Without a word, he slips my bag off my shoulder and soldiers ahead of me.
Dragging my feet the whole way to my car, I follow Ren, who holds open my door, merrily sets my bag in the trunk, then double taps it like some chipper bellhop.
He rushes over to his van which is parked right next to mine and waves me to go first. I decide to turn on my audiobook, since book club meets soon, and I am way behind on Sense and Sensibility.
It’s not my favorite Austen. There’s something about the story that makes me sad as I read it. Their father’s death and the grief it brings the Dashwood women. How unfair it is, estates being entailed away from a man’s own daughters to their male cousin. Marianne’s immature romanticism, the way she so easily overlooks Colonel Brandon’s kindness to her and falls for that asshole Willoughby.
Then there’s poor Elinor. Just day after day, hiding her heart for Edward, because she’s mindful of what it could cost her and her family if she expressed affection for a man whose feelings she’s unsure of. She’s so dutiful. So patient. She deals with a low-functioning mother, a sister who’s doing everything Elinor isn’t—throwing caution to the wind, madly chasing her impulses—all while mothering the youngest daughter, Margaret. Her existence feels so heavy that I’m tired of duty dragging Elinor down.
“Sense will always have attractions for me,” the narrator reads.
“Damn straight.” That I can empathize with. Because being sensible keeps you safe.
My fingers tightly grip my steering wheel, and I’m grinding my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I have to get my head on straight. Yes, it’s true I find Ren attractive. Yes, I have a tender spot for the six-foot-three cinnamon roll. Yes, he’s a fantastic kisser, especially for a virgin, which leads me back to a not-infrequent thought lately that a primal part of me wishes I got to be his first. Because someone like him deserves the best first time, and while I’m not saying I’m some sex prodigy, I think I could please him. I know I sure as hell would enjoy trying. Teasing, adoring, and savoring this romantic, kind, gentlemanly, nerdy, hotter than sin—
Shit, I need to stop.
I tune back into the audiobook, willing myself to focus on the story, but Elinor and her damn restraint when it comes to Edward just heaps annoyance on annoyance as I drive, until I’m idling in front of Lorena’s apartment building, yelling, “Just fucking tell him you love him already!”
Ren taps my window, and I startle so violently, I nearly shit myself. Once I can breathe again, I press the button until the window is lowered.
He leans his arms on the ledge and smiles, glancing from my dashboard with the pictured audiobook title to me. “Never seen Austen incense a person like that.”
I turn off the engine and nudge open the door, making him take a step back. “Clearly, you haven’t read Sense and fucking Sensibility.”
“Huh.” He shuts the door behind me, following as I step onto the curb. “I didn’t know the title included such profanity. Must be the unabridged version.”
“It doesn’t,” I grumble. “But it should.”
Ren presses the buzzer for Lo’s unit, and the fact that he knows which one it is after only being here once before, when I was a shell-shocked mess, crying for my dog, just twists the knife deeper in my ice block of a heart.
“I actually haven’t read that one,” he says while we wait. “But you’ve piqued my interest now.”
Before I can tell him to lay off my book club, Lo buzzes us in.
Lorena’s in a certain state of undress that indicates she and Mia were having the cozy times, so I keep my pick-up of Pazza quick. I get her into my car, then drive us home, Ren behind me the whole drive from Echo Park to Hawthorne.
When I pull up to the house, my heart starts pounding. My palms get sweaty. Pazza whines from her seat, and I pet her head, staring at my bungalow rental. The place I would normally be so glad to see looks sinister and unwelcoming. No lights on inside. A new handle and lock that I don’t recognize mounted on the door, meant for the new, unfamiliar key I hold in my hand. It doesn’t feel like coming home.
Sighing, I open my car door, but Ren’s there already, opening it for me, grabbing my bag from the trunk, petting Pazza when she dashes over to him, like this is all just par for the course.
When I get to the door, my hands are shaking. I drop my keys, and Ren bends, scooping them up for me.
He holds them, open in his hand, but his eyes connect with mine. “Do you want me to?”
I nod.
Quickly, Ren slips the key into the lock, lets himself in, and immediately flicks on the lights. It helps a little. My misty gray walls, fresh white trim painted everywhere. The cozy oatmeal-colored couch I’ve snuggled many nights on, decorated with Hogwarts-themed pillows and throw blankets.
Closing the door behind me, Ren turns the bolt and the sound makes me jump. His hand rests warm and steady on my shoulder. One solid squeeze, then he lets go. “You’re safe, Frankie. Your landlord did a good job.”
I nod again, worrying my lip between my teeth.
“Want me to take a walk around upstairs?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
Without another word, Ren heads up my stairs, two at a time, silent as a big cat, his large hand wrapped around the banister.
Pazza trots into the kitchen, sniffing around, nudging her bowl.
“I know,” I tell her. “I’m coming.”
Feeding her calms me a little bit. I’m a creature of habit, and this is our routine when I pick her up from Lo’s. We come inside, I feed her dinner, then we head out to my tiny patch of backyard as she snuffles around, then does her business. After that, we curl up on the couch and read. Well, I read. Pazza lies on top of me and vies for my attention.
I hear Ren’s footsteps roaming upstairs. Opening and closing closet doors. My shower curtain being snapped back, then straightened.
A smile tugs at my mouth as I open the container of dog food Lo made for Pazza and drop it into her bowl. He’s upstairs, checking every nook and cranny.
As stupid as it is to get all feely about it, I do. I stand in my kitchen, savoring the sounds of care, because soon they’ll be gone. I’ll be back to being alone.
You like being alone.
Pazza whines, bumping my hand with her head. “We’ll be fine,” I whisper to her.
On a snort, she pulls back and shakes her coat, those pale gold eyes boring into me. Sure, Mom, they say. Keep telling yourself that.
17
Frankie
Playlist: “Sirens,” Cher Lloyd
“Frankie?” Ren calls from the steps. When he stops at the bottom of them, I stare at him, his tall frame filling the entranceway.
“Hi.”
Super eloquent, Francesca, the little devil on my shoulder whispers.
I’m not trying to be eloquent, devil side. I’m trying not to rip off his clothes.
Ren smiles as a stray wave of hair flops across his forehead. Pushing it back absently, he strolls into the kitchen. “I did a thorough search. And trust me, with extensive experience in obscure and wildly unsafe hiding places, thanks to too many long Washington winters cooped up with bored, hyper siblings, I can assure you that your house is completely unoccupied, but for you and me.”