“You done?” Ma says.
My head snaps down as I peer at my phone. “Sorry. My mind wandered.”
“Tell me where it went.” She leans in and sets her cheek in one hand. “I’ve got all day.”
Searching her eyes, I bite my lip in hesitation. I love my mother. And before I was always a checklist of health issues, I felt like we were close. Has time whittled away that barrier between us? Can I open up to her and unburden myself?
Her eyes are like mine, and they brighten as she smiles. “I know I can be overbearing,” she says. “But I called because I miss just talking. That’s all. I trust you to take care of yourself, okay?”
Oh, the guilt.
“I won’t nag or poke you about anything health related,” she says. “I promise. I’ll just listen. And we can talk about other stuff.”
With a glance over my shoulder, I see Ren wandering the kitchen, presumably cooking breakfast. Regret tugs at my heart. I just pushed him away. I’ve become a bit of an expert at that, haven’t I? As if I need further proof, I peer at my mother, the woman who loves me imperfectly, but loves me, nonetheless. Who after our mutual hurts and blunders, I’ve slowly, systematically withdrawn from.
Leaning close to her image on my phone, I clear my throat, searching Ma’s eyes, the ones she gave me. “I miss you,” I tell her, unsteadily.
Her gaze softens behind her glasses. She sniffles. “I miss you, too, honey. But you look like sunshine and seventy degrees almost year-round suits you. So that makes missing you a little easier, knowing you’re happy where you are. You are happy, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, I am.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see Ren, at the window, eyes down. As if he senses me watching him, he glances up. Our eyes lock. I offer him a tentative, apologetic smile. He gives me one back, then turns and disappears deeper into the kitchen.
“I feel like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t,” Ma says wryly.
Breaking my distraction, I refocus on her. “Sorry. I snapped at him, and I wanted him to know I was sorry. And…” I sigh. “I feel like I owe you a sorry, too. I’ve been distant. Gabby nags me every time we talk to just have it all out with you, but I never know where to begin, Ma.”
She nods. “I know, honey. I feel the same way. But maybe we can just talk for now, then work our way toward the hard stuff, eventually, huh?”
“Okay,” I say tentatively. “Well, what do you want to talk about?”
Ma settles into her chair and sweeps up her coffee. “That hunk of redhead love you were all cozy with when I called.”
I scowl at her.
“Now don’t deny you’ve got yourself a big hot cup of ginger tea.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And while you’re at it, spill.”
28
Ren
Playlist: “Let’s See What The Night Can Do,” Jason Mraz
“I’m sorry again about this morning,” Frankie says quietly.
I switch lanes and smile over at her when it’s safe to. “It’s okay, Frankie. I get why you were upset. I channeled my inner dad on you a bit.”
Her hand plays idly with my hair at the nape of my neck. She has these little ways that she touches me—twirling my hair around her fingers, sliding my palm against hers in a steady rhythm—that make me feel like she’s wrapped me into her sensory habits, her need to move and touch, and I can’t find a word to explain how much that means to me. Emotion hitches in my throat as she leans and presses a kiss to my neck.
“Zenzero,” she says against my skin. “Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?”
Because it’s expensive, and after googling the restaurant, you’ll veto it.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel as her hand drifts up my thigh. Dangerously high. “Hey. No seductive interrogation tactics while I’m driving.”
She laughs and nips my neck.
“It’s nothing revolutionary,” I manage, willing myself to stay focused on the road. “Only somewhere to eat that’s completely private, so nobody will bug us and there’ll be no bad press before you quit the team.”
Frankie sits back suddenly and lets loose a harsh, wet cough. Tugging her sweater tighter around her, she stares out the window and idly rubs her throat. Seasonal allergies, my ass. She’s coming down with something, probably that crud Maddox spread around the team, and she’s hell-bent on denying it.
“Someplace private to eat is not very specific,” she says. “Am I dressed up enough for it?”
I glance over at her, then back to the road. Beneath her gray sweater she wears a black maxi-dress that pops against her skin. The neckline of her dress scoops over her breasts, revealing mouthwatering cleavage that her fidget necklace barely hides. Evening sunlight dances off of her collarbones, the tip of her nose, and brings out the flecks of bronze in her hazel irises.
“You’re perfect,” I tell her.
Snorting, she laughs. “I’m far from perfect, but if you mean I’m appropriately dressed, then I’ll take it.”
As I turn into the private valet parking entrance, Frankie sets a hand on my thigh again, her voice softer. “But while we’re on the subject, you look pretty perfect yourself, Zenzero.”
I glance down. I’m only wearing charcoal gray slacks and a white dress shirt, sleeves cuffed, no tie. “You dressed me.”
“I did. I have excellent taste. And my muse is very handsome. Inspiration wasn’t hard to come by.”
I smile as I turn off the engine. “Thank you, honey cakes.”
“They get worse and worse,” Frankie mutters. She cranes forward, glancing up at the building’s brick façade. “What is this place?”
“A well-kept secret.”
She turns and gives me a narrow-eyed frown. “This better not be some practical joke of a surprise party. I hate surprises.”
“I know you do, Frankie. It’s just you and me.”
Finally.
After a quick elevator ride, we’re led to our table overlooking the water. Frankie settles into her seat, peering about analytically as I scooch in her chair. “This place feels expensive, Søren.”
“Francesca. Please don’t do this.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Don’t do what?”
“Give me hell for taking you somewhere half decent and private to eat.” I drop into my chair and open my menu. “We cook virtually every night. Chinese is the rare splurge. I can spring for a meal out.”
She mumbles under her breath, lifts her menu, and opens it.
Peering around, I take in the space, then Frankie, who glances away from her menu and stares out at the water, a private smile tilting her lips. It’s exactly what I wanted, what I thought Frankie would want. The ocean behind us. Seclusion. Heat lamps so she doesn’t get cold. And her favorite kind of food.
She returns to the menu, promptly drops it, and stares at me, slack jawed. “It’s all burgers.”
“That’s the idea.”
“It’s like you’re trying to get laid or something, Zenzero.”