As our laughter dies away, I notice there are a few people staring at me—us—all of whom are not so covertly taking video or snapping photos.
Which reminds me of something. “Francesca.”
She lowers the menu. “Søren.”
I drop my voice and lean in. “I hope I’m not insulting your intelligence when I ask this, but you did consider that we’d be photographed, right?”
“Yep.” She lifts her menu and goes back to reading.
The waiter comes by, filling our waters. When he walks away, Frankie watches until he’s a decent distance from us, then lowers her menu.
“What are a few more photos of us over lunch?” she says, sipping her water. “Whether it’s the truth or not, it’s what people think. Even Darlene bought it.”
“She what?”
“This morning she texted me to ask, telling me I could be honest with her, and I wouldn’t get in trouble. Apparently, she thought, especially after the press conference answer you gave, that you and I were a thing.” Frankie snorts, then takes a sip of her water. “She said it seemed likely from the photo. Hilarious, right?”
Her words cut brutally. There’s my answer, quick and painfully swift. God, the disappointment.
Frankie frowns as she takes me in. “What?”
I rub over my heart instinctively. It does nothing to quell the ache in my chest.
“Ren. Talk to me. Remember, I can’t…I am even worse than the average human at intuiting. But the nice thing about me compared to most people is that I have no problem being told how and when I get it wrong.” She leans in, sliding her hand toward me, halting halfway across the table. “Please.”
I meet her hand so that our fingertips touch. “You just said the thought of us being in a relationship is laughable.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says gently. “I said that deducing from a photo that we’re in a relationship is hilarious. Darlene of all people should know better than to assume that much from a paparazzi shot.” She tips her head, her eyes dancing over my face. “You thought I was saying I found the idea of us hilarious.”
I slide my fingers further across the table, until they’re woven with hers. “Yes.”
She squeezes my hand in her grip, making me glance up. “But that isn’t what I said. And if ever you meet someone who means literally what she says, it’s me, Zenzero.”
“I understand. That makes sense.” I’m weathering a boomerang of emotions, but I try to smile and show her I believe her. Because I do.
With a final squeeze, she withdraws her hand. “So. In the spirit of that, I’m going to be direct—”
The waiter shows up again. Worst possible timing. Ever.
I’m left hanging, the future of my love life discarded to place a lunch order. It’s not entirely surprising. Food is serious business to Frankie. Turning, she tells him what she wants, snaps her menu shut, and sets it in his arms. I order, too, and we both watch him until he’s gone, leaving us alone in our secluded corner of the restaurant.
“You were saying?” I offer. Trying desperately not to sound…well, desperate.
“Right. I have some questions and concerns. First, what do you want from someone when it comes to having feelings for them?”
“Well, I’m not talking about someone, Frankie. I’m talking about you.”
She bites her lip. “Yes. That.”
“That?”
“Just—” She waves her hand impatiently. “Talk. Elaborate.”
“Well, if you felt how I felt, I’d want to date. We could keep it between us until you were comfortable telling other people, given work.”
She nods thoughtfully, her fingers tangling in her necklace. “Ren, I’m attracted to you. I care about you, respect the hell out of you—” Frankie narrows her eyes. “What are you grinning about?”
Hearing her say it, I’m euphoric. I feel how absurdly wide my smile is, so I set a hand over it, and shrug.
“But, here’s the deal. I haven’t wanted a relationship in years.”
“Years?”
“Stop repeating me. Yes, years. I’ve avoided it like the plague.”
“Why?” I ask.
She puffs air out of her cheeks and drums her fingers on the table. “Historically, in relationships, people’s patience wears thin with me and my circumstances. I’ve noticed I’m happier, that my self-esteem and well-being are better, when I’m alone. So, I’ve sort of released the idea of being a white-picket-fence and two-point-five-kids person.”
“Well, that’s fine. I want my house on the beach, which you like; a dog, which you have; and five kids which—”
“Five?” Frankie’s eyes widen comically. “Jesus, Bergman. My yaya hurts just thinking about it.”
“Your yaya?”
“I told you, stop repeating me.” Shutting her eyes, she breathes deeply and says on her exhale, “I got sidetracked.”
“That’s my fault.” When she opens her eyes, I try to meet them. “Can I ask you something?”
She nods.
“Have you ever felt like I treat you that way?”
“No,” she says immediately.
My heart does a celebratory somersault.
“But…” Frankie spins her necklace and watches me carefully. “We haven’t been in a relationship.”
“But I’ve wanted to be.”
Her fingers pause. A blush pinks her cheeks. “It’s not the same.”
“You’re right. So let me promise you, here and now, that I will never view you as a burden or a problem to be surmounted. You’re a person, Frankie, one that I’m wild about. And any hardships, anything difficult in your life, well, I’ll just be grateful that I get to be with you as you weather it.”
“Until it gets old,” she says flatly. “Everyone starts out talking like you, Ren.”
I try not to let it hurt. I have to remind myself that her doubt and distrust aren’t about me. They’re about her past and how it hurt her. For someone whose thinking is as analytical and pattern oriented as Frankie’s, the past is the best predictor of the future.
“Okay,” I concede. “I know that it might be hard to trust me, that I will never see you that way. I understand it might require time to experience that. So, if you’re willing to give me a chance to earn your trust in that capacity, I’ll be content. We can go slow, take our time. The only thing I ask for is exclusivity.”
She balks. “Of course, I’d be exclusive.” Reaching, she smacks my arm. “What kind of asshole do you think I am?”
“Well, I don’t know what the kids are doing these days.”
“The kids? Ren, I’m older than you.”
“By a whopping one year.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I just…” I sigh. “I just need faithfulness. That’s it.”
Frankie snatches a roll from the bread baskets, rips it open, and smashes some butter into it, entirely focused on her task while she mutters under her breath.
“What are you grumbling to yourself?” I ask her.
Frankie gives me a withering stare and says around a bite of bread, “As if I’d want anyone else if I had you.”