Frankie
With the first rays of sun peeking through the window, I tiptoe back to bed and slip as quietly as I can under the covers. Darian stirs beside me and then stills. I’m unsure if I’ve woken him. His face is relaxed in a way that makes me question his age. He looks so young when he’s sleeping.
One eye slowly opens, and Darian shields it with his hand. He smiles a half-smile and I’m treated to the dimple I usually only see when he laughs. My heart does an unexpected flip.
“Did you just stealth brush your teeth?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
He pulls me close to him, and I melt into the warmth of his body.
“That’s cheating,” he says, both eyes open and narrowed at me. He slides his fingers over my temple and into my hair, holding my head still as he kisses me. His lips part, and his tongue breaches my mouth.
I smile into the kiss. “Tastes like you cheated too.”
“I found your Costco-size package of toothbrushes,” he says, adjusting his pillow, “between the six-pack of hand soap and the biggest box of Q-tips I’ve ever seen.”
“Some people shop once a week; I prefer once a decade.”
He reaches for my hand. “I thought girls loved to shop.”
“I never got that memo.”
“No,” he says, glancing around my meager bedroom, “I don’t suppose you did.” His gaze falls to our twined fingers, to his thumb gently brushing mine. A slow smile spreads over his face. “Have you thought any more about coming with me?”
“I know I want to,” I say, “but…”
“But?”
I squeeze his hand and his thumb stills. “Can I ask you a question?”
Darian pulls his pillow tighter into his side and props himself up onto his elbow. His eyes are set on me, his attention focused.
“You were hesitant to even kiss me a few days ago. Now you’re here and we’ve had an entire night of marathon sex.”
“That’s not a question,” he says.
I shrug.
“Do you want to know why I was hesitant or why I’m here now?”
“Yes.”
Darian lets go of my hand and rolls onto his back, his gaze trained on the ceiling fan. “Francesca, you’re the first woman I’ve been with in five years.”
The first in five years?
My heart swells with pride it has no business feeling.
The corners of Darian’s lips lift and then lower, as if undecided whether to smile or frown. “That’s a pretty long dry spell to end on an out-of-town fling—which, at the time, is what I thought it was.”
His use of the word fling bothers me, and I don’t know why.
It’s just a word, Frankie, like benefits.
“Then why did you?” I ask, not sure I want the answer.
He turns on his side to face me. “Like I said last night, you’re kind of hard to resist.” His small smile fades as his expression turns serious. “But I was worried about leading you on. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Lead me on? It was my idea. How could you have hurt me?”
Silence falls between us as Darian traces his finger along the lines of my palm. “Because I’ve done it before,” he says, his voice splintering at the edges. “After I lost my family…my wife…” His words trail off and the soft, youthful face I woke up to hardens. “I missed her so goddamn much, and I just…”
“Darian…”
I watch his Adam’s apple chase a swallow down his throat. He brings my hand to his lips, kisses my wrist, and then holds it against his chest. For a moment, he just looks at me, his gaze heavy and his smile sad.
“I used women to fill a void, Francesca. I hurt some of them. But I’m not that guy anymore, and I need you to know that.”
“I do know that,” I whisper.
“How could you?”
“Because you’re here.”
Darian pushes up against the headboard, and I sit Indian-style beside him. His clouded features clear, and the sadness he held in his smile slips away.
“Yeah, I’m here. And believe me, I’m as surprised about that as you are.” He rests his hand on my knee and looks over at me. “I got your note, and the thought of never seeing you again just…didn’t sit right.
“For the first time in ten years, I’m not lonely,” he says, “and I have a feeling you aren’t either.”
My shoulders sag with a sigh. “It’s going to be so weird. Going back to our normal lives after…this.”
“It’ll be fine. We’ll visit each other, talk on the phone, or”—he grins—“Snapchat, as you young kids do.”
“Snapchat?”
“Yeah. Drew showed me. We can even swap faces.”
“BLT Drew?”
“The one and only.”
Darian draws his knees in, pulling the sheet tight around his legs. His face is brighter, happier. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? I think this is exactly what we both need. And I know I’m the bee’s knees, but you’ll have to keep your feelings in check. No falling for this,” he says, motioning to himself.
I laugh. “You totally just said ‘bee’s knees.’ I’d say you’re safe.”
“True. And you snore, so…”
I pick up my pillow and lob it at his head. “I do not snore.”
His expression sobers. “Hey, about what I said before. I promise, things have changed. I don’t want you to worry.”
“I trust you,” I say. And I do.
The scent of cinnamon is strong as I step out of the shower. It wraps around me with familiar arms, taking me back to Sundays with my father, right here, in this very cabin.
“Cinnamon rolls again, Dad?”
“Always, kiddo. It’s Sunday. You love these; they’re homemade.”
“Dad, they’re canned. They’re not homemade.”
“Hey, if I have to turn on an oven, they’re homemade.”
I catch myself smiling in the mirror as I towel-dry my hair. Dad was right. I did love those stupid canned cinnamon rolls. I wish I had told him that even though I’m sure he already knew.
My rumbling stomach urges me to dress quickly in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt straight out of Flashdance. I walk barefoot to the kitchen and find Darian leaning against the sink, a beach towel wrapped around his waist. He’s holding a steaming mug of coffee, and I smile at the #1 Mom peeking through his fingers.
“This might not be something you want lying around for your overnight guests to find,” he says, holding up the mug for me to see. “Jane’s?” Darian crosses his ankles, and the bright yellow and blue hibiscus print he’s donning slips lower on his stomach.
“Jane’s,” I say, nodding, but it comes out scratchy. I tear my gaze away from his bare torso, clear my throat, and try again. “It’s Jane’s.”
Darian laughs.
“Where are your clothes?” I ask.
“I knew I was forgetting something,” he says, setting his coffee on the counter beside him. “I washed them.” He pulls the towel tighter around his waist and walks past me into the living room.
The metal clanking of doors opening and closing is followed by the heavy thud of wet denim and the soothing hum of the dryer. I pull out a chair at the kitchen table and sink into it. The lingering scent of cinnamon settles around me, and my empty stomach answers with a growl.
“Did you bake?”
Darian rounds the corner with a fistful of lint and tosses it in the waste bin. “I found some biscuits in your fridge. A lot of biscuits. I swear you have twenty of everything.”
I shrug.
“Well, if the apocalypse comes, I’m moving in.”
I think I’d be okay with that.
He takes a platter piled high with what looks like sugar-coated doughnut holes out of the oven and sets it in front of me on the table.
“That smells like heaven.” I pinch off a piece and pop it into my mouth. Cinnamon and brown sugar explode on my tongue. “You made this. I mean, obviously you made this. It’s just…wow.”
Darian backs against the counter with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes turning emerald beneath the overhead light. “It’s my mother’s monkey bread,” he says with a soft smile. His gaze shifts to the platter. “I haven’t made it in a while.”
“Your mother would be proud.”
He looks up at me then. “You know, I can make other things. Lunch things. Dinner things. If you come to Miami with me, I may just blow your mind.”
“Blow my mind, huh?” I turn in my chair and poke my head inside the refrigerator. The chilled air prickles my cheeks as I scan the shelves.
Miami. Why is this so hard? Rome or Paris? Red or white? French fries or tater tots?
Stay or go?
I close the door and slump back in my chair. No Diet Coke. I might as well go to Miami. Either that or go to the store.
Are you seriously going to do this?
“I’ll go,” I say, “but…when is your flight?”
Guess so.
Darian shrugs. “It’s open, so whenever you want it to be.”
“Is tomorrow possible? I need to buy a ticket, which means I should probably do my banking. And I need to talk to Lucy. And do laundry. And what about your stuff?”
Darian’s smile is infectious as he squats in front of me. “Don’t worry about a ticket. Company perk. We can go by the diner today; I assume you want to do that in person? Clean clothes are a plus, and my assistant has my bags.”
My heart beats erratically. This is crazy.
“Okay,” I say, running my fingers along his unshaven jawline.
I bend to kiss him, and he kisses me back.
“Okay.”
The familiar bells ring loudly above my head as I enter the diner. Lucy’s perched against the counter, a pot of coffee nestled against her stomach. Her yellow fifties-style uniform is starched to perfection and her dyed auburn hair is pulled in a tight twist.
“Who’s that?” she asks as the door closes behind me.
I glance over my shoulder at Darian’s retreating form as he makes his way across the street to the resale shop. “Just a guy I met,” I say, turning around. “Nothing serious.”
Lucy moves behind the counter and sets the coffee pot in front of Earl, one of our regulars and the only lingering diner from the Sunday lunch rush. He grunts under his breath, and Lucy waves him off.
“Now, Earl, Frankie here just pulled up with a man. A very handsome man from what I could tell. Refill your own damn coffee.” Lucy pats the counter in front of her. “Come sit,” she says to me. “I’d suggest a booth, but if I sit down I’ll go right to sleep.”
Lucy doesn’t look tired. She never does. Even in her late fifties she’s the liveliest person I know. Still, the after-church crowd is a force to be reckoned with, and I’m pretty damn happy to have the day off.
“Diet Coke, dear?” she asks me as I set my keys on the counter.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let me grab some clean cups from the kitchen,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”
I’ve been coming to this diner since I was a little girl, and barring a few new faces, nothing much has changed. It always smells like syrup and stale coffee, even during dinner. The clock above the register is always five minutes fast. And for as long as I can remember, Lucy’s been a fixture behind the counter. Rumor has it she went on a date once with my dad, but she’s never mentioned it and I’ve never asked.
I take a seat three stools down from Earl. He gives me a nod before biting into his patty melt.
“How’s Lois today?” I ask.
Earl shakes his head as he swallows his food. “She’s takin’ to diggin’ up my garden, and if she doesn’t cut it out she’s gonna be buried in it.”
Lois is Earl’s chocolate Lab and the love of his life despite his threat.
“Oh, Earl,” Lucy says, handing me my Diet Coke, “you don’t even have a garden. You have weeds. Don’t listen to him, Frankie. He’s extra grumpy today.” She props her elbows on the counter and twines her fingers, her gaze aimed at the wall of windows behind me. “Spill it, kid.”
I pull my soda toward me and bend the tip of the straw against my lips. The accelerated tapping of Lucy’s perfectly filed nails against the Formica syncs with my heart rate, and I stall by downing my entire drink in one exaggerated slurp.
“Come on,” she says. “Cut it out. Who’s the hottie?”
Her choice of words sends me into a coughing fit.
Earl slides the napkin dispenser my way, and I mumble a, “Thank you.” I answer Lucy, “There’s nothing to spill. We met in Austin. We’re friends.”
“Yeah, right,” Lucy says, squinting at me. “Then why are you here on your day off?”
“Well…” I scoot back on my stool and slide the heels of my hands along the tapered edge of the counter. “I was wondering if maybe I could take a little more time off. He lives in Miami and—”
Earl scoffs. “Miami? What’s gotten into you, Frankie? Miami’s full of nothin’ but white-collar pansy-asses. You need you a nice, hard-workin’ country boy. You know Jim’s boy’s livin’ here now. What’s his name, Lucille?”
“Jim Junior? No, Earl. Jim Junior’s ‘livin’ here now’ because he just got out of jail.” Lucy refills my cup and slides it in front of me. “Miami, huh?” Her eyes soften and a smile warms her face. “Frankie, sweetheart, I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and except for that time old lady Higgins spiked the punch on bingo night, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have any fun. I know you didn’t come here to ask my opinion, but I’m gonna give it to you anyway. Do you like him?”
“Lucy, it’s not like that.”
She rolls her eyes. “In general, as a person, do you like him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Yes.”
“Then go, sweetie.” Lucy reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand. “You’re too young to be cooped up here in this tiny town with the likes of me and Earl.”
Earl blows out a theatrical huff. “Speak for yourself.”
“It’s only for a couple of weeks,” I say.
“Oh, honey,” Lucy says, grinning, “a lot can happen in a couple of weeks.”
Darian and I sit on the tailgate of my truck, munching on Dairy Queen french fries as our legs swing beneath us. The sun beats down on our shoulders, warmer than it’s been the last several days.
I roll up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and take a sip of my shake. “Find anything exciting on your shopping adventure?”
“I did,” he says.
There’s a playful edge to his voice, and I toss him a suspicious glance. His lips curl into a devious grin.
“I bought the original Friday the 13th. It’s supposed to storm later, and, well, cabin in the woods and all.”
I peer up at the near cloudless sky. “What makes you think it’s supposed to storm?”
“Rose at the resale shop.”
I laugh. “Rose is a little on the crazy side.”
“I gathered that when she tried to sell me a pair of heels,” he says, straightening his leg and flexing his foot. “They weren’t even my size. She seemed pretty adamant about her weather prediction though.” He feeds me the last french fry and stuffs the empty box inside the to-go bag.
“Thanks for this,” I say.
“Fast food?”
“No, giving me this day. You know, before I throw caution to the wind and travel to another state with a total stranger.”
And before I have a nervous breakdown midair, and we have to have that conversation.
Darian picks up my hand and kisses it. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He glances at his watch. “If Rose is right, we have about fifteen minutes to get home.”
Rose is right. The weather does a complete one-eighty the second we pull in my driveway. What began as a single raindrop bouncing off the windshield is now a torrential downpour. The storm is loud and the metal roof of my cabin only amplifies the sound.
Darian drops his bag on the kitchen table and moves to the sliding glass door with the DVD tucked under his arm. “It’s really coming down out there.”
“I love it,” I say, glancing past him to the patio. I don’t have gutters, so when it rains this hard, it slides off the roof in a solid sheet. I wave my hand in front of it. “When I was a little girl, I used to pretend that was a portal to another dimension, and I’d run through it, back and forth, until I was completely drenched.”
Darian shakes his head. “Your parents let you play in a rainstorm?”
“Just my dad,” I say, my throat growing thick with the memory, “and he didn’t care as long as there wasn’t lightning. Sometimes he’d play with me.” I pull a container of Hershey’s Cocoa out of the cabinet and set a pot on the stove. “Hot chocolate?”
Darian eyes the Hershey’s and his face brightens. “From scratch? My mom made it that way.”
I swallow hard. “Mine too.”
I whip up the hot chocolate, and we take our mugs into the living room. I set mine on the coffee table while Darian holds his tightly in both hands, flinching with every clap of thunder.
“Maybe you should set that down before you burn yourself,” I say, freeing the DVD still wedged beneath his arm. I peel off the cellophane and pull out the disc.
Darian places his mug beside mine and sits on the edge of the couch. “How does this not scare the hell out of you? It sounds like we’re inside a drum.”
“I’m used to it, I guess. It’s comforting to me.” I wave the movie in front of him. “And isn’t scary the point?”
Darian glances at the ceiling. “Will we even be able to hear it?”
“Oh, you actually want to watch it?” I slide the DVD into the player and crank up the volume.
The familiar digital sound effect roars above the storm and Darian’s eyes light up.
“Surround,” I say, chucking off my Converse and plopping beside him on the couch, “and killer acoustics.”
We sit back, and Darian hands me my hot chocolate. I settle into the hollow of his body with the mug cupped against my chest and bask in the warmth of his arms.
It’s easy and lazy and perfect.
But three gory deaths later, I’ve changed my mind. A horror movie at top volume in the middle of a raging storm isn’t any of those things. I’m a ball of nerves with my hand in front of my face, watching through an opening between my fingers. Thunder crashes overhead and I let out a surprised yelp. Lightning strikes fast and close, killing the power. I jump, showering Darian with a full mug of untouched chocolate.
He lunges forward. “Oh, man, that’s cold.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” I set my empty cup on the coffee table and turn toward him, blindly feeling for his clothes. I grab fistfuls of the saturated cotton clinging to his stomach and hold it away from him. Chocolate drips through my fingers and onto his already soaked jeans, making an even bigger mess than the one we started with.
“Let me help you,” Darian says, amusement coloring his voice. He pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to me. “You know, if you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask.”
“I was going for subtle,” I say, my gaze snapping to the sound of his shoes hitting the floor.
Lightning flashes and the room floods with light. I catch a glimpse of his smiling-taco boxers and it makes me laugh.
“Admit it, you think they’re sexy.”
He pushes his jeans down his legs, and I bend to pick them up.
“Fine. I think they’re sexy,” I say, standing. I ball his clothes against my chest. “But you might as well take them off so I can wash them too.”
As I turn toward the utility closet, Darian grabs my hand.
“I think laundry can wait,” he says, curling his fingers around mine. His tone is suggestive and makes my cells tingle. “At least for a little while.”
He pulls me toward him and guides me onto his lap, my back to his chest. He slips his fingers just inside the wide neck of my sweatshirt, and I let out a weak moan when he starts kneading my shoulders.
“God, that feels incredible,” I say, my body turning to jelly beneath his touch. My arms go limp, and his clothes fall to the floor.
“There’s no power anyway.” He rakes his fingers down my back and then edges them under the hem of my sweatshirt.
“Power?”
“For laundry.”
“Oh right. Laundry.”
I lean against his chest as his hands snake around my waist to the front of my jeans. Pinching the denim between his fingers, he unfastens the button.
“Hmm, I wonder what we should do then,” I say.
“I bet I can think of something.” He slowly slides my zipper down, and I stop breathing until he speaks again, “Charades maybe?”
“Won’t work. Too dark.”
“Good point.” His fingers dip into my panties, and I push against them. “We could build a fire…roast marshmallows…” He teases me with soft, careful strokes.
“No marshmallows,” I say, almost breathlessly. “Wet firewood.”
“Let me think. What about…” His voice is reduced to white noise as I close my eyes, my body tuned to his. “Shit,” is the next word I hear him say and only because his hand stills.
I jerk up. “What? What’s wrong?”
Laughter rolls off his tongue like an afterthought, and he drops his forehead to the back of my neck. “It’s dark as hell, and I have no clue what I did with the condoms.”
My face splits into a wide grin. His concern is adorable, like he must have me right now, storm be damned.
I turn my head to speak over my shoulder. “Hey, that reminds me. If it’s been so long since you’ve had sex, why did you just happen to have condoms in Austin?”
I feel his smile form against my skin. “I was drunkenly attacked, if you remember. I bought some in case you tried it again.”
“Fair enough,” I say, standing up and turning around.
“You think you can find them?” he asks.
“Yeah…” I peel my sweatshirt over my head and unhook my bra.
Lightning flashes outside the window, just long enough to illuminate my naked chest as the straps fall from my arms. Darian’s eyes narrow and one corner of his mouth quirks up.
“They’re in my medicine cabinet,” I say, “but…” I push my jeans down my legs and step out of them.
“But?”
“But…we don’t need them.”
Another flash of light as I slip out of my panties. Darian’s gaze sweeps over me until darkness steals his view. I step forward and straddle him.
“We’re covered. I’m covered…just—”
“Just what?” His voice is a sultry whisper that spreads through my veins like a shot of courage.
I dip my hand inside his boxers and take him in my fist. I stroke him up and down and around, tightening my grip with each rotation.
His breath comes out in short gasps, and his fingers dig into my hips as he rocks into my hand. “Just what, Francesca?”
“Just fuck me.”
A growl stirs deep in his chest as he throws me down on the sofa. His body swallows me, its sudden weight driving my back into the cushion. Without warning or preamble, he pushes into me, and I take a gasping breath. He pulls out, and my breath leaves with him. His thrusts aren’t gentle or careful; they’re aggressive and hungry.
“Look what you fucking do to me,” he says, but no sooner do the words leave his lips than the power returns, sucking them out of the air.
Darian’s expression softens. He lifts onto his elbows, holding his face just above mine. His fingers dig into my arms, and he watches me with curious eyes as his rhythm slows to the natural beat of the storm.
Whatever’s changed—whatever’s happening now—it’s unexpectedly intimate. Maybe it’s the feel of him naked inside me or, more likely, the idea of him naked inside me. Maybe it’s his slow, measured movements, his fixed gaze as he slides in and out. His breath, warm against my lips, or my name, a whisper on his. Whatever it is, I want more of it.
I stare into his unblinking eyes and dissolve into an orgasm that’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s more emotional than physical. It’s foreign and amazing and fucking terrifying.
And as I lie there trying to make sense of it, I feel him come.
“Darian.”
At the mention of his name, his gaze cuts away, and he pulls out of me. He rolls onto his side and I press against him, a grin creeping over my face, a giggle rising in my throat.
“Mmm, that was different. Really different. Good different.” I trail my fingers down his chest, but his hands stay at his sides, his stiff body unyielding. “Darian?”
He clears his throat and sits up, and I have to pull in my knees to accommodate him. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and then looks at me without expression.
I prop myself up on an elbow, my other arm draped over my chest. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he says quietly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just beat.” He bends forward, reaching for his boxers. He picks them up and slides into them. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“You’re going to bed? It’s…early. You sure you’re okay?”
He leans over me and kisses the corner of my mouth. “I promise, I’m fine. Just tired. You want the TV back on?” he asks, standing. He reaches for the remote, but I wave him off. “Let me get you a towel then.”
My voice quivers as it leaves my lips. “It’s, um…it’s okay. I think I’ll just take a shower.”
I don’t though. As soon as Darian goes to bed, I clean myself up at the bathroom sink, pull on my underwear and sweatshirt, and curl into a ball on the sofa. The same hollow feeling I felt in Austin gnaws at me.
What the hell just happened?
I play the last hour over and over in my mind. I know it wasn’t me. I know it. But that doesn’t make me feel any less rejected.
You’re the first woman he’s been with in five years, Frankie.
This sucks. Feeling this way just sucks. I’m embarrassed for me. I’m scared for me. But I ache for him.
The morning sun stabs me like a hot poker, and it takes me a few minutes to orient myself. I’m in my bed, under my covers, Darian’s heart thrumming beneath my ear. He strokes my hair with long, leisurely drags of his fingers. The sting of last night fades, and if I wasn’t still in yesterday’s sweatshirt, I’d wonder if I’d dreamed it.
“I didn’t mean to run off on you last night,” he whispers.
“Why did you?”
“I don’t know. I just…” His hand stills in my hair. “I had some sort of déjà vu. I guess it shook me.”
I tilt my head to look at him, and he kisses me. It’s soft and quick. Just a peck on my lips.
He carefully disentangles himself and sits on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on my hip, his gaze aimed at my feet. “We’ve got time if you want to sleep in.”
“Darian, are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes flicking to mine. “Please, Francesca. I want you to come. I’m sorry if I scared you. This is all new to me.”
“It’s new to me too.”
“I know.”
“Stay with me next time.”
He squeezes my hand. “I will.”