“Well…that’s good.”
Verbal brilliance, Bergman.
I’m a nervous wreck. There’s so much I want to tell her and none of it will disentangle in my brain. I want to ask her to stay, even when that bungalow is safe to return to. I want to confess that I’m wild about her. I want to ask if she’s even a little wild about me, too.
But the one thing all five Bergman brothers agreed on tonight was that I should wait to tell her how I feel.
The when was not a unanimous agreement between my brothers. While Axel and Oliver said to wait until she’d left the team, Ryder and Viggo voted not to wait that long, just until she’s back in her own space again, at which point, if I told her and she didn’t feel the same way, she at least wouldn’t be stuck under my roof.
Just stuck working with you.
Frankie stares at me. I’ve noticed she does it sometimes, like she’s not just looking at me, but as if she’s trying to look into me.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
I balk at that. “What do you mean?”
“I thought maybe you were angry. Your answer was short. And that usually translates to me as anger.”
“Frankie, no.” I have to restrain myself from hugging her. I want to kiss her forehead and beg to know how I made her feel I was angry with her when I’m so far from it. “Why would you think that?”
Her gaze drifts to the waves breaking on the shore. “Reading people is tricky for me. Usually, I can’t tell by someone’s face how they’re feeling, not until I know them really well and I have lots of time to learn their expressions.” She turns and stares at me again, her brow furrowing seriously. “That’s because I’m autistic.”
Air rushes out of me. Frankie’s on the spectrum.
God, I’ve been thick. While I know it’s unique to each person, I’m familiar with autism’s complexity, the way it both hides and sneaks out. My youngest sister, Ziggy, who I’m close to, was diagnosed just a year ago. Axel hasn’t been diagnosed, but more and more since Ziggy’s diagnosis, I wonder why he hasn’t been. The point being, I’m well acquainted with the autism spectrum in people I’m close to. Why didn’t I recognize it in Frankie?
Stepping nearer, I tentatively thread my fingers through Frankie’s, bracing myself for her to pull away, to reject the gesture. But she doesn’t. Instead she slides her fingers tighter with mine. “Thank you for telling me, Frankie. For trusting me.”
She tips her head, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “I wish I’d told you sooner. But when I met you, you were just another player on the team. It didn’t seem necessary.”
One little word—were—but it makes hope soar through my body.
“Can I ask why you don’t tell others? Why you’re telling me now? If that’s personal, I understand.”
Frankie squeezes my hand, and I have to stifle the rough inhale it causes. Her palm’s soft and cool from the night air. It fits perfectly inside mine.
“I have a…a mask that I wear for work,” she answers. “I hide a lot of myself to do my job. Why tell people I’m autistic when I act like I’m not?”
“Isn’t that exhausting?” I remember that being Ziggy’s refrain: I’m so tired. So tired of pretending and still feeling like I suck at it. I feel invisible. Even to myself.
“Yes.” She smiles. “Thus, law school. Studying and negotiating the law, it’s a strength to be fastidiously observant and detail-oriented, methodical, hyper-focused, literal, direct. Sometimes I worry what I’ll do when I miss things interpersonally. I know law can get dirty and people can twist their words, but I’m not battling it out in a courtroom. I’ll be reading fine print, negotiating contracts for clients I get to know well, so I think I’ll do okay. I’ll get to truly be myself.”
“I’m happy for you, Frankie. You deserve to be yourself. At work. With friends. Anywhere.”
She peers up at me, another one of her incisive stares. “Thank you.”
Pazza barks and spins, chasing her tail. We glance over at her as quiet settles between us but for the incessant pound of the ocean nearby.
“You remember I have a small country’s worth of siblings, right?”
Frankie wrinkles her nose, clearly confused. “Yes?”
“My little sister is on the spectrum. So, while everyone’s unique, and I’m no expert, I love someone who’s autistic. And I hope you know I’m a safe place for you to be you.”
Frankie sniffs and wipes her nose. Blinks a few times and dabs her eyes with the heel of her hand, gripping her sweatshirt.
“You okay?”
“I’m not crying,” she says immediately.
I squeeze her hand, rubbing my thumb in a gentle circle across her palm. “Of course not.”
“It’s windy,” she says.
“Very windy.”
When she glances up at me, she’s smiling. And it’s an arrow to the heart.
I want to kiss Frankie. Badly.
Not while she’s your guest, with nowhere to go. Be patient. You’ve waited this long. Wait a little longer.
“You’re staring at my mouth,” she whispers.
“S-sorry.” I try to blink away, but my gaze swivels right back to her, a compass set to true north.
“It’s almost like you want to kiss me, Zenzero.” She bites her lip, her eyes locked on my mouth, too.
I just stare at her, like an idiot. Pazza drops her slimy ball right on my foot, headbutts me, and barks. But I’m oblivious. All I see is Frankie, Frankie who’s staring back at me, and it’s like free-falling through time and space, lost in the vortex of her gaze.
It happens in slow motion, Frankie pressing on tiptoe, her fingers wrapping around my arms to brace herself. I suck in a breath as sparks shoot across my skin, and she leans into me. Her curves press against every hard plane of my body, her grip tightens. Before I know what’s happening—
The sweetest lips brush mine. Her mouth is full and soft as it tastes my bottom lip and sucks gently. My inhale is shaky, my exhale a groan of relief. She slides her hands over my shoulders, up my neck, and weaves her fingers into my hair. Her touch is gentle but determined, warm and tender, as she presses faint kisses to the corners of my mouth.
I wrap an arm around her waist and tug her closer. Oh, God, her body. Long, strong, lean around her ribs, where I hold her, but soft where her breasts rub against my chest, where her hips curve into mine. Cupping her neck, I knead the tense muscles at the base of her skull. Frankie moans against my mouth, her lips parting, and the sound, I swear, it shakes the earth beneath my feet. I slide my other hand lower down her back and tuck her close, settling it at the tender curve of her spine.
How something I’ve dreamed of can so wildly exceed my imagination, I’ll never know. I thought I knew what I could expect, how sweet she’d taste, how warm and soft her lips would be. But my dreams are nothing to reality.
Her tongue teases mine, slow, steady swirls that coax mine to find hers. I tilt her head in my grip, slant my mouth to deepen the kiss. Rocking her against me, tangling my tongue with hers, the kiss becomes as rhythmic as the waves behind us. Slide, tease, retreat.
“Oh, shit.” She pulls away breathlessly, shaking hands covering her mouth. “Okay. Wow. Just…wow. Okay. Yep, I kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that. Pazza!”