Frankie
Darian lost his entire world the day that plane went down. How could a person ever move on from something like that? I don’t think I could. I didn’t think he did. Yet ten years later, here he is. Ready to move on…with me.
I just don’t know if I’m ready.
“You okay?” Darian asks, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. “You seem…far away.”
You know the saying sometimes love isn’t enough? I used to think it was such bullshit. Love is everything.
But now I’m starting to get it.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just in a daze I guess.”
Because I do love him, and it might not be enough.
A slight frown pulls at his lips as he turns back to the road. “Thank you for doing this.”
I nod, then tuck my feet beneath me on the seat and rest my head against the window.
Is my love for him stronger than my fear of losing him?
I push the question from my mind and focus on the blur of bluebonnets lining I-35. It looks like spring has finally sprung in the Hill Country, and with the sun no longer battling a cold front, it’s a perfect day.
“Are they always this thick?” Darian asks as he moves into the right-hand lane. “The wildflowers?”
“It’s all the rain we’ve had.” I glance at him and then back out my window. “It’s been a wet month.”
Usually there’d be a mix of colors made up of Indian Blankets, Mexican Hats, and Winecups, but this stretch of highway is nothing but blue.
We exit the interstate and head west on Cesar Chavez. Without the festival traffic, Austin feels like a ghost town. The streets are empty by comparison and we make almost every light.
Darian takes a left at San Jacinto, then immediately veers into the turn lane.
My head jerks to the side. “The Four Seasons?”
“You won’t need your bag,” he says with a small smile. “We’re not staying; we’re just…visiting.”
We roll up to the curb and he puts the car in park. A valet opens my door.
“So this is like a do-over?” I ask.
I step onto the sidewalk as Darian makes his way around the car. He’s dressed in the indigo-washed jeans and short-sleeved white button-down he bought on our way into Austin. I’m used to seeing him dressed down in concert T-shirts or dressed up in the occasional suit. This is a nice change. He looks handsome.
“A do-over implies the need to do something a second time because the first time was a failure,” he says. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Francesca, but approaching you that day wasn’t one of them.”
A flush creeps up my neck and I spin toward the door, walking ahead as Darian falls in step behind me. I feel the tips of his fingers graze my back and then withdraw as we cross the threshold. I slow my pace until he’s beside me. He keeps his hand close but doesn’t touch me again. I’m tempted to stop so he’s forced to touch me, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that either.
“Someone to Watch Over Me” drifts softly from the Steinway in the corner as we cross the vacant lobby toward the lounge. It’s as quiet in the hotel as it was on the streets outside. South By blew in like a hurricane but only left calm in its wake.
We choose the first table we come to. Darian pulls out my chair and then takes the one on the opposite side. A smile tugs at his lips as he turns his head back to the lobby. We have a perfect view of the front desk, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.
“What about the antipasto platter?” Darian asks as he skims the menu. “Something light since we’re having a big dinner?”
“Where’s dinner?” I ask, shrugging out of my sweater.
“I was thinking French.”
Not a do-over but a repeat. A walk down memory lane.
My chest warms. “French sounds perfect.”
“Mr. Fox, I thought that was you.” The voice comes from behind me and gives me a start.
“Mr. Harper.” Darian stands with his hand extended.
Mr. who?
Our guest firmly grips Darian’s hand and then turns to me.
Oh.
“And, Ms. Valentine, what a pleasure.” His face brightens as his eyes flicker between us. “Are you staying with us tonight?”
“Not this time,” Darian says. “This date’s a bit…location specific.”
Mr. Harper chuckles. “Next time then. And thank you again for the tickets. My wife is beside herself.”
Tickets?
“My pleasure. Glad I could help.”
“I’ll leave you kids alone,” Mr. Harper says. “Enjoy your time in Austin.”
The hotel manager walks away and I shoot Darian a look. “Tickets?”
“I may have bribed him a little,” he says, drawing out the I.
“Bribed him?”
“Bribed…traded…” He purses his lips. “I had something he wanted, and he had something I wanted.”
I lean forward with my forearms pressed against the edge of the table, hands folded at my chest. “What did he have that you wanted?”
Darian smiles. “In a sense…you.”
My brows furrow.
“This might be easier to explain if I start at the beginning,” he says, turning his gaze to the front desk. “I brought you back here, Francesca, because this is where my life changed course. That day, you gave me a gift.
“The panel I’d given had just wrapped up and I was headed through the lobby when I heard you. In a sea of people…I heard you.”
My hand flies to my face. “Oh God, was I that loud?”
Darian shakes his head. “No, you weren’t…not yet anyway. I followed the sound of your voice until I found you pressed against the front desk. You were arguing with the clerk, but I couldn’t make out what you were saying. I could just tell you were frustrated and I remember thinking…it was cute.”
“Cute?”
He shrugs. “I watched you for a minute. I was about to walk away when you flung your head back and said—no, shouted—that you were kaput. Everything just stopped. I was rooted in place, and all I could do was stare. Eventually you caught me staring, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
I remember that moment so clearly. The way my skin tingled and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I knew someone was watching me. Darian was watching me. I felt him.
“The day I lost my family was the worst day of my life,” he says, “and thank Christ I don’t remember much of it. What I do remember was pure agony. I’d never considered what that word actually meant. To someone who hasn’t experienced it, agony is just a synonym for pain.” The muscles in his jaw clench, followed by my stomach. “Pain has levels. It even has a fucking scale. Agony has no levels, no scale.”
Darian’s eyes close, and mine lower to his hand, balling into a fist on the table. I reach for it, slide my fingers through his, and squeeze it as tight as I can.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He looks at me and then at our joined hands. His eyes are like glass.
“Don’t be sorry. Not for this.”
His thumb brushes against my knuckles, sending a chill up my arm.
“There were some good memories from that day too,” he says. “Memories I’d forgotten.” His expression softens. “And you brought them back.”
“Me? How?”
“It was that word…kaput.” Darian smiles, and the rare sight of his dimple lowers my defenses even further. “I swear every week my mother had a new word, and that week—that day—it was kaput. She said it like it was a word she used often, but I’d never heard her say it before. I remember thinking, God, this crazy woman. I love her so much.” His gaze falls to the table. He picks up a sugar packet and flicks it between his fingers. “Her force-fed vocabulary lessons used to annoy the hell out of me, but as I got older I learned to appreciate them.
“That day I asked her, ‘Is that your new word this week?’
“She smiled and told me it was. Then she said, ‘It’s a great word, but nobody ever uses it.’” He pauses. “But you did.”
“I did,” I say, thinking back on the moment. “And I never do. It’s not something I normally say.”
Darian’s eyes meet mine and his smile tightens. “I wish I could remember all the words she tried to teach me. At least I remember that one, thanks to you. It was a beautiful moment that got lost in a horrible day…and you gave it back to me.”
We barely touch the antipasto platter. Darian’s confession is too big for our small table, and we hurry to leave it. He drives us to The Mendón where we check into the same rooms we had before. And aside from getting in and out of his car, he never lets go of my hand.
The walk to our floor is silent. I’m lost in my thoughts, my mind reeling with questions I need answers for—hard questions I can’t bring myself to ask. So I don’t say anything until we’re standing in front of my door, and even then, I opt to ask an easy one.
“What if I had said no?”
Darian’s still holding my hand. His gaze is aimed at my face, but he isn’t looking at me so much as through me. He’s lost in his thoughts too. My voice catches him off guard and it takes a moment for my words to register.
“Said no?”
“When you offered me a room. What if I had said no?”
He shoves his free hand in his pocket and rocks back on his heels. “I was prepared to wait with you. I was even prepared to have my driver take you home, but I was selfish and didn’t want to do either.” He pauses, then says, “There’s just something about you, Francesca.” His gaze falls to our threaded fingers and he holds my hand a little tighter. “I wish I could explain it. I wish I could understand it. What started out as wanting to do right by my mother turned into wanting something for me. You. I wanted you for me even though I didn’t know it yet.” He shakes his head. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“No, you’re…I get it…”
I feel my defenses peeling away in layers. I’m trying to stay strong. Think clearly. Rationally. But Darian’s words cloud the air like a thick mist and I can’t see past my own heart.
A jagged swallow grazes my throat. “I should go.” I pull my hand free, then slip it inside my purse and take out my key card. “Oh, my bag…”
“Already inside,” he says, staring down at his empty fingers. “Take your time. Our reservations aren’t until seven.” He bends to kiss my forehead, then stops.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
Is it okay?
The feel of his lips is so faint, I wonder if they touch my skin at all.
“See you soon, Francesca,” he says and then turns toward his door.
My chest tightens as if the walls of the corridor are closing in. “Darian?”
He stops and smiles at me over his shoulder.
I shake my head. “Never mind. I’ll see you soon.”
We sit at a small corner table beneath a bronze farmhouse chandelier. The restaurant is full, but the level of noise is considerably lower than it was during South By.
Darian asks if I’d like the same Bordeaux we had that night in my room—the night we were together for the first time. My mind burns with the memory, but I pass. Today has been intense and my emotions are all over the place. The last thing I need is alcohol clouding my judgment.
When the waiter arrives, Darian hands him the wine list and orders sparkling water instead. Then we’re alone, and our table falls quiet. Darian unfolds his napkin and then folds it again. A hesitant smile pulls at the corners of his lips and a flush comes over his face.
I cock my head. “What is it?”
His eyes lift to mine and his smile widens. “I was just remembering the last time we were here. How much I wanted to kiss you.” He unfolds his napkin once more and drapes it across his lap. “I almost did; I was so close.”
“Why didn’t you? You had to have known I wanted you to.”
The waiter delivers a bottle of San Pellegrino and says he’ll return for our orders. Darian pours the water, and I close my hand around my glass to give it something to do.
“I was going to…I was so nervous I was clutching the tablecloth beneath the table. I didn’t even know I was doing it. When I moved closer to you, I felt it pull.” He winces. “We were seconds away from a disaster. I took it as a sign.”
“It would have been worth it.”
“I wasn’t so sure.” His pinkie slides against mine, and they curl together. “I was afraid of scaring you off. I think yanking everything off the table might have done it.”
I let go of my glass for his hand. “Like I scared you off? Attacking you in front of my room?” I squeeze my eyes closed, pressing my lips together. “I wish I’d been given a sign.”
Darian laughs. “I still can’t believe you thought I rejected you. I was so…enamored. But I was also terrified—of hurting you, of falling for you…” His grip tightens. “And I managed to do both.”
Darian’s quick to take my hand the second we leave the restaurant, and I’m quick to let him. I know I should slow down and put some space between us, but I can’t help wondering if my time with him is fleeting.
At some point, he’s going to go home and we’ll have nothing but space between us.
With our fingers meshed together, he keeps me close as we wander toward the hotel. We opt for Fifth Street over Sixth, which is fairly quiet on a Sunday night. Darian’s quiet too. Halfway between Neches and Trinity, he stops, as if his feet are suddenly cemented to the sidewalk, and it’s obvious something’s weighing on him.
“You can tell me,” I say. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
A warm gust of wind whips through my hair, blowing it in my face. Darian steps in front of me and tucks the loose strands behind my ear.
“I was falling in love with you,” he says. “Already. I could feel it, and it scared the hell out of me.” His hand skims my neck and then disappears in the pocket of his jeans. “That’s why I didn’t go that night.”
I’m quiet for a moment as memories from that night resurface. I’d considered everything from he regretted asking me to he got tied up with work and forgot. I even wondered if it was the sex. Was I terrible? Or did he get what he wanted and no longer have a use for me?
Those thoughts were quickly discounted. Darian wasn’t like that; I was sure of it.
When he showed up at my cabin, I ruled out that it had anything to do with me at all.
But it did.
“I need to sit down.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until we’re climbing the steps to a loading dock.
We sit on the edge, in front of an old warehouse with graffitied sheets of plywood covering the windows.
“I woke up that morning in your bed, and I knew. I didn’t want to be anywhere else, but I needed to be…somewhere, anywhere…else. I guess I just panicked.” Darian turns his body toward mine, my hand sandwiched between both of his. “I never meant to bail on you. It wasn’t something I planned. It just…happened. Riley found me at the hotel bar and got me back to my room.”
I pull my hand free and play with the buttons on my sweater. “I heard your voice when I got back. I almost knocked.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see me like that. I was a mess.” He leans forward, his elbows propped on his knees, his head lowered. “I loved my wife, and I made a promise the day I married her, one I vowed to keep even after her death. My feelings for you were a direct betrayal of that promise…at least, that’s how I saw it at the time.”
My breath hardens in my lungs. “Do you see it that way now?”
“No,” he says, turning his gaze to me. “I still have guilt. I think I’ll always have guilt. But I understand she’s gone, and no matter what I do, I can’t stay away from you. And I…can’t change how I feel about you.
“When I woke up that next morning, I knew what I’d done, but I didn’t know to what extent. I had no idea they’d put you on that stage. I figured you’d be pissed at me—angry but not embarrassed. Please believe me, Francesca. If I had known…”
“I believe you. But I wasn’t just embarrassed; I was hurt.”
“I know that now, but then…”
Darian’s words are lost in a rush of voices spilling out of a nearby bar. When the noise tapers, I hop down from the loading dock and stand in front of him with my hands on his knees.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, looking up at him. “I forgive you, Darian. For all of it.”
He nods once, a swallow bobbing in his throat, as he pushes off the dock and gathers me in his arms. “Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I rest my head against his chest and close my eyes. For just a moment, nothing stands between us.
There’s no yesterday, no tomorrow. I get to be in the present.
But unlike Darian, I don’t want to stay in the present. I want tomorrow too.
I pull away. “We should probably get back.”
He nods again and takes my hand. We walk to our hotel in silence, neither of us saying a word until we’re standing in front of my door.
“This is me,” I say stupidly.
Darian smiles. “So it is.”
“Look, I want to ask you in, but…”
“It’s okay. You’re not ready, and to be honest, I’m not sure I am either.”
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“I know.” He squeezes my hand a final time, then lets it go. “I am too.”
I pull my lip between my teeth as I dig my key card out of my back pocket. “What time should I be ready in the morning?”
“Ten. I have a thing I need to take care of, but I’ll be back by then.”
“What kind of thing?”
“A work thing. It won’t take long.” He shuffles his feet. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say, the key cutting into my palm.
“Okay.”
“Well, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Neither of us turns for our doors. Our feet stay grounded, eyes locked.
A quiet laugh rumbles from Darian’s chest and he runs a hand through his hair. “This is fucking killing me.”
He takes a step forward, closing the small gap between us. My back presses against the door; his chest presses against me.
“Tell me not to kiss you.” He watches me, stares at me. Then his eyes fall closed and his long fingers slide into my hair. “Tell me, Francesca, and I swear I’ll go.”
I don’t say anything. I refuse. I bury my voice deep inside me. I’m scared if I try to speak the wrong words will come out—Don’t kiss me, Darian. Fear rules my heart the way guilt rules his, and I’ll be damned if I let it take this moment from me. I want him to kiss me. I need him to.
“Kiss me, Darian.”
He bends slightly until his forehead touches mine and then holds it there. “Francesca.”
The whisper finds my mouth before his lips do. I inhale my name as my arms ring around his neck. I pull him closer.
The kiss is soft, reverent. Our lips brush together, opening, closing. I part mine just enough to encourage him, and then I feel his tongue sweep into my mouth. I feel him in every nerve. Every cell. He kisses me like he can’t believe I’m letting him, like maybe I’ll ask him to stop. I won’t stop him.
I can’t stop him.
And when I feel his movements slow, his body pulling back, I ache. I ache for a loss that hasn’t even happened yet. He could kiss me forever and it wouldn’t be long enough. I don’t want it to end, but I need it to end.
“I love you,” he says.
I taste the words more than hear them. He touches his lips to my forehead, then turns and walks away.
I go to bed with Darian’s kiss wrapped around me like a blanket. I didn’t have a sip of wine, but I feel its warmth. As the hours press on, my euphoric buzz melts into trepidation that keeps me up most of the night.
Where do we go from here?
The question I’ve been avoiding haunts me until the early morning hours. I finally give up and watch the sunrise on the terrace while contemplating its answer.
Nowhere. He lives in Miami and you live here.
Darian picks me up in front of the hotel just before ten a.m. My stomach growls as I buckle myself into his car. He shifts into drive and gives me an apologetic look as he veers onto the street.
“You’re hungry,” he says as we slow to a stop at the light. “I ordered breakfast, but maybe I should have sent up room service again.”
“I’m a big girl. I could have grabbed something if I wanted.” I take a sip of my Diet Coke, nearly choking on it when his words register. “What do you mean you ordered breakfast? Where are we going?”
His fingers dance across the wheel. “It’s a surprise.”
Darian’s wearing a suit, and I’m in a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a Keep Austin Weird T-shirt.
“I’m not really dressed to dine with the likes of you,” I say, arching my brows at him. “Couldn’t we just hit up Whataburger on the way home?”
“I promise you’re fine. It’ll just be the two of us.”
“Okay, so like a picnic.”
He tilts his head from side to side. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”
The drive is short and within minutes we’re pulling up to the curb in front of a high-rise. Darian puts the car in park and cuts the engine.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, I lift my gaze to the building we’re standing in front of. It’s so tall I have to crane my neck just to see the top of it. Covered in reflective glass, it’s like one giant mirror, and at this early hour, the glare is blinding.
I squint, turning away from it to face Darian as he rounds the front of the car. “Where are we?”
His smile is as brilliant as the sun. He doesn’t answer, but wherever we are, he’s excited to be here.
“We’re having a picnic in an office building?”
He holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”
We enter a lobby where we’re greeted by a twenty-something receptionist with short, spiky blue hair and dark burgundy lips. She’s dressed in a semi-conservative business suit that only partially covers the music-staff tattoo vining around her leg.
“Welcome back, Mr. Fox,” she says before turning to me. “Welcome, Ms. Valentine.”
“Francesca, this is Ms. Carlisle.”
I shake her hand. For such a tiny little thing, she has a scary-firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She turns back to Darian. “Mr. Fox, your food should be here in about thirty minutes. If there’s anything else I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Darian’s grip tightens around my hand as he pulls me to the bank of elevators in the back of the lobby. He presses a button and then brings me in front of him, slipping his arms around my waist. I melt against him. Aside from last night’s kiss, this is the closest we’ve been in days.
And who knows how long it will last?
The elevator doors slide open and we step inside. Darian flashes a key card in front of the digital reader on the control panel, and as soon as the doors close we begin to rise.
“Is this where your meeting was?” I ask, arms crossed as I lean back against the mirrored wall.
He shrugs out of his suit coat. “It was.”
“Is it…over?”
“It’s over.”
“Then why are we eating here?”
Darian’s mouth twitches as he rolls up his sleeves. “I like the view.”
“You’re up to something,” I say and then take a sip of my soda.
“And you’re paranoid.”
I don’t care where we eat—or what for that matter—but every place he’s taken me since we rolled into Austin has been intentional. He’s definitely up to something.
The elevator stops on the fifty-sixth floor and the doors slide open to a second smaller lobby. It’s a little run-down, and except for a dated desk and a pair of rolling chairs, it’s empty.
“Where are we?” I ask a second time, but I let my question go as I take in the room. The carpet is clean but worn and the paint could use some attention. A sign hanging on the opposite wall reads E.B. Brent & Company, and to my right are floor-to-ceiling windows, which capture the view Darian mentioned. I stand in front of it, my eyes sweeping over the eclectic mix of buildings set in the Texas hills.
“Nice, right?” Darian says.
“The view? Definitely. But the rest looks…abandoned. Who were you meeting? A drug dealer?”
Darian laughs. “Come on. It’s not so bad. And I don’t typically get to pick where meetings are held outside of Miami.” He slides his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall beside the elevator. “Why do you care so much?”
I set my can on the desk. “Keeps my mind off my growling stomach,” I say with a shrug. “So what did you order?”
“Something I promised you.”
“Hmm…” I sit backward in one of the chairs, my legs folded on the seat. “Wait, are we having burgers for breakfast?”
Darian nods. “And waffles.”
A huge smile spreads over my lips. “Oh my God, Darian. You remembered.”
“I remember everything you tell me,” he says, taking the empty chair beside me.
Heat builds in my chest and climbs to my cheeks. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from grinning. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Grabbing the edge of the desk, I turn myself to face the window. The sky is a soft baby blue, dotted with cotton-ball clouds, the city where we began stretched beneath it. My face soaks up the little bit of sun that manages to penetrate the tinted glass while my eyes soak up the view.
“You’ve got to admit,” Darian says, “a place like this? It’s all about the view.”
“I know, and I was teasing. This place is great.” I slowly spin in my chair, my eyes trailing around the room before returning to the window. “It’s just a shame they let it go. All it needs is a little TLC.”
“Some new furniture,” he says. “Carpet.”
I reach for my Diet Coke and take a sip, my gaze lingering on the wall behind the desk. “Paint.”
“Agreed. Paint’s a must.” Darian rolls his chair closer to mine and leans forward, his lips hovering at my ear. “So do you think you could help me?” he says. “I could hire somebody but—”
“Help you?” I jerk back to look at him, my soda splashing over the rim of the can. “Oh, wow…Darian…did you buy this place? Was your meeting with a realtor?”
He shrugs and a grin breaks across his face. “Welcome to Fox Independent’s Austin branch.”
“That’s so great! When did you decide this?” I set my can on the desk and grab his hands. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
“Amanda and I have been talking about it for a while,” he says, “but I just recently decided to bite the bullet.”
I let go of his hands and straighten in my chair. “How recent?”
“Friday.”
“Darian, is this…” I suck in a breath. “Did you do this for me?”
“No. I did it for me.”
“Thank God.” A nervous laugh bubbles out of me. “The last thing you need to be doing is making business decisions with your…” I jut my chin toward his crotch.
He laughs. “I didn’t. I made it with this.”
My eyes lift to his hand, closed over his heart. I expect a joke. Some corny punch line, but there’s nothing but the unexplainable pull that’s always been between us. I’m powerless against it.
A thoughtful look settles on his face. “I don’t want you to freak out. An expansion was going to happen sooner or later.”
I should be freaking out, shouldn’t I? But I’m not. I’m too damn happy. He wants tomorrow too.
Darian leans forward, piercing me with his olive gaze. “I’m really excited about this. It’s about time we had an Austin presence, and just because you inspired me to do it sooner rather than later doesn’t mean it was a bad move. I know what I’m doing. I promise.”
“I believe you,” I say. “I just don’t want you to jump into something you haven’t thought through.”
I don’t want you to make a mistake because of me.
“I’ve thought it through. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Darian’s face brightens, his pensive expression falling away. “So? What do you think?”
“I think it’s great. I’m so proud of you, and…”
“And?”
I can’t help but grin. “And it means you’ll be in Texas more.”
He sits back in his chair, his eyes searching mine as if he’s looking for answers to questions he’s yet to ask.
I know the feeling.
“Actually,” Darian says, smiling tightly, “I’m hoping it means you’ll be in Texas more.”
Me?
My eyes narrow. “I don’t understand.”
“Francesca…” He reaches for my hand. “I have a proposition for you.”