage both me and Brendan.”
“Brendan’s in a permanent state of enragement, isn’t he? I thought he hated everyone?”
“True, but he achieved an extra level of animosity towards Chiara today.”
Frankie sounds gratified. Me, I’ve experienced enough of Brendan’s customary attitude to not want to imagine him when he’s really provoked.
We’re coming up to the winery turn-off, and suddenly, I don’t want this drive to end. Up until now this day has been a write-off. Lunch with Mom should have been nice except that I couldn’t shake my resentment towards Dad. It sat like a vulture on my shoulder the whole time, digging its sharp, mean claws into my flesh. Nate tried to cheer me up on the way back, but it wasn’t until we spotted Frankie and Shelby in Verity that I felt my mood lift. This drive with Frankie has been surprising, but in a good way. A very good way. I wish I could magically lengthen it by twenty more miles.
I’m not prepared for when Frankie swerves onto the grassy verge and hits the brakes.
“Oof.” I catch my breath and gaze at her, wildly. “What was that about? Skunk on the road?”
The engine is idling. Frankie swivels in her seat to face me. She leans forward, and for a micro-second, I think she intends to kiss me. But seems it was a figment of my imagination. Her back is upright now against the driver’s seat and she’s glaring at me. Not with the full Angry Bird eyebrows, but I brace myself anyway.
“Chiara’s also of the opinion that you and I are attracted to each other,” she says.
“Uh—” This conversation is going places I never anticipated in a million years.
“Well? Are you?”
Jesus, what’s the right answer here? I suppose I’d better opt for the truth.
“Yes,” I say. “I am extremely attracted to you. Even though you seem to hate my guts.”
Her big blue eyes search my face, scanning for clues to my sincerity. It was the truth, but I bet I still look shifty as hell. Being scared for one’s extremities will do that to you.
“I’m not sure I hate your guts as much as I thought I did,” she says, and winces as if immediately regretting it.
“That’s good to hear.” I smile to try to lighten the moment. “I swear I’m not that bad once you get to know me.”
Of course, that comes out sounding shallow and unconvincing. Frankie’s eyes narrow a little, and I’m sure I’ve blown it.
“All right, then,” she says. “Let’s get to know each other.”
Again, not what I expected. “Uh, get to know each other as in…?”
“I want to stress-test Chiara’s theory,” she says. “I want us to find out what we do have in common. And whether that’s enough to base anything more serious on.”
“Okay.” Seems a sound idea, though currently lacking in executional detail. Which is why I say, “Thoughts on the best way to do that?”
She chews on her full, luscious pink bottom lip. I might have imagined her wanting to kiss me, but I sure as hell want to kiss her. On that lip, and the one above it, and then?—
Focus, Danny!
“How about we take turns introducing each other to stuff we care about?” Frankie is saying. “Things we love to do, hobbies, sports, special interests, etc.?”
“Like your beer brewing?”
“Just like that,” she confirms. “I’ve got a few other niche pastimes, too.”
She makes that sound slightly ominous, and my apprehension must show in my face because Frankie grins.
“Backing out already?”
“Hell, no,” I say. “I’m in, boots and all!”
My enthusiasm lands badly. Frankie’s face closes up like a clam.
“I won’t rush this,” she says. “I won’t be pressured. Understood?”
“It’ll take the time it takes.” I nod my assent. “I’m good with that.”
She eyes me, warily. “Why are you good with it? You have a choice, you know.”
“I do,” I agree. “And I choose to do this at your speed.”
Frankie still doesn’t seem convinced, so I add, “Just because I live in L.A. and like cars, doesn’t mean I’m addicted to the fast lane. Sure, my work keeps me busy – at times I’m hustling like a crazy man – but I always carve out time for stillness and peace. Sometimes I like nothing better than to sit on a tree stump and listen to the birds. Call me Opie or Abner, I don’t mind.”
To my amazement, Frankie gives me a smile, a dazzlingly gorgeous one. It takes all my effort not to pull her into my arms and kiss her for a really long time.
I settle for asking, “So what now?”
“Now , ” she says, “we head back home and go our separate ways. Tomorrow morning, we can share our top four … activities with each other.”
She puts the car in gear and pulls back out onto the road. This day has improved immensely, and I’m looking forward to tomorrow.
At least, I think I am.