Frankie
“Hold that thought,” Jane says as I turn the corner onto Cesar Chavez.
I’ve been rambling for the last hour about our five-day South by Southwest adventure in Austin. We haven’t missed the music festival in three years, and no way Jose are we breaking tradition and missing it this year. I tell myself this, but the regretful look on my best friend’s face tells me something entirely different.
She sets her phone in her lap and sighs. “I can’t go.”
“What do you mean you can’t go? We’re already here,” I say, talking over machineheart blasting through the speakers. Maybe if I play “Circles” for a third time, she’ll reconsider. I know what’s coming next, and I mentally kick myself for being so selfish.
“Then I can’t stay. Mom just texted me. Jacob’s miserable. I thought my little guy was feeling better, but she can’t even get him to eat ice cream.”
Jane holds the title of World’s Best Mom, so it surprised me she hadn’t canceled the trip at his first sneeze.
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
You’ve failed me, machineheart. I should have stuck with Morrison.
I’m pulling into the IHOP parking lot to turn around when Jane reaches across the console and grabs my arm.
“Did you bring a book?” she asks.
“Of course I brought a book. Why?”
She waits until I stop the car to answer. Good foresight on her part. The only thing that would suck more than the demise of our getaway would be slamming into the Mercedes we were trailing.
“Because you’re staying. And without my engaging company, you’ll need one.”
“Jane, it’s okay. I understand.”
She turns in her seat to face me. She sucks in a deep breath and pushes up her sleeves. “No, Frankie, you’re not canceling. You’re—just no.”
No? I give her a defiant stare.
“You never do anything unless it’s with me.” She crosses her arms. “Live a little, will you?”
“You sound like my dad.”
“There you go,” she says, seeming pleased with herself. “You promised him you’d come out of your shell. Here’s your chance.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of going to a movie by myself, not taking a vacation.” I roll the window down a couple of inches. The cool March air rushes inside, carrying with it the scent of day-old grease and stale festival beer. I roll the window back up. “I don’t know.”
“Frankie, you need this. Ever since your dad passed away, the only time you leave your house is to go to work. You’re not coming out of your shell; you’re not doing anything. It’s been six months. I know you’re grieving, but it’s time to join the land of the living.” Her worried gaze falls on me as I swallow the uncomfortable lump rising in my throat. “I know you’re scared, but you’ll be okay. I promise.”
“I’m not scared.”
“I think you know what I mean.” She smiles. “And besides, this is perfect for you. Think of all those music-industry geeks who go by themselves. It won’t be weird at all that you’re alone. Just hit some day parties and catch a few live bands. Pretend you’re taking notes. They’ll think you’re a scout.”
“A music scout without a badge? Really?”
“A hot young blonde with a clipboard? Please. No one will even notice you don’t have a badge.”
I don’t have a clipboard either.
I sit quietly in the parking lot and watch hordes of people stream down Cesar Chavez in both directions.
“Look at all of them, Frankie. Only a handful are in pairs. Most of them are by themselves.”
She has a point.
“There are advantages to going without me, you know.”
I quirk a brow. “Such as?”
“You won’t have to eat a single thing from a food truck.”
Jane taps her fingers against her chin as if she’s trying to come up with another one. I’m quite sold on the first one.
“Oh, I won’t drag you all over the city looking for free drinks.”
“You mean I can actually go to a music festival for the music? People do that?” Before she can answer, I grab her hand. “Wait. We’re in your car. How will I get home?”
We always take her little red Chevy Cruze in case she ever needs to get back to Jacob—kind of like right now. Plus, the sound system is killer. Especially when compared to the nonexistent one I enjoy in my old 1965 Chevy pickup.
“I’ll come back,” she says. “Early if I can.”
Maybe Jane’s right. Maybe I do need this. If it wasn’t for the diner where I work, I could easily go weeks without seeing another human. I’m not what you’d call a social butterfly. I’m more of an antisocial caterpillar who’s yet to don a pair of wings. It’s not that I’m shy; I’m just…
Stuck in my ways. An introvert. A loner.
Jane nudges my arm. “What do you say?”
Boring.
“Earth to Frankie.”
A faint smile peeks through my scowl, but I quickly squash it. I’ll admit, the idea intrigues me, but there’s no way I’m letting that little fact slip to Ms. Flutterby over there, or next thing I know I’ll be booked alone on a cruise.
Wait. What am I thinking?
“Jane, this is crazy. We could book a cruise for what we’re paying for our room.”
Her brows pinch together. “Frankie, it’s South By. The cancelation ship sailed a week ago.”
“Ugh. I forgot about that.”
“No, not ugh,” she says. “This could be really good for you. I think Jacob’s timing might be perfect.”
I think Jacob’s timing might be planned.
I heave a defeated sigh. “You swear you’ll try to come back early?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Because the main ingredient in a girls’ trip is girls. Plural.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She squeezes my hand. “Just think, Frankie. This would make the best book: Single girl finds herself at the world’s largest music festival.” She lifts her backpack from the floorboard and starts rummaging through it. “Find a guy too, and I’ll make it a romance.”
Jane considers herself an aspiring writer, but I consider her an aspiring finisher. She writes all the time; she just never finishes anything.
“Why not focus on one of the dozens of books you’ve already started?”
“This is better.”
I shift the car into reverse. I’m pulling out of our parking space when she slaps a colossal box of Trojans on the console. I slam my foot on the brakes. “You bought me condoms?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I brought them for me. I’m a single mom living with my mom. I was hoping to get laid.”
My mouth falls open. From the size of the box, it appears I would’ve been flying solo anyway.
“Don’t judge,” she says. “Vibrators are great, but they’re no substitute for the real thing.”
I love that she’s not even remotely offended I’m gawking at her.
“And at least I date occasionally,” she continues. “If anyone in this car needs to get laid, it’s you.”
Jane only dates occasionally because of Jacob. Back in high school, she could have had a different date every night of the week if she wanted. My best friend is stunning—hazel eyes, honey-brown hair, and skin that tans so effortlessly during the summer she looks like a walking advertisement for Hawaiian Tropic. I, on the other hand, look like a walking advertisement for aloe.
I release the brakes. “You’re certifiable. You know that, right?”
She shrugs, and I shake my head.
“I said I would stay,” I tell her. “But you can keep your family-size pack of condoms.”
“Suit yourself.”
It’s just after seven o’clock on Monday evening when I pull up to the Four Seasons. Two valets are on us instantly, and Jane laughs as they open our doors.
“What’s so funny?”
“No one ever does this at our usual hotel,” she says, stepping out of the car.
“Motel. And if we were booked there this year, I’d be going home with you.” I climb out of the driver’s side and leave the door cracked. “Think you’ll be able to find your way back to San Antonio?”
Jane pops the trunk and grabs my duffel as I make my way around the car. “Crazier things have happened.”
I smile. “Just promise me you’ll use your GPS and not your instinct, okay?” Jane’s the only person I know who can get lost in her own driveway, which is why I usually drive.
“Yes, Mom,” she says, buckling herself into the driver’s seat.
With my bag slung over my shoulder, I lean in and hug her goodbye. “I won’t talk to strangers. I’ll eat my vegetables and drink plenty of water. I’ll get eight hours of sleep—”
“Good God, Frankie. You’re going to put me to sleep. And I thought you were dull last year.”
“Hey, I wasn’t dull. I was just worried I’d get carded and they’d kick us both out.”
She closes her door, her eyes fixing on mine as she rolls down her window. “You’re twenty-one this year. I expect you to act like it.”
“Then I’ll drink all the free vodka I can find while having wild sex with strange men. Better?”
“There’s my little romance novel heroine. I love you,” she says. “And if Jacob gets better, I’ll come back, but in the meantime, try to have some fun.” She puts the car in drive and slowly rolls past me. “You’ll thank me for this one day.”
“Or kill you.”
A rush of cool air kisses my cheeks as I step inside the Four Seasons lobby. Wow. This is different. Dark wood-beamed ceilings. Polished marble floors. Intricately carved mahogany walls. And cowhide. Lots of cowhide. If I had to sum it up, I’d say rich-people rustic, and I am not rich people.
I have a small party-planning business I started in college. It does okay, but it’s inconsistent. To make up the difference, I wait tables. When my dad passed away, he left me a nice little nest egg by way of his life insurance policy, but I haven’t touched it—not even to pay my half of this ridiculously expensive hotel. As soon as Jane and I scored the room, I began pulling doubles at the restaurant. I’m a work-first, play-later kind of girl.
“Checking in,” I say when I reach the front desk. “Francesca Valentine.” I take out my ID and credit card as the clerk consults his computer for my reservation.
“Is it possible the room is booked under a different name, Ms. Valentine?”
“Try Jane Townsend.”
Jane Town…send, the clerk mouths as he returns to his computer. A slight frown pulls at his lips as his fingers click against the keyboard.
My stomach growls, and he glances at me over the rim of his glasses.
“I’m sorry this is taking so long. Is it Townsend or Townsand?”
“Townsend.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t have a reservation under either name. Do you have your confirmation?”
The blood drains from my face. Jane made the reservation; she has the confirmation.
“No. Yes. Hold on a sec.” I dial Jane’s number, but the call goes straight to voice mail. “Jane, please tell me you have—you know what? Never mind. I’ll call you back.”
If we don’t have a room, we don’t have to pay for a room. That’s good, right? Because there’s no guarantee she’ll even be able to make it back, and I don’t really want to stay by myself, do I?
You promised him, Frankie.
My stomach clenches. If I go home, I’ll spend another six months eating frozen dinners and binge-watching Netflix. I’ll want to change. I’ll want to live a little, but I won’t actually do it because brooding is way too easy.
Can a person brood to death?
Breathing an uneasy sigh, I lift my gaze to the clerk. “I have to have a room; my life kind of depends on it. Okay, that may be a tad dramatic. It’s just…I promised my dad and—oh forget it.” I throw my head back, my lips pinched in a frustrated smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been kind of a long day and a really long year and I. Am. Kaput!” The last three words ring loudly, giving us both a start. I lower my voice. “I don’t have my confirmation, not with me anyway. Look, I’ve never had this problem with your hotel before, Mr.”—I stand high and mighty on my tiptoes, stretching to read his name tag—“Hernandez.” I’ve never had this problem before because I’ve never stayed here before. “May I speak to the manager?”
“Of course, Ms. Valentine,” he says, sounding a little too eager to be rid of me. “One moment.”
I move off to the side and check my watch. It’s almost seven thirty. I guess I could try to get a cab or an Uber, but the idea makes me laugh out loud. A ride after seven at South By is harder to come by than a golden ticket in a Wonka Bar.
Ugh. On a scale of one to ten, this has a suckage factor of eleven.
I dial Jane again and get her voice mail…again. “Jane, I hate to do this to you, but I think they lost our reservation. You might have to turn around. Call me.”
Okay, don’t panic. You’re stranded in Austin, not Tokyo.
Mr. Hernandez reappears with his manager, and it’s painfully obvious I’m not getting a room.
“Ms. Valentine, I’m Brad Harper. I apologize for this inconvenience.”
Inconvenience? An inconvenience is taking too long with room service or forgetting to replace my towels. This is a little more than an inconvenience.
“We’re calling a few neighboring hotels and the festival lodging committee,” he says. “We’re trying our best to remedy this situation.”
Mr. Harper’s eyes are kind and his smile is warm, but his words are crap.
This situation cannot be remedied with another hotel. Finding one will be impossible. There are never available rooms in this part of Austin once South By kicks off. The festival’s so big, most downtown hotels only accept reservations from badge-holders, and we aren’t, nor have we ever been, badge-holders. It was a fluke we were able to reserve this room.
From the looks of it, you weren’t able to reserve this room.
“I appreciate it,” I say, sagging against the counter, “but I think we both know I’m SOL.”
Mr. Harper gives me a rueful smile. “Probably, but let’s give it a shot anyway. I’ll be right back.”
The second he steps away from the desk, a chill sweeps up my spine, making every little hair on the back of my neck stand beneath my sweater. It’s that feeling you get when you know someone’s watching you, but it’s more intense—like they’re not just watching, they’re staring. I slowly, discreetly, turn my head until my eyes land on the source of my suspicion.
Who is that?
My breath catches at the sight of him—tall and uncommonly handsome. Hollywood handsome, as Jane would say. I drop my gaze to his fingers, casually unfastening the button on his suit jacket, then to his hands as they disappear inside the pockets of his slacks. He rocks back on his heels and a slow, sexy smile spreads over his lips, turning my knees to water. Swoon. I stand up straight and grip the counter for support. The way he’s looking at me…it’s deliciously unsettling. It’s like he knows me, but I’m certain he doesn’t.
A girl wouldn’t forget a face like that.
Mr. Harper clears his throat, and I jerk my head in his direction.
“Unfortunately, you appear to be right,” he says, reaching across the counter with my ID and credit card. “I do apologize, Ms.—”
“Actually…” I take a deep breath and try to stand taller than my five-and-a-half-foot frame. “I understand these things happen, but without a room I’ll miss the festival. Is there anything you can do to make this right?”
Is there anything you can do to make me look like less of an idiot in front of Mr. Beautiful over there?
“Make this…” His words trail off, and a smile so small I almost miss it flashes on his face. “Ahh, Mr. Fox.”