One Night with Frankie, page 7
In his hand he held the simple piece of scrap paper she’d taken from his kitchen counter, as if it was the most precious thing he owned. It was his last proof of her, and her words, the words he now wished he’d said before falling asleep with her in his arms. The more he sat and pondered, the heavier the note felt. He threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and left the note on his unmade bed, heading out for a run to clear his mind of all this muddled confusion.
The air was cool, not yet bogged down by humidity. The second his feet touched the sand, he sped off, knowing he’d push himself harder than he normally did. But he didn’t care. With every thump his feet made on the ground, one more slash on his heart healed. He had been better off before. Before letting Frankie into his home and into his heart.
With his sight set on the horizon, he pierced through a flock of seagulls, sending them cawing through the air. The tide was still out, leaving a wide span of beach untouched. He made it a mile down before turning back, retracing his footprints along the sand.
He ran up the steps, his heart hammering, sweat clinging to his shirt, and slammed the porch door, releasing a pent-up yell that had been lodged in his chest since he woke up without her.
He tried to talk himself out of his mood. It was just a one-night stand and he should be pleased to have had such a chance. Most men his age would love nothing more. But the words were hollow and fell flat. They meant nothing. They did nothing. The emptiness from being used expanded as he walked into his bedroom and tidied up, absentmindedly searching for her faint scent on his sheets.
twenty
Frankie
She called for a cab and picked up her things, tiptoeing around the cottage, cringing every time her foot landed on a creaky floorboard. Henry slept like the dead, emanating a soft snore, and stirred a little, but didn’t wake up. There was a moment when she wanted to stop fleeing and crawl back under the blankets to be with him. When she longed to forget what her family needed her to do and lose herself in him, in his warmth, in his never-ending tranquility.
As she watched him sleep, tiny cracks spread across her heart like spider webs. After finding a piece of scrap paper in the kitchen, she sat down and wrote the first thing that came to mind: My biggest mistake is not finding you sooner.
She crumpled it up and went to throw it out. They weren’t the right words, but she didn’t know what else to say. She stood at the garbage can, her foot on the pedal, and held that note in her fist for what felt like ages. Then she reconsidered, flattening it out on the counter and crept into his room, placing it on the bedside table.
For a few more minutes, she watched him sleep; his mouth curved into a soft smile. She hoped he’d wake up and stop her as much as she hoped he wouldn’t. Seeing his eyes fill with hurt as she said goodbye would only make this even more unbearable. A tear ran down her cheek, and she blew him a kiss.
It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.
The cab showed up a little after seven and drove through town. It was Sunday. Everything was deathly still. After paying the cabbie, she entered the hotel, relieved the old woman wasn’t up yet, and made it to her room, shutting the door behind her in time to prevent anyone from seeing the sobbing mess she crumbled into. She crawled to her bed and cried into her pillow, unable to stop the wracking in her chest.
How she wanted it to stop. She wanted everything to end. The pain. The celebrity. The press. The pressure. She’d found a simplicity in Oakwhite Bay, one she hadn’t realized she craved. As the tears kept coming, she accepted the truth—she wasn’t happy. Not only because of the legacy, but with her entire life. It wasn’t hers. It had never been hers. Her parents had thrown her into it, and now, like a caged animal at the zoo, she was trapped. Only No Limits was the zoo and her father the cage.
She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs hurt from crying and her ribs felt as if they were crushing her insides. She brought her sweater up to her face and took a slow inhale of Henry’s scent—the beach and vanilla—and imagined his lips in its place.
twenty-one
Henry
A few minutes before eleven, Henry reached the shop, finding it still closed.
“Fucking kids,” he muttered under his breath.
He walked in through the back entrance into the kitchen. Inane teenage chatter welcomed him, but he remained quiet and eavesdropped from the doorway.
“Have you seen the video? It’s so fucking hot,” Marcy, his youngest employee of sixteen, said.
“I heard it’s pretty… um, vivid?” Bethany, his manager, and Marcy’s older sister, replied.
Irritated, he released a long, silent breath. Sunday was his day off. He shouldn’t be in today, but the idea of being stuck in his house thinking about Frankie had forced him out the door. And now, to have to reprimand these girls once again for not having the shop open on time soured his mood even more.
He heaved a heavy sigh, barging in. “Girls, what time is it?”
They perked up, Marcy hopping off the counter where she had been sitting, a bright blush turning her round, freckled cheeks deep pink. “Sorry, boss.”
“Good morning, Henry,” Bethany said, sipping on her coffee, the one she got every morning from Lillie’s Bakery down the street. “I thought you were off today.”
“I figured I’d come in and do some paperwork.” He noted Marcy’s phone in her hands. “What have I said about cell phones? When you’re on the clock…”
The sisters glanced at each other and fought a smile. “It must stay locked.” The cheesy catch phrase might have made them smirk, but they could tell he wasn’t in a kidding mood.
Bethany chimed in. “Mine’s locked up, boss.”
Marcy stared at her sister, her eyes like daggers. “Thanks, Sis. Henry, I’m sorry, but we were just talking about the Jason Rawlings sex video.”
Uninterested, he gave her a blank stare. If the girl spent half as much time on her studies as she did on her phone, she’d be an A-plus student by now.
“You’ve seen the video, right?”
His head dropped to the side. “What do you think?”
Bethany giggled, throwing her empty cup in the garbage.
“Oh my god, Henry. It’s all over the place. How could you miss it?” Marcy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s having an affair with Franklyn Ashford.”
“I don’t care about that stuff,” Henry huffed, busying himself with the ice machines. “And it’s none of your business who other people sleep with, Marcy. It’s especially of no concern to our customers who’ll be lining up outside if you don’t get that door unlocked,” he added with an edge, snapping the phone from her hand.
Marcy glared at him for a moment before laughing. “Oh, Bossman, you’re too serious sometimes.” She shook her head, her smile never fading as she yanked the phone back from his grip. Henry exhaled through his nose. If he wasn’t such good friends with her parents, he’d have fired Marcy by now. “Are you seriously saying you’ve never heard of Franklyn Ashford?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. Marcy was irritating sometimes, but he cared for her as if she were his own. Another pang of sadness struck him. Sometimes he wondered if he’d have kids of his own by now had he and Barbara worked out. When his mind drifted to the blond from last night, he blinked back the thoughts.
“No, Marcy. Some of us don’t waste our time stalking celebrities.” He gripped her by the shoulders, spinning her around toward the front. “Anyway, as I said, you don’t know these guys, so it’s none of your business what they do.”
She giggled. “Guys? It’s not two guys.” She turned around. “Franklyn’s a girl.”
“Hey, Marcy, are you coming to help at some point this year?” Bethany yelled from the front, the sound of the bell above the door ringing as customers walked in.
“In a sec!” Marcy replied, tapping her thumbs on her phone, then lifting it to Henry’s motionless face. “This is Franklyn Ashford.”
Henry looked at the image on the screen. The girl in it had short, dark blond hair, with thick, dark eye makeup, and wore a gold dress with a plunging neckline. His gut clenched.
“Never seen her.”
Marcy rolled her eyes dramatically. “OMG, boss. She’s Jack Ashford’s daughter!” Henry’s eyebrows met, but the name rang a distant bell. “Jack Ashford… The owner of No Limits.”
The bell clanged between Henry’s ears. “The shoe guy?”
Marcy tsked. “Yeah. The shoe guy.” Her voice oozed sarcasm. “Otherwise known as one of the richest men in the world. And Franklyn, here,” she said, tapping her finger against the screen, “is his only kid. She’s worth, like, who knows how much. But after sleeping with that movie star,” she cupped her hand to her mouth and returned to whispering, “rumor is she’s about to be disowned.”
Bethany popped in, having overheard their conversation. “I doubt that’ll happen, Marcy. Lots of people have filmed themselves having sex.” Her face flushed at the sight of her boss’ frown. “No one I know, but you know, famous people.” Fluttering her eyelashes, she looked away.
“Sure,” Marcy replied. “But they aren’t usually in an alley, now, are they?”
Henry’s head shot up, bile creeping up his throat. “An alley?”
Marcy took Henry’s surprise as interest, and her eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. It’s dark. Jason’s pressing her face into a brick wall. People are saying it’s in the back of some club in New York. It’s so nasty.”
“That sounds awful,” Bethany added.
Henry took the phone back from Marcy, this time shoving it into his back pocket.
“Alright you two, don’t we have more important things to do?”
He nodded toward the front, the door’s bell ringing a few more times. With their feet dragging, the girls left the kitchen, the saloon-type doors swinging shut behind them. The crushing weight pressing down on Henry’s shoulders grew with each second and the fluorescent lights above hummed with an annoying, high-pitched tone that resonated between his ears. He leaned against the counter and pulled the phone out.
The screen was still unlocked. Staring back at him was the image of the young, sad-looking girl. She looked as if she’d been partying too long with the so-called friends that surrounded her. Without doubt, it was a younger version of the girl he met yesterday, the one he’d stumbled upon crying on a bench outside his shop. The one who had seemed shy and detached, but also kind and mature beyond her years. The young woman who helped him reach pleasure he’d only ever dreamt of and who had resurrected masculinity he’d long since let dwindle to nothing.
It was Frankie, the woman he had believed was the real deal, and had believed would still be in his bed in the morning, ready to embark on whatever the future held.
He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the picture.
Frankie was Franklyn Ashford, a celebrity and rich New York socialite engrossed in a sex scandal. Franklyn Ashford, the sole daughter of billionaire Jack Ashford, the shoe guy.
“Shit.”
twenty-two
Henry
“Good morning, Doris.” Henry greeted the owner of the Bay’s B&B with a warm smile.
Doris McGinley was his mother’s age, but she turned bright pink when she looked up to find him standing across the desk. “Well, hello, there Henry. What a pleasant surprise.”
The bed-and-breakfast hadn’t been Henry’s first guess for where he might find Frankie, but once he spotted a flashy red car parked in the lot, he figured it was more than likely hers. Oakwhite Bay didn’t get many crimson Aston Martin convertibles with twenty-inch black rims.
“What brings you in here today? You don’t need a room, do you?”
He laughed, earnestly amused by her exuberance. “Sadly, no, thank you. I’m here for… um, well…” It was his turn to flush, his neck burning as he lifted a hand to rub it. “I’m looking for someone.”
The older lady’s grey eyes crinkled with interest. “You’re looking for someone?”
Henry’s chest tightened, and he tucked his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Yes. She most likely owns the red car outside. And she’s—” He stopped himself. Young wasn’t the word he wanted to use. Describing Frankie was harder than he’d expected, and flashes of the ordeal he went through all those years ago came racing back. “She has blond hair and blue eyes.”
Few people in town had heard the specifics of his past or why he had moved back to Oakwhite Bay, but he imagined a gossip-queen like McGinley would know all the sordid details, true or not.
With a slight purse of her lips, she nodded in a way that gave him the impression she knew more than she was letting on. He sensed her condemnation seeping from her narrowed eyes.
“Oh, yes, I know who you mean.” She crossed her arms and tapped a finger against her arm. A cold, suspicious old biddy now replaced the smiling woman who had warmed at his appearance a few minutes earlier. “Why are you looking for her, Henry?”
He sighed and fought the urge to walk out. “She, um, forgot something at the shop and I wanted to return it.” He knew his pathetic excuse wasn’t working.
“Oh, well, why don’t you just leave it with me and I’ll make sure she gets it?”
The smile she offered didn’t reach her eyes and gave Henry a sinking feeling. This was failing. He considered his options, but then someone behind him cleared their throat, announcing their presence.
“Henry?” Frankie’s voice was soft, like a spring day.
Doris and Henry turned at the same time. “Do you know Mr. Camden?”
Frankie nodded. “I do.”
Doris’ white eyebrows shot up. “Well, then.”
Henry gave Doris a smirk before stepping toward Frankie. His heart sank when she took a slight step back. “Can we talk?”
He sensed Doris staring, her ear probably falling off from trying to overhear what they were saying.
Frankie glanced at her, then back at him, working her lip, considering. “Come,” she said, nodding toward the staircase.
He followed her up the creaky wooden stairs to her room, the soft pink floral wallpaper almost offensive. The first room on the right was hers, and she walked in, letting him shut the door.
“Why are you here? I thought I was clear…”
“Clear? All you left me was this.” He hadn’t meant to snap, but pulled the note from his back pocket and held it out. “This is anything but clear.” She stepped away from him, revealing a suitcase sitting near the door. “So, that’s it. You were just going to leave without saying goodbye?”
“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have been happy if I had.”
With a frown, he stared. “Do you think I want you to leave?”
“Don’t you? We just met. This,” she gesticulated between them, “isn’t anything serious.”
Whether because of his impatience or fear of losing her, her response irked him. It scratched at an internal wound he’d kept protected for years. And her refusal to admit that what they shared meant more was like her ripping off the old Band-Aid. Pain rose from deep within, like a beast, and prickled his skin.
“Fine, if that’s what you think.”
As if in slow-motion, his hand reached for the doorknob, his palm turning into a crescent, but his feet wouldn’t budge. Ask me to stay, he pleaded internally, unable to get the actual words out of his mouth. When his hand rested on the brass knob, he waited, giving her just one more second—one more chance. When she didn’t take it, he opened the door.
“You know, Frankie, I would never hurt you.”
twenty-three
Frankie
His words had come out so quietly, she wondered if she’d imagined them. Her eyes clouded with tears. “I know that.”
“Then what is it? Why are you pushing me away?”
She sank onto the bed, shoving her palms into her eyes. “You don’t know me. Not really.”
She heard him shut the door and his feet move across the carpet. “But I want to get to know you.”
“No, you don’t. You won’t like what you find.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“Why would you want to? You’ve just fallen for this.” She pointed to her body in a detached, disgusted way.
“What are you talking about?” With one quick step, he approached, but she snapped her head up, throwing him a glare that warned him not to get any closer. And just as he had since the moment they met, he did what she asked.
The distance between them was wide, like a chasm she couldn’t bear; one she sensed he wanted to jump over. But it needed to be there to protect them both. It kept them apart, and for now, that was necessary. It was the only thing that kept her from messing up her life even more.
“You’re more than that to me,” he said. Her staccato sob came out before the tears did. “Frankie?”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she replied, wiping her face. “I can’t be more than that because you don’t know who I am, or where I come from. You don’t know what my life is like or where I’m supposed to be right now. All you know is what I’ve told you. And of course, you fell for that, because it’s simple. If you knew the truth about me, you wouldn’t be here now.” She forced herself to look up, to bring her regard to him, and saw how red his eyes were. “You should leave, Henry. Our night was amazing, and I’ll always remember it, but it’s nothing more. It could never be more.”
“I know who you are, Frankie,” he said.
She snickered and sniffled. “No, you don’t—”
“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. He was so close she smelled his sweet scent. His hand drifted up to cup her cheek. “Franklyn.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes widening. She wanted to hold him, to wrap her arms around him, and never let go. The surrounding air grew thick with tension. “How?”
