Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You're lying in bed, not sure how long you've been lying there but all you know is that you needed to lie down once you got home.

Your phone buzzes on the bedside table. Sitting up to grab it you see a text from your sister:

            Okay, it's official. I have too many kids! 😩

You smile, replying

             You've only just realised that now? After four kids...

Before you have a chance to put your phone back down, it starts to ring. Answering it you're met with,

"yes, I have only just realised that."

Not even a hello from your sister. Dramatic as always. 

"Hello to you too, isn't it a bit late to come to that decision? or is this like a midlife crisis-" 

She cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. 

"Excuse me! Midlife crisis? I'm only just 40. I am not having a midlife crisis thank you very much."

She scoffs, before you both start laughing. 

The conversation continues; about her kids, a memory you have no recollection of yet she describes it in acute detail, the latest books you've both been reading. Easy things, until the conversation is quiet for just a second too long. 

Breaking the silence she says, "I've been thinking."

"uh-oh. Should you be doing that at your age?" 

You question, joking about your earlier conversation. 

"Haha. I'm being serious now." 

And you can sense the change of tone, feeling yourself already begin to panic at where this conversation might be going, you reply, "okay."

"I've been thinking... Why don't you come out here for a bit, stay a while?" 

She finally answers after what felt like minutes, but was more like seconds. You can hear the seriousness in her voice but it's also laced with hopefulness. 

"Erm. I don't know, I..." you begin to scramble for an excuse as to why you can't.

"Nope. No, I'm not listening to some lacklustre excuse of why you can't," not skipping a beat she continues, "you've said so yourself, you've been wanting to get out here more and I could always use some help with the business, you've already been doing such a great job with the social media side of things for it and look, if its a case of not wanting to stay with me and the kids, I completely understand, they can be a lot to handle, especially if you're trying to relax which is exactly what you need to do. You need to relax and reset for a bit. But Santi has this friend, really nice guy; quiet, a lot like you actually. Anyway he has this guesthouse that he rents out sometimes. I don't think he was going to rent it out this year but I can ask if he'll make an exception for you..."

You're lying back down on your bed now, staring at the ceiling, not quite ready to give her an answer, you reply "is Santi the new boyfriend?"

"He's not new, we've been dating seven months now." 

She states, like I should've known the exact amount of months. 

"Oh wow. A whole seven months." Replying sarcastically.  

"I can't tell if you're making fun of me, so I'll let it slide this once." 

"Do you really think this guy would be okay with me renting his guesthouse?" You answer so quietly, your throat starting to tighten, eyes starting to form tears, you're not even sure if she's heard you. 

Hearing the tears form on your end, she answers just as softly, "I can ask. Honestly, it would be good to have you closer for a while. There's only so many times I can accept the words "I'm fine" from you, before I start worrying that you're not telling me the truth. You've been through so much the last year and maybe I'm being selfish by saying that I need you here. But I do, I need you here for a bit." 

You close your eyes, still trying to will away the tears, "Okay. Okay, you can ask." 

"Really!' She exclaims, you can hear the excitement in her voice.

"Yes." You answer again, with a nod of your head, despite the fact that she can't see you. 

"Ok. I'll ask." She replies, calming down, you both say your goodbyes and hang up the phone, laying still, the silence settles over you again. 

You don't know when you fell asleep, but when you wake up the early morning sun is filtering through the slit in the curtains you didn’t fully close last night. You check your phone, looking at the time. It's still early but you have a text, less than an hour after you got off the phone to your sister last night she messaged. “I asked. Guesthouse can be yours from Friday for as long as you want. Told him you’re chill and quiet.”

Your fingers hover over the screen as you read the message again. Before you manage to talk yourself out of it you reply, “I want it. I’ll be there Friday.” 

Letting your phone fall to your side on the bed, you get up, already heading for the hallway cupboard for your suitcases and weekend bag. 

You spend the next few hours sorting out what you’re packing. Jeans, linen trousers, shirts, blouses, skirts, dresses; you might be depressed right now but at least you’ll be a nicely dressed depressed person. A couple of cardigans and jumpers for those cooler days and evenings. Pyjamas. Swimsuits; as you’ve already been told to expect days at the beach with the kids. Your laptop. Only a couple of books as you know full well you’ll end up in the bookstore (multiple times) while you’re staying there. The skincare you’ve been neglecting lately. Chargers. Notebook and sketchbook. Meds. You stand there for a moment, staring at your things.  Questioning whether it feels impulsive but it doesn’t. And however many times you’ve wanted to run away the last few years, it doesn’t feel like that either. It feels… needed. And its not like you’ll be totally on your own, judging by the info your sister replied along with many happy faces, she’s only twenty minutes away from where you’ll be staying and despite the sometimes strained relationship the pair of you have, you don’t think she’d send you somewhere that wasn’t safe. 

The next couple of days are spent sorting out the last few bits of your life here before heading off for however long you need.

Chapter Text

You head to your sister's house first, as you pull up outside you can see she's already waiting for you. As you step out of your car, you're quickly engulfed in a tight hug. She leans back slightly, looking at you. 

"I'm so glad you're here." she says to you.

You give her a half smile, letting out a breath of tension, you'd had four hours in the car driving here and in that time all you'd done is doubt yourself about this trip. 

"I feel like I don't know what I'm doing, what if," you stutter over your words, "what if this doesn't work?" You question. 

"It will," she answers continuing, "this will be good for you, trust me. All you have to do is exist at your own pace here. You don't need to worry about what happens next, just live in the moment, that's all I'm asking of you." 

You can't bring yourself to answer, feeling a build up of tears starting to well; it feels like that's all you do lately, cry, be emotional. You give her a small nod. 

"Ok." She says, tucking you under her arm as you both head inside. 

"I thought we could have a late lunch before I have to pick the kids up from school."

You eat the lunch she made - sandwiches, crisps, some fruit. Chatting about everything and nothing before you ask,

"so what's this guy like? You know, you haven't even told me his name"

Rolling her eyes at your tone she replies, "His name's Frankie. He was in the army with Santi, a pilot. He'll most likely be around a lot as he works from home now. But he's not one for chit-chat so you'll be fine." 

"What does he do? For work?" You ask, still fishing for answers. 

"He makes furniture, does some decorating, home improvements on the side, that kind of thing. Actually I have used some of his work for clients before, so you've probably seen some of it already."

Deep in thought, you've developed a slight frown on your face, noticing it she attempts to snap you out of it "hey, he's harmless. Honestly this is exactly what you need right now." She manages it, at least until you start the twenty minute journey to Frankie's and you start panicking again. 

Double checking you've got the right address, you pull up on the gravel path taking in the exterior of the house in front of you. Two-story, warm white stone walls with climbing ivy vines. Blooming wildflowers planted, a rustic and charming porch, a red truck parked out front. It's completely charming, an air of peace and calm coming from the surrounding trees. You can hear the sea nearby.  

You find yourself pausing at his front door, longer than you should before you finally work up the courage to knock. He opens the door and you're sure your jaw drops. Your brain quickly trying to process a mental note of how gorgeous he is before you get caught staring at him. 

Tall, handsome, broad. He's wearing a navy cap that seems to be hiding a nest of dark curls, judging by the locks sticking out from underneath the cap. A strong, slightly crooked nose, plush lips surrounded by patchy scruff and a thick moustache. Deep caramel brown eyes lighting up as he gives you a polite smile, creating some minor wrinkles around his eyes. 

He's solid, quiet, seeming just as shy as you are right now. One hand holding the door open, his other resting on the back of his neck, thumb grazing the collar of his shirt. 

"You must be Emma's sister?" He questions. 

You nod, replying with your own name. 

"I'm Francisco, but everyone calls me Frankie. It's nice to meet you." He holds his hand out for you to shake, placing your hand in his you say,

"it's nice to meet you too, Frankie." 

You're both still smiling at each other.

"So, I guess you want to see where you're staying?"

"That would be good, yes." It's at that moment when you both come to realise you're still holding onto each other's hand, quickly letting go, trying not to make this whole interaction embarrassing. 

Frankie clears his throat, "right this way then," he jerks his chin towards the right side of the house, before turning back inside to grab the keys for the guesthouse and a small tote bag. He takes the lead with you following behind, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, hoping that Frankie won't notice. 

He shows you around the property, giving a little context about his own place, the shed where he does his work, the ever growing garden he's trying to create and maintain; which he tells you you're more than welcome to help with if you wanted and finally the house you'll be staying at. Just as with his own place, you can tell the guesthouse is an extension of his own, clean and well cared for even when not being used. While some may find the guesthouse small, it's perfect for you, rustic, charming and just as quiet and calm as what you've seen so far.

Making his way to the front door after showing you around he asks, "do you need help with your bags? Before I leave."

His question catches you off guard, not expecting it but quickly coming to the assumption that this is the kind of person Frankie is, yes you're renting from him but he seems genuinely kind and caring. 

"No, thats okay. I'll be fine with them." You reply, offering a shy smile, as you've come face to face with him again.

"You sure?" You notice one of his eyebrows raise as he double checks with you.

"I'm sure." You say. 

As he stands in the open door, he quickly turns back towards you, gesturing to the tote bag you didn't even see him place on the table, 

"thats for you by the way," you glance towards the bag, "it's just a couple of things." He adds, shifting in the doorway. 

"Thank you, thats... thats very sweet of you." You squeak out, continuing "and thank you again for all of this, you know, letting me stay here." 

He nods, dropping his eyes slightly. "If you need anything, let me know. I'm around so..." he gestures off, giving you a final nod and then he's gone, heading back to the main house without another word. 

You close the door, hearing his footsteps retreat on the gravel, glancing at the way his shoulders seem tight, restrained. With the door closed you let out a sigh, the peace washing over you as you turn around taking in the space again, this time on your own and for the first time in months; you actually feel ok. A weight slowly beginning to lift off of you, maybe even hopefulness? You're not sure. 

You take note of the bag Frankie mentioned. Making your way over, you look at its contents. inside you find a jar each of local honey and raspberry jam (judging by the labels), a mix of herb cuttings - basil, mint and rosemary, a loaf of sourdough bread, a punnet of strawberries and lastly a small handmade chopping board. The wood smooth and warm as you run your fingers over it. Like everything else you've seen so far here, someone spent time on this. As you turn it over in your hands, you notice a little marking in the corner, FM. Frankie's initials. A small smile gracing your lips as you drop the tote off in the kitchen, heading back outside to your car to grab your suitcases and bag. You're not exactly a light packer, more of an over packer. But you told Frankie you'd be fine with them so you're determined to manage.  

You're exhausted; from the four hour drive, the social anxiety of meeting someone new, life. 

But you want to unpack, at least a little bit. You mainly just grab the essentials out of your bag, enough to last you the next couple of days; your pyjamas, toiletries, a couple of outfit options, a book and your notebook to place on the bedside table. Heading back to the kitchen, toast a couple of slices of the bread Frankie gifted you for something quick to eat. As you start to relax into what is already feeling like a home away from home, taking a shower and getting settled in bed despite the early hour. You feel the house settle with you, soft and still, pulling you into its comfort. 

Chapter Text

You wake early the next day feeling disoriented, forgetting where you are for a moment. The light hitting differently this morning; a mellow golden blush along with a slight chill in the breeze coming through the window you left open last night, not yet warmed by the sun. Its quieter than what you’re used to, but for the first time in months you haven’t instantly thought about losing your mother, the grief it brought up about your complicated relationship with your father. you haven’t thought about all the choices you’ve made since, but when you do; the heaviness you feel, the guilt weighing down on you. Paralyses you. 

You stay in bed longer than you intended too but you couldn’t bring yourself to get up. When you do; you grab your notebook and pen, make tea and toast then head out to the little porch attached to the tiny house. The porch boards are still cold, but you don’t mind, choosing to sit on the porch steps instead of the porch swing. Sitting cross-legged, listening to the distant waves, you can smell the salt in the breeze along with the earthy freshness of the trees growing nearby. You close your eyes, taking some deep breaths, trying to anchor yourself here, in this moment. While you finish off your tea and toast, you write a list of things you need to get from the shops; you can’t live off toast and strawberries for the foreseeable future, plus you offered to make something for dessert tomorrow for family dinner with your sister, something you’re now regretting offering. You don’t rush yourself to get ready; washing your face, brushing your teeth, slipping into something cool and comfortable as you can feel the summer heat starting to rise. You grab your tote bag, car keys and sunglasses, heading out. You debated about walking into the tiny town you passed yesterday, but decided against it until you have a better idea of where places are before you decide to walk, knowing your sense of direction isn’t always the greatest. 

Its quiet on the roads, you drive back the way you came yesterday. Past other houses set back from the road, a narrow winding road with ancient looking trees on one side and a lengthy meadow full of different shades of green on the other. The closer you get to town, the more places you see; spotting a couple of cute coffee shops, a flower shop with a hand-painted sign out front, some charming looking trinket stores. Making a mental note of the places you’d like to check out at some point during your stay.

You pick up the essentials at the store, along with the ingredients for a strawberry summer cake, using up the last of the strawberries Frankie gifted you. You make small talk with the girl at the checkout counter.

Arriving back at the guesthouse, you can faintly hear the buzz of a tool coming from Frankie’s shed, the soft melodies of a Fleetwood Mac song you know but can’t remember the name of. Putting away the shopping you picked up, glancing at the time, you make some lunch, just a sandwich, something simple and easy. Getting straight into baking the cake, you decide you have enough ingredients for two, and after tidying up the mess you made in the kitchen, leaving the cakes to cool down on the countertop, you make your way back outside to the porch swing, along with your current read. The music seems to have stopped but you can still hear Frankie pottering about, the scrape of wood.

You loose track of time, getting lost in your book. The light beginning to shift once again into that early evening haze, instead of heading back inside you grab your tote bag from the hook just inside the door and make your way down to the beach. The sun’s still glowing surrounded by a cloud free sky but the heat’s started to cool off. Frankie’s house isn’t far from the beach, maybe a five minute walk. Taking off your sandals as you hit the sand, you walk slowly now, letting your toes sink into the grainy warmth, listening to the low tide lap gently against the shore. You sit for a while, looking at the different seashells that have washed up, resting your chin on your knees as you fold into yourself, just watching the sky change from a crystal blue to a mix of honey, copper and lavender, feeling the salty breeze whip your hair about. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed but eventually you make your way home, grabbing a quick shower to wash off the sand. Dressing in something comfortable, you glance out of the window noticing a light glow from Frankie’s house, before you can overthink it, you plate one of the cakes you made earlier and make your way over. 

Second guessing yourself the moment you knock, you’re wondering if you can get away with leaving the cake on his doorstep and running back to your own place. You don’t get a chance to as Frankie opens the door, seemingly surprised to see you, your name drips from his tongue, like he says it all the time. 

“Hi.” He says, a warm smile on his face that you can’t help but return. 

“Hi.” Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, you already feel like you’re stuttering over your words, “I’m so sorry to disturb you, I just… I saw your light on and-“ you trail off.

“Is everything ok?” Frankie questions, one of his brows arching.

“Yes. Everything’s fine. I just… I made cake and, well I thought you might like some?” You finally manage to say, holding out your hands with the covered plate of cake. “It’s a strawberry summer cake. I’m having dinner at my sisters tomorrow and I offered to make dessert,” you can hear yourself rambling now, but can’t bring yourself to stop. “I had enough ingredients to make two, so I wanted to you to have one.” You say, continuing, “as a thank you, for letting me stay here, I know you wasn’t going to rent it out at the moment but I really appreciate it, so.” The look he sends you makes your ears and cheeks burn, worsening the longer he continues to look at you. It’s at that moment you realise he’s not wearing his hat. That you were right about the hat he was wearing the first time you met, hiding those gorgeous dark curls. The curls standing up at odd angles, as though his fingers have been running through them. You glance away from him now, practically squirming under his gaze. 

“Cake sounds really good right now,” still looking at you, with a slightly toothy grin on his face. You look back up at him then and again you can’t help but not give him a smile of your own in return, albeit a shy one, as you can feel the tension start to leave your body. You gesture towards the plate in your hands again, with Frankie taking it, your fingers brushing as he does. A small spark catching at your touch. Before you can say anything else, Frankie says, “would you like to come in?” Moving back slightly, offering you space to walk in. 

“Oh, no, thats okay, I just wanted you to have the cake.” You reply, backing away from his door ever so slightly.

“You sure? As much as I’d like too I can’t eat this cake by myself, plus I’ve just made some coffee… or I could make you tea, if you prefer?” 

You gawk at him, trying to decide if it’s a good idea or not, watching him scrape at his wiry facial hair, waiting for your response. “Ok. Only if you’re sure.” You decide. 

“I’m sure, Cariño’.” Frankie replies, holding the door open wider. His tan, muscular arms bulging from underneath his short sleeve t-shirt. Something twinkling in his eyes, as his gaze doesn’t waiver, his grin doesn’t lessen. Smiling in a way that settles the anxiousness brewing through your body. 

“Tea would be good then.” You say, walking inside, slipping your sandals off before trailing after Frankie, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. Telling yourself you were just surprised by him asking you in, surprised about the spark you felt as your hands grazed. 

He guides you into the living room, telling you he won’t be long and he’ll be back and to make yourself comfortable. If you thought the outside of his place was gorgeous, the inside is just the same. Soft, worn furniture, a large stone fireplace, big windows that you can already imagine the sunlight pouring in across the hardwood floors. But what captures your interest is the bookshelves. They’re absolutely beautiful, seemingly built between a pair of little glass doors, one you’ve just come through and the other your guessing is a sunroom by the glass panels you can see from where your standing. It’s a whole wall of books. Literally your dream. You get lost in looking at the books on the shelves, getting a glimpse of who Frankie is. You spot a few from your own bookshelves at home; Franny and Zooey, Toni Morrison and Charlotte Brontë, Mary Oliver poetry, bluets by Maggie nelson. You don’t hear Frankie walk back into the room, he places the cake and mugs of warm drinks on the coffee table before quietly asking, “you a reader too?” 

He makes you jump, you quickly place your hand on your chest, looking round at him. He’s smiling as he says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Its fine, its my own fault, I was being nosey.” You reply, embarrassed at being caught. 

“No need to apologise.” He walks over to stand next to you in front of the bookshelves. 

“I’m always far too nosey to see what other people read. Plus it doesn’t help that your bookshelves basically look like they’ve come from the beauty and the beast library.”

“They’re not that good.” He states.

You scoff at his reply. “They are. And are you going to judge me if I say I already miss my own bookshelves despite the fact I have literally been here a day and a half?”

His lips tug further up, dimples showing and a small laugh spilling from his lips, spreading across his features, making small crinkles around his eyes as you join in laughing with him. Biting his upper lip, shaking his head, while tucking a curl behind his ear as you look at him. He says your name and your heart flutters at the way it falls from his mouth, a feeling you’d like to get to know better. 

It isn’t an awkward silence as you both sit down, more of a comforting one. One that doesn’t need to be filled, even though you and Frankie don’t know each other that well. It almost feels like you don’t need to rush with getting to know one another, that there will be plenty of time. He’s watching you, like he’s trying to figure something out and you suppose he is. You’ve basically run away from home for however long, staying in his property and he doesn’t know why. He intrigues you; in that quiet, rough around the edges way. You can’t explain it, but it feels different with Frankie. Like you could tell him all your secrets and he wouldn’t judge you at all. Your both still quiet but you catch him staring. You see that he knows he’s been caught staring at you, but all you can do is give him a smile, one that lights up your whole face. One that feels like you actually mean it, instead of just smiling for the sake of it, hoping to disguise what you’re really feeling. And it's almost like you can see the relief on Frankie’s face, despite getting caught, you haven’t called him out on it. Frankie feels a butterfly sensation deep inside, as he sees your smile. It's only a flutter of a feeling but one he welcomes. Mirroring you, his smile rushes out filling his face before a shyness develops over his features and he clears his throat. There’s an ease to Frankie that had you spilling to him, and in return your asked more about himself. His voice is rough but warm like honey, setting deep into your bones. Neither of you go into too much detail; pouring open small bits of truth and finding freedom in talking to someone new, that is until you start questioning whether you’ve shared too much. You feel your skin warm, start to panic. Frankie sensing the change in body language as he takes a sip of coffee, eyes remaining fixed on you, decides to change the subject. 

“I actually wanted to stop by, I’m not much of a host but I wanted to check in, make sure things were okay. You beat me too it.” He shrugs, like its no big deal. 

A soft smile graces your lips, grateful for the change of topic.  ‘I appreciate it, I really do. Its quiet, peaceful. I’m not used to it.” 

A small smile shows on his lips, “It is at first but you’ll soon get used to it.”

“The house feels so comfortable and homely. You… you made a really great space.” You say, speaking honestly. 

He looks back up at you then, pausing like he’s debating saying something and then he does, “I built most of this myself, Santi and a couple of other friends helped but it was mostly me. It was  something to focus on, a distraction.”

“You built this?” You ask sounding shocked. 

“Yeah. I… I bought this place not long after we got discharged. It was a mess, needed a complete overhaul but so was I. I wasn’t in a good place and I needed something to do so,” he says, gesturing about his own home, ears turning a light pink “and then about three years ago I decided to add the guesthouse on. I didn’t think I’d use it much,” he shrugs, “more of a place for  friends to crash if they needed to but…” 

“You didn’t have to but you made something beautiful out of your pain, instead of living in it.” You reply quietly, almost afraid to say it.

The corner of his mouth flicks up, dimple appearing and deepening, “I do live in it though.”

“Frankie.” You give him a look. 

“I get what you mean though, I appreciate it. What you said, means more to me than you realise.” There was a cadence in the way he spoke, his gravely tone smoothing over certain words yet sharpening on others. 

At that point, your piece of cake is finished and your tea has been drunk, so you politely make you exit. Frankie walks you to the door, thanking you for the cake once again. Before opening the door, he stops you, rubbing the back of his neck; rambling, not making eye contact.“If you need anything, or anything needs fixing, I’m around. All you gotta do is ask. I’ll be here or out in the workshop.” Its awkward and sweet, the way you’ve both become shy standing in front of each other. 

“Thank you, I’ll let you know.” You say, glancing at him again. Your eyes catch on his slightly shifting hands, like he’s not sure what to do with them. They’re rough; worn and calloused. You can see small scars along his fingers, whether they’re from his time in the army or from his building and woodworking now, you’re not sure. Not that you’d ask, not from a lack of wanting to know, more a case of you’re getting to know Frankie. You look up at him then as he delicately lifts his hand to your cheek, where with the gentlest of swipes, his index finger flitters across your skin, “eyelash” Frankie says, blowing it off his finger and then looking back at you. You say bye to Frankie with a small wave as you step outside, making your way across the path. He whispers his own shy goodbye, watching you as you walk back to the guesthouse, you take one more glance back as you get to your front door, seeing Frankie cautiously close his own; you realise he waited for you to get to yours. As you step inside; all your brain can think of is his hands. Then his smile, drifting to the hair above his lip, the facial hair along his jaw, the little heart shaped patch you’d wanted to graze your thumb over.  A bouquet of warmth blooming in your chest as you lock up and follow your nighttime routine. A warmth that stays with you even as you drift off to sleep.

Sunday morning you wake, the same as yesterday; the sun filtering soft beams of morning light through the curtains you only half closed the night before, making patterns on the wall as you slowly open your lashes, bringing a hand up to your eyes to wipe away the sleep.  You don’t rush, you throw on some clothes, make a cup of tea to take with you and take a walk down to the beach again. It still early, too early for a Sunday morning, a couple of surfers hoping to catch the waves, a few dog walkers. Just the sound of the water gently hitting the coast as you sit on the sand, picking seashells, watching the sun rise up higher in the sky. After an hour, your tea long gone cold you make your way home, deciding on the way that you’ll unpack a little more before heading to Emma’s. Walking across the gravel path you don’t realise somethings waiting for you on your doorstep, climbing the two steps out front you spot a small brown package with a green ribbon bow, you open it and find a hand carved dove. Simple, elegant. With a note that says, “a dove is supposed to represent peace, hopefully you’ll find peace here.” You smile, feeling that warmth bloom once again, looking around to see if you can spot Frankie. You don’t but that doesn’t stop the heat from rising to your cheeks as you make your way inside. The first thing you do, is make your way to your bedroom, placing the little dove on your bedside table, in hope that it’ll be a reminder of what this trip is about. 

Chapter Text

You get settled into a routine. You still wake early, sometimes you'll walk down to the beach to watch the sunrise, other times it's spent on the porch, reading or sketching. Mornings are spent at your sister's, working in her home office- photographing, replying to emails, making appointments, running the social media accounts for her interior design business. Whatever she needs doing. While she didn't want you taking on too much, preferring you to focus on resting and relaxing, you wanted to do something, so this was the compromise. Afternoons are spent at home. You make lunch, then read or sketch a little more. In the evenings you make dinner, pasta or fish, something simple, not too much required of you. After dinner you walk back to the beach again, texting with your nieces as you make plans to go see a movie at the weekend. You don't see Frankie. Haven't since that evening you made the cake. You know he's around though, his trucks moved at least.

That is until Wednesday. You're sitting on the porch swing, sketching. Something that you've only just noticed is that you keep drawing the same things over and over again. Frankie's eyes, or his hands, or that little 'standard heating oil' patch on the cap he was wearing when you first met. The one thing you are doing though, when you're sketching him; you're hiding it in something else. The last thing you need right now is someone finding out about your crush on Frankie. And yes, it is only a crush. At least thats what you keep telling yourself.

It's like your mind has conjured him up from your thoughts, you can hear him in his workshop, pottering away. His music on low and curiosity gets the better of you. You walk quietly along the gravel path as you make your way over, spotting that he has his back to you through the open door. The first thing you notice as you get closer is that all you can see is tufts of curls poking out from underneath his hat and braid shoulders stretching a white t-shirt. The second thing you notice is that he looks better than anyone has a right to; wearing jeans, a plain tee and a cap. Shaking off that thought as quickly as it pops up in your mind. You take a moment, not wanting to announce your arrival just yet as you watch his frame as he focuses on what he's doing. Then you clear your throat, just loud enough to be heard over the soft guitar strings of music playing from his phone.

He looks round, instantly giving you a warm smile, "Hi" he says, "I didn't realise you were here." His voice gravely, like he hasn't spoken all morning.

"I didn't want to disrupt your work but..." you reply, shyly, continuing "I wanted to say thank you for the dove, it's beautiful."

His own smile turns shy now, clearing his throat as he places the tool he was using down on the bench. "You don't need to thank me for that."
He scratches at the nape of his neck, a habit you've noticed when you catch him off guard. "I couldn't sleep and I just started whittling away," he rambles now, embarrassed over your comment. "After our conversation Saturday it just, it felt like it belonged to you." Glancing off, not looking at you now, you see a pink tinge develop on his cheeks and down his neck. The shadows from his cap trying and failing to hide it in the hazy light.

"Well, I'm thankful for it anyway. Even if you won't accept the compliment." Giving him a brighter smile than before, you glance past him, looking to where he was working before, "are you working on something?" You ask him, genuinely interested.

He shifts, grateful for the change of topic, moving slightly away from the work bench so you can see more. He gestures to the wood clamped in a frame on the bench. "A table." He glances back at you, "trying to get the table base to sit right." You step closer, moving slowly, stopping when you get to the bench before asking, "can I?"
Frankie nods back at you, watching as you trace your fingers along the clean lines of the base. It's simple, elegant. "It's stunning." You tell him.
"Thank you," his voice is quiet, a rough edge to it, "a lot of time goes into making something like this."
You peek up to where he stood before, only he's closer now, a warmth radiating between you both in the space left.
"I can tell." You whisper softly, looking away from him, resting your hands on the bench, trying to ground yourself. "You really build everything here?"
Frankie's mouth lifts into a smile once again, soft with a twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah," he tells you, explaining how the garage quickly became a workshop. He talks about the long hours, the pieces he's started with, whether it's an actual piece of furniture or the base of an idea and then developed or built into something new.

You're in awe, completely admiring Frankie's passion as he explains about the space you're standing in, he's clearly so proud of. You look around while he talks, still focusing on his words. Everything has a place, even if there's bits and pieces leaning against the benches dotted around the room. You know he knows exactly where everything is in here.

There's a pause as you look back at Frankie again. He shifts, looking at you, catching your gaze lingering on him. You look away quickly, willing your breath to slow as your skin prickles at the breeze sweeping through the open door. You miss seeing the colour rise in Frankie's cheeks again. Despite the looks shared between you, it's not awkward. It's more of an appreciation, an awareness. Clearing his throat, Frankie asks "You want to see how it fits?"
You hesitate at first. About what? You're not sure. "I wouldn't want to impose.." he cuts you off, "you wouldn't." He replies simply.
You nod, "ok."

He reaches for the small chisel in one hand and pulls out a stool for you to sit on with the other. You sit, your gaze following him, his hands. Mesmerised. The way they move; strong, steady, precise. As he chips and sands away at the wood. There's a comfortable silence neither of you want to shift as he picks up the small table top to angle into place. His shoulder lightly brushing yours, enough to send your pulse racing. Neither one of you moves. The moment holding in place between you. Then Frankie leans back, "still needs more shaping." He states.
You take a look at it all pieced together now. It truly is a piece of artwork. Smoothing your fingers along the wood.
"How much time actually goes into making something like this?" You ask, quietly. Looking at him as he stands next to you. Barely any space left between you and Frankie. He shifts, arms folding across his chest, the movement straining his shirt again. Making your eyes flick down before you can stop them.
"It depends to be honest," he answers. "What material I'm using, the design, how big it is... sometimes it can take a week or two other times months." You look back up at Frankie, seeing that he's already looking back at you. The edge of your breath catches, just slightly. "A lot goes into it then," you say, as Frankie huffs out a breath, you're not sure if a laugh or a sigh accompanies it.
"There's a lot that goes into it, most people don't realise just how much. Especially if you want something that lasts." He shrugs his shoulders, bringing his hands up to lean on the bench in front of you both. "I like making things that last."
There's a shift in him now- his shoulders less tense, voice warmer. A comfortableness, even going as far as familiarity establishing between you and Frankie. Your gaze flicks to the shelves along the far side of the wall. Towards the jaws of nails and screws. To the organised tools worn by use. The space feels like a reflection of him. In a different way than what you've seen so far. More private but just as honest. The thought settles in your stomach.
"I've definitely got a new appreciation for it now," you tell him. He chuckles. A soft, warm sound you didn't know you'd been craving to hear, until you heard it. A sound you want to hear more of. Looking back at him once more. You see he's watching you, again, an expression of openness gracing his features. You're not sure what it is: the afternoon light catching on the curve of his jaw, the quiet words spoken, or the way your shoulders brush again as he shifts, close enough that there isn't a gap between you anymore. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your heart beats fast and you hope Frankie can't tell just how fast it's beating, as the awareness of how close the two of you are, settles over you.

Reluctantly, drawing in a breath, trying to calm your rapid pulse, you say "I should probably let you get back to it, but thank you for showing me." Your voice still quiet as you go to get up.
"You can stay if you want. I don't mind." He tells you with the quiet hope that you'll stay. He's forgotten what it feels like. Being near someone. Really near. Sharing his space. It's not something he's ready to let go of yet. "I'd like you to stay, but only if you want to."
His mouth lifts into a smile, warmth filling his face as his dimple shows as you settle back on the stool. No acknowledgment needed.

It's how your afternoons are spent now. With Frankie. You come back from your sisters at lunchtime. Ending up in Frankie's kitchen as you both make lunch, chatting about your mornings. His kitchen smells like lemons, sun filters in gently through the slatted blinds. The soft clink of dishes and veggies being cut as conversation fills the sage green and off-white space. You set the breakfast nook by the window as Frankie plates up lunch- chicken stir fry. You both eat slowly, savouring the quiet and the food instead of rushing. Once the plates are clear you head out to his workshop, settling in the corner with a book or your laptop. The awkwardness doesn't instantly disappear, it's still there. But its softened, folded into the comfort of sharing a space.

You sneak glances at Frankie. Frankie sneaks glances at you. Never too long. Never obvious either, but enough that you're both aware. All quiet softness. Amusement. Like a secret between the two of you.

Frankie cancels with Santiago, Will and Benny on Friday for their weekly hangout. Tells them somethings come up, but it's nothing to worry about. Honestly, nothing has come up, he just wants to spend a quiet night in with a beer and his thoughts. His thoughts about you. You'd gone with your nieces to see some rom-com they'd been telling you about. The thing is Frankie knows that the guys know it's bullshit. He had a poor excuse. But he also knows that they're desperate to know more about you. They had a million questions for him last week and he'd barely spent twenty minutes with you. He'd actually met you before Pope did. He got a text off of him after Sunday dinner last week telling him you hadn't given anything away, much to Santi's disappointment. Frankie's being tight lipped about this, about you. He's worried that they'll see it on his face. That he won't be able to hide his quickly developing feelings that he has about you. They know him too well.

Chapter Text

It could only be put off for so long. Being invited to our Friday night hang-out. It’s not that he doesn’t want her to meet them, he actually really does. It’s more of a case of being outside of the bubble they’ve been in this past week. He shouldn’t have canceled with them last Friday, he just wanted to be in that bubble for a little longer. It was inevitable; she’s Emma’s sister, the woman Pope’s dating. Him, Will and Benny have met Emma multiple times, of course she’d want her sister to be included.

Frankie’s been in a world of his own as he drives to the local bar to meet his friends. Not realising he’s arrived until he’s pulling up to park. Taking a deep breath he thinks back to a couple of days ago, when she’d mentioned Santiago had texted her, inviting her to join today. He could see that she was apprehensive about it; she hadn’t wanted to tell either Emma or Santi about your apprehensions. she'd confided in him yesterday, over dinner; you’ve now been sharing that too, her words shaky and full of nerves that it was simply down to the fact that she struggled meeting new people, she always had done. It hadn’t gotten any easier. He wanted to smooth her worry away, coming round to her side of the table in his kitchen, exclaiming that she’d done perfectly well meeting him. she’d tried to brush him off, not believing his words, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t want her to worry, not over Will and Benny. He knew for a fact that they’d love her. Santi would soon get over whatever it was from that dinner. Knowing him it was probably more a case of him not being able to charm her. Frankie put his arm on the back of the bench, resting on the pillow underneath the windowsill, almost tucking her into the nook. He tells her about the guys. “Ben is loud, full of energy. So much energy. He’s like a golden retriever.” Making her laugh at his description of Benny. “And Will, he’s… he comes off intimidating but he’s really just a gentle giant. They are both protective, so is Pope, it’s only because we’ve been through a lot together.” “Pope?” she'd questioned, a puzzled look on her face. “Santiago’s nickname.” She nod, he continues “It won’t take you long to win them over. Trust me.”

He’s startled out of his thoughts, Will knocking on his truck window, “you good Fish?” Will asks.
“Yeah,” he replies, getting out of his truck. “I’m fine. Was just thinking. Thats all.” Will doesn’t seem convinced but he won’t push, not yet at least.

Walking in and grabbing a table, Frankie’s barely sat down before a beer is thrusted into his hand along with the question, “so what is she like?” Coming from Benny.
“Seriously,” he says “I’ve just sat down, you’re going to meet her soon enough anyway.”
“Where are they? I thought they were coming with you?” Will asks Pope as he sits down.
“No, they went shopping for a client. They were supposed to be back by six, but they got stuck in traffic. They shouldn’t be long though.”
Will nods, taking in the information.
“Why aren’t you asking Pope about her? She’s his girlfriend’s sister.” Frankie adds, defensive about being asked about her.
“You know why we haven’t asked him…” Benny tells him, “because Pope here,” placing his hand on Santi’s shoulder, grin on his face. “In shocking news, couldn’t charm her. He’s not as good as he like to make out to be.”
Pope groans, as he replies “I’m serious. She’s tough, didn’t give anything away. It was like meeting Emma’s kids all over again.” He exclaims, bringing his hands up to his face, as the rest of them laugh.
“Seriously though, you’re the one she’s practically living with. You must have seen more of her than Pope?” Will asks, directing the attention back to him.
“A couple of times, but not loads.” He mutters out.

The conversation drifts, catching up on their week, discussing at great lengths the football score from last nights game. He’s scanning the room, waiting for her to appear. And then he sees her engrossed in the conversation she’s having with her sister as the pair of you make your way to the table. His jaw unclenched at the sight. Something settling inside him. She looks good- Jeans, a white blouse tucked in showing her curves. Those Mary Jane shoes she’s loves wearing, that he’s been teasing her about. Her hair loosely clipped up with a claw grip. He pays no attention to Santi opening his arms wide for Emma to launch herself into. All his focus is on her. He moves instantly, slipping an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek like it was nothing. And to him it was. Natural. Like this was a normal thing for us to do. He doesn’t notice the silence that engulfs the group as they watch the two of you and luckily she doesn’t see the look Will gives him as she gets introduced to Benny, and how he pushes Will out of the way so he can sit next to you.

He’d stayed on the quiet side throughout. Keeping watch, tense without even realising. That is until you’d brushed your leg accidentally against his under the table. He can see that you’re nervous. He keeps his arm around the back of her chair. Gentle, not overpowering but present, protective. His fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder. He swears he imagines her leaning into his touch, like it was instinct. Her leg shaking up and down quickly, but hidden by the table the group sits around. If he wasn’t sitting next to her he’d have no idea just how nervous she was. It’s completely oblivious as she makes conversation with the group. Laughing at the stories Benny and Pope are arguing about how they actually went down. Telling stories of her own about her and Emma growing up, making Will laugh and share about his and Benny’s own upbringing. Asking more about Benny fighting professionally. He had been right, there was nothing for her to worry about. She fits in well. Comfortably well. At one point he leans forward, fixes the collar of her blouse, setting it back down after Will had moved round, leaning down to show her something on his phone. He see’s her eyes follow his fingers as they leave her shoulder, one settling back on the back of her chair, the other bringing his glass up to his mouth. She looks at him then, giving him a smile, a smile he’s used to now. Not one he’s seen her give out to anyone else this evening. He gives her a smile of his own in return. One he’s been giving more often lately. One that seemingly already belongs to her.

She’s standing at the bar with Emma, ordering the next round of drinks. He watches her, as they wait. It’s like she can feel him his gaze on her, she look back towards the table. What he doesn’t expect is the look on her face, she looked at him across the room like he’s something safe.
He’s pulled from his gaze on her as Santi calls his name. Looking round, all eyes are on him. “You’re really not going to talk about her, fish?” Santi asks, as he in return groans at being asked again. “Not your business, Pope,” he mumbles out eyes flicking back to where she is. “All I’m saying is you denied having even spoken to her and yet you’ve been all over her since she walked in.” Pope throws back at him, teasingly. “I’m surprised you noticed considering you and Emma have been all over each other.” He mumbles. “Really!” Pope scoffs, eyebrows raised. “Hey,” Benny joins in, “Leave fish alone, Pope. I like her… she’s cool.” Giving him a smile as he says it. Will pats him on the back, his own way of agreeing with his brother. “Let Frankie take his time, it’s obvious they like each other.” He doesn’t deny what Will says but that seems to be the end of that conversation. Moving on to something else.

When they make they’re way back to the table. Pope and Will are bickering. About her. Unaware until the drinks are placed on the table. “What did we miss?” Emma asks curiously, knowing somethings not right between them. “Oh, nothing.” Benny adds, thinking quickly “we were just trying to figure out what nickname we should give to our new member here.” Benny gestures to her, gives her a wink.
“Does that mean I’m apart of the group now.” She jokes, settling back to him.
“Yep. You’re our girl now. You’re not getting rid of us now, so you need a nickname.” Benny tells her.
“Oh no. not after the nicknames you suggested for me.” Emma exclaims.
“What? What nickname did they try to give you?” She turns to Emma.
“You don’t want to know.” Emma replies, shaking her head at the thought.
“No, I’m curious now…” she says, “honestly I’m still confused about the nicknames. Why are you called Pope?” She asks Santiago, in return Santi launches into the story behind the name, sharing Will’s nickname, Ironhead and finally his own, Catfish. He’s grateful that Will comes up with a story about how quickly he could guzzle water down and not the actual story, that the guys never should’ve found out about in the first place. A story that involved how well he apparently went down on someone, years ago while on leave. But he can see you’re not convinced about the story Will tells.
“Ive got it.” Benny says, slamming his hands down on the table. “Sunflower.” He says. “That should be your nickname.” Benny says proudly, grin taking over his face.
“Sunflower.” She states, curiously. “Why sunflower?”
“Because you’ve brought the sun with you tonight. Plus you’re wearing a sunflower necklace.”
Emma jumps in then, adding “that actually fits really well. Sunflowers are her favourite.”
Before anyone else gets a chance to speak, bringing his arm around your shoulder, he can hear his own words coming out of his mouth, “sunflower it is then.” He see’s the sparkle in your eyes as you turn to look at him, that smile on your face again.

Making their way out of the bar, he notices Benny’s got his arm around her, in deep conversation. Will and Pope chat about the schedule for Benny’s fight next week and Emma pulls him aside. “I don’t know what you’ve done. But I can’t remember the last time I saw my sister that happy.” Continuing, “its not just tonight, I’ve noticed it the last few days.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He tells her, bringing his hand up to his neck, trying to brush off Emma’s words. “I don’t think I’ve really done anything.”
“You have.” She tells him, glint in her eyes. “I know the guys have been teasing you, plus I’m not blind to way you and her have been around each other.” She smiles at him then, seeing him blush. “I just wanted to say thank you. I’ve not always been the best sister and I know she doesn’t always want to let me in, worrying that I’ve got enough on my plate with the kids. But I’m glad she’s letting you in.” Emma shrugs, as she becomes sentimental with her words. Pope calls her then, and she runs off to catch up with him.

He looks for her, seeing her standing by his truck with Will and Benny. As he walks closer he hears, “You will have to come to the fight next week” Benny’s inviting her to his match, albeit slightly drunk. “You seem like you’re lucky and I need a good luck charm.”
“I’m not sure if I’ll be much of a good luck charm, but ok.” She replies, grinning at him.
“And you,” Benny turns around, pointing at him, “no slacking off helping me train like you have done for the past two weeks. Okay.”
He nods.
“9am. Sharp.” Benny adds.
“I’ll see you Monday.” He says, coming round to the passenger side of the truck to open the door for her. Offering his hand, she takes it and her skin feels so soft and tiny compared to his own rough one. He places his hand on the top of the frame, “watch your head,” he says, guiding you into the truck. She tells him thank you, before he closes her door and makes his way around to the drivers side. He doesn’t hear the giggle she lets out, as she buckles herself in.

The drive home is quiet. Not uncomfortable, more a case of you’re both deep in thought. He glances at her, every so often. Taking her in. A few strands of hair had fallen around her face. The glow of streetlights creating a warmness on her skin. She looked beautiful, carefree. She catches him staring after a couple of times, arching a brow.
“What?” She says softly.
He looks back at the road. “Nothing.” He replies.
She huffs a small laugh, smile gracing her lips as she continues to look at him. “Okay then.”

Frankie helps her out of the truck, a slight sway to her walk.
“Do you need my help?” He asks her. She nods back, wraps her arms around his middle, as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.
“I’m not usually like this.” She mumbles out, face flushed. “I only had one glass of wine.”
“Did you eat?” He asks, as he tucks her under his arm, guiding her towards the house.
“Oh.” She stops, in turn making him stop. It’s like a lightbulb moment as she says “we got back so late, I didn’t eat dinner.”
He spins her around slowly then, to head to his place instead.
“I’ll make you something to eat.” He states.
“No. you don’t have to do that.” She starts to protest.
“Nope. Not up for discussion, let me make you something.” He grunts out, guiding her to his. As she leans into him more with each step.

He makes pasta. Something quick, full of carbs to soak up the remaining alcohol. She eats the whole thing. He’d asked if she wanted to watch something while she ate. You sit on either ends of the sofa, its not huge, so you’re still pretty close to one another. You both agree on some action movie, something he’s seen before but has no interest in watching. She finishes the food and he watches as she rests her head on the back of the sofa. Closes her eyes for a moment. She drifts off. He watches with a small smile as her body relaxes, lips parting, breath deepening. Her body begins to slump closer and closer to him. His breath catching in his throat as she unconsciously leans against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. The steady warmth of her beside him is making him sleepy. He should wake her up, take her back to the guesthouse, but he can’t bring himself to. Enjoying having her close to him far too much. Its not long until he falls asleep too. His body lulled into sleep as the pair shift, his nose buried in her hair, arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

When he wakes up, its bright. The kind of honey warm light that makes everything look like a painting. He supposes the pair of you do. Look like a painting. At some point during the night, you’ve both shifted. Moved and ended up laying. She’s tucked between him and the sofa. One of his arms wrapped around her. Her cheek pressed to his chest, one hand resting over his heart like she was checking he was still there. Her leg draped slightly over his. She looks radiant in the morning light. She stirs only once, as he manoeuvres himself off the sofa, trying not to disturb her sleeping form. He grabs a blanket from the arm chair opposite, puling it up to her shoulders and slips out the door.

He’s not gone long, she’s just stirring as he walks back in, two paper bags and coffee cups in hand. They both sit in silence, the air already warming. The room smells like her strawberry shampoo and bagels. It was an offhand comment, she’d had a craving for bagels, he’d mentioned a good place that wasn’t far. So he went and got bagels. Cream cheese and lox. Wrapped in foil. Along with warm drinks and pastries. They eat. Sit together, she has her legs crossed. She steals a bite of his Duce de leche slice and a groan escapes her mouth when she bites into the raspberry croissant he got her. Knowing how much she loves raspberries.

He knows he’s falling for her. He can’t help it. All he can hope is that she feels the same way.

Chapter Text

The sunlight filters in through the windows, painting a soft golden haze around the room as you wake. A honeyed edge with sparkling shadows. You must’ve drifted last night, not realising you’d fallen asleep in Frankie’s house. Frankie’s house still amazes you. It’s different in the morning light, its cozy and warm, homely, appreciated and immediately comforting. Off whites, dark furniture, a mix of greens ranging from olive, sage and forest. Intertwined with warm earthy tones to finish it off. Everything you’ve come to expect from him. 

Its quiet; you’re laying on Frankie’s sofa, tucked under a knitted blanket, you stretch and thats when you notice his note. Propped up on the coffee table, by a glass of water. A sunflower drawn on it. It instantly makes you smile as you grab the note; telling you to stay put, he’s out grabbing breakfast. You barely finish reading it before you hear Frankie’s truck pull up outside. 

He bought bagels. After you mentioned your craving. You only mentioned it quick. Not thinking he’d remember but he has. Something unspoken showed in his gaze, as you exclaimed, “you remembered?”

Something questioning all those that came before him that had made you feel like you weren’t worth being remembered. 

“It’s not a big deal, Cariño.” 

“It is to me.” You reply, small smile gracing your lips. 

You hadn’t had a chance to panic after waking up in Frankie’s. Once you’d realised he was walking back through the door, coffee cups and paper bags in hand. He told you, you’d both fallen asleep last night, that it wasn’t a big deal. The way he said it, brushed it off like it happened all the time, eased your anxiety. Settled something inside of you, at least for now. 

You ended up curled back into the blanket as you both ate. Quiet and slightly groggy, you took in Frankie as he spoke. He looked good in the morning, with his sleepy curls stuck to his forehead where his cap had been put on to go out in, the low, gravel tone of his voice, the soft stretch of his t-shirt across his shoulders. You don’t even want to think about what you must look like, you guarantee there’s mascara under your eyes. 

You don’t mean to but a moan comes out of you as you take the first bite of the raspberry croissant. Its quite possibly the best you’ve tasted. It doesn’t help the embarrassment you feel though, at the noises you’ve just made. At least not until you notice the bob of Frankie’s Adams apple, the stuttered chuckle he makes as he tries to keep his composure. Shifting slightly in his seat. Neither of you acknowledge what’s just happened. Just move on, as casually as possible. 

You chat about last night; meeting his friends, what he thinks about your sister, trying to persuade him to tell you the nickname they came up with for her. His lips tugging further up on one side, dimple showing along with the spill of a laugh spreading across his features at your attempts. Not that he gave in. Apparently sworn to secrecy. The smile lasts longer than your failure at getting him to spill the secret, that dimple remaining, deepening. One you keep thinking about how much you want to run your thumb over the longer he keeps looking at you like that. You can’t help but feel warm in his presence. He holds your gaze, something flickering behind those dark, sparkling eyes. Like he was thinking about you too. 

Soon enough you decide to head back to yours, as you turn for the door, you feel his gaze as he follows you, steady and unmoving. Heat warms your cheeks, remaining there as you cross the walkway, burning and pulsing. 

You immediately spiral as you walk in, your emotions hitting you in full force. They let you have your time with Frankie but now it’s their turn. Frankie’s attentive, full of quiet kindness and steady hands. You feel so safe and cared for in a way you haven’t before and it scares you. It scares you how quickly he’s seen you. How much he’s become part of your life in such little time. He pays attention. He listens. He doesn’t look at you with those sad eyes, the sad eyes everyone else has looked at you with for months, possibly longer. Even when you told him about your mother, there wasn’t the sense of pity you’ve received before, but an understanding between you both. A gentle “I understand”, he’d lost his mother too.  He seems to know you, understand you, without even really trying. You wasn’t broken with Frankie. 

You think back to last night; he’d pulled you in for a hug when you arrived, kissed your cheek, as arms wrapped around each other. You felt the bristle of his beard scratch at your cheek when he pulled back. The way he kept his arm wrapped along the back of your chair, almost protectively. His fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. You can hear the way he laughed at the groups antics, the shiver you felt flow through your body at him calling you sunflower.  The way he’d looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.The warmth of his body next to yours. Then this morning, the way he’d eased your anxiety, the way he’d remembered an offhanded comment. You shamefully enjoy the friendship you and Frankie have developed, although it feels a lot more than just friendship. 

You have to remind yourself; 

1. It has only been a couple of weeks
2. You’re supposed to be going home next month
3. You’re reading too much into it

And finally, 

4. Frankie actually doesn’t like you in that way. 

You’re not used to feeling this way, feeling at ease, care free. For as long as you can remember you’ve worn your sadness, your grief. Held onto it tightly. Letting it engulf you. Aching with a loneliness you could never figure out how to battle, as one by one people saw the ugliness inside you, the one that deemed you unworthy, the one that meant people didn’t stick around for long. Your father was the first one to see it. The first in a long line that told you, you weren’t worthy enough. 

You didn’t want Frankie to see what they saw, the damage he could find in you by getting too close. Or maybe you did, but you wanted him to be the one to stay. Not someone who causes more damage. Just someone who sees the sadness and knows it’s not so bad. 

You’re hoping you’ve managed to brush off your worries, at least for now. You just want to enjoy your time here, with your family, with Frankie. Making yourself comfortable in the workshop, you daydream, not realising Frankie’s talking to you until you hear your name. He watches as your eyes blink up to him, the peaceful spell broken. You pull back, sitting straight, eyes meeting his, round with question. 

“You ok?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod in reply, trying to focus back on the book you’ve brought with you today. 

“You don’t seem you’re normal self, thats all.” He sounds concerned and now you feel even worse for making him worry. 

“I’m just a bit tired.” You reply, hoping it’s enough to stop him worrying. Its not like you’re lying, you are tired.

“The storm keep you awake last night?” Amongst your breakdown last night you hadn’t even realised it had rained until this morning when you headed down to the beach. 

You nod again. 

Frankie, taking in your anxious state that you’re not hiding very well added, “Anytime like that, you can always come over to mine. I don’t sleep through storms. Too many bad memories..” His words slow and hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was making the right move. He wanted to tell you about his past, he wanted you to know everything, despite his own hesitancy. But he didn’t want to push you too much, too soon, especially as something was bothering you.

“From when you were in the army?” You ask.

He nods this time. 

“I’ll keep it in mind Frankie.” You tell him, and you feel the quiet weight of something new settle over you both. 

Frankie manages to persuade you to help, that he’ll teach you. He’s switched to a personal project, something he’s been working on for a while but hasn’t quite finished. A matching pair of rocking chairs for the sunroom. You’re not sure if its better or worse that you’re not working on something he’s getting paid to make. It’s something for himself, something he’ll see your mark on long after you leave. 

He’s confident in you, something you’re laking of, especially in this situation. Only part assembled but crafted from sturdy oak, you can already tell they’re designed for comfort, for sharing. So much love going into his work, just like everything else. 

Some of the pieces still need sanding down, made smooth, but before that, he tells you, shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles “they need to be cut again.” 

 A rough, warm palm engulfs your hand as he comes to stand behind you, to help guide you. He whispers into your ear, cheek close to yours as his warm breath sends shivers down your spine. Towards his other hand, long fingers on your hip, his thumb moving absently along your waist, tracing circles. Firm and warm, rough and soft in all the right places. Comforting and distracting at the same time. Patient hands. He smells good, you notice- you can smell paint and sawdust, it clings to Frankie’s clothes, you’ve noticed it blends with yours too now. But underneath that there’s hints  of peppermint, eucalyptus, the herbs he grows in his garden, something citrusy. The words mi girasol slipping out of his mouth, quietly but enough to bring your focus back, it was like he wasn’t aware he’s said them out loud. You don’t miss his words, even if you pretend you do but instead tuck them away for later. 

Once you get the hang of it, Frankie lets you work; taking in your warm hands, furrowed brows and concentrated motion. You try to ignore the way he watches you.

You’re a perfectionist at heart, something you know he’s picked up on, especially when cooking. He keeps you guessing once you’ve finished.. Running his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, as he takes in your work. Waiting and waiting.  Then he smiles, face lighting up. Something twinkling in his eyes, as he tells you “you did good.” 

“Really?’ You’re shocked. 

He smirks, just as broad and wide as those shoulders of his, before he chuckles. Bringing his thumb up to slide under your jaw, gently guiding you to look into big, sincere doe eyes. “Perfect.”

You grin and try not to preen too much at his approval. But your chest tightens, your heart thumping loud in your chest. You’re still looking at him, he’s still looking at you. You glance from one eye to the other, questioning whether he’s telling the truth. But you can’t find anything other than warmth and reassurance. 

And not for the first time, you wish he’d kiss you. 

Chapter Text

You like Frankie, more than you have any right to. He feels safe and sure and solid; he’s kind and he makes you laugh. He makes you feel like you matter. That you’re worth more than you’ve been made to feel in the past. He’s quickly becoming your favourite person.

You’re both quiet by nature but something blooms between you when you’re together. Much like Frankie’s garden; in the early mornings before it gets too warm, you’ve been helping him harvest the fruits and vegetables ready to be eaten. Along with managing to persuade him to add more flowers into the mix after a trip to the garden centre.

You take comfort in each other’s presence; wrapped up in each others worlds as they blend together, seemingly. A quiet domesticity. It’s subtle enough, natural enough, that you don’t realise it at first and then when you do, it devastates you. An ache forms in your ribs. A thorn jutting up into your heart begging to split open. The longer you’re here, the closer with Frankie you get, the more you don’t want to leave.

He keeps your preferred brand of tea and chocolate in his kitchen. “It’s not a big deal,” he’d told you, “you spend enough time here, that I want you to have the things you like.” You mend his t-shirts that he refuses to get rid of, the worn-in, overly washed ones. The ones that smell of sawdust; paint, him. Ones you’d quite happily wrap yourself in but don’t. You’ve learnt quickly how he takes his coffee; strong and rich. Even battled the monstrosity that is his very confusing coffee machine. He drives you around the town like your own personal chauffeur. He’d offered one morning; it was on the way to the hardware store, but it had stuck. Most of the time now he drove you around.

Something’s building between you two. Something real and warm and safe. Something neither of you want to push the boundaries on, something not yet named. But hiding in the shadows. It scares you. Sometimes in a way that makes you feel like all the pain, the darkness you’ve gone through, the heaviness you carry was worth it to end up here with him but other times you worry that whatever this is will only add to your hurt.
After all, you and Frankie were friends. That’s all you could be. Frankie could never feel the same way about you, the way you feel about him.

Thursday morning, in the kitchen. You’re sitting at the breakfast nook, cutting fruit while Frankie plates breakfast, just some eggs and toast, a little avocado too.. There’s music softly playing from the speakers, something mellow and easy going. You’d already made his coffee and he brings over your tea, with a squeeze of lemon and honey mixed in. Just how you like it.

Breakfast isn’t a rush. It’s not awkward. It flows easily between you, like this is what mornings are supposed to be like. From the outside, it probably looks like you and Frankie are just playing house. But you’re not, it doesn’t feel like you are, at least not to you. It’s more than that, this shared space. It’s something that flowed so easily it feels like you’ve always done this. This every day, normal thing with Frankie. Something everlasting.

You and Frankie sit at the table, eating quietly, the world outside still waking up, pale and golden as the early morning light slips in.
While you’re finishing, Frankie asks if you’ve got plans for later.
You shake your head in response, no.
He watches you, studying you for a beat, then, “wanna go out tonight?”
“Out? Tonight?” You question, sounding slightly too shaky for your liking as you bring your eyes up to his.
He pulls his cap off, running a hand through his hair, suddenly sheepish, full of his own nerves.
“Yeah, I thought it might be nice to go out. You’d get to see more of what this town has, it could…” he stops himself from calling it a date. Completely unaware of your growing feelings from him, believing that you couldn’t possibly feel the same way he does. Stuttering over his words, he adds, “it could be my way of saying thanks, for helping with the rocking chairs, for keeping me company out there, the last couple of weeks,” he nods his head towards the workshop outside.

The chairs are far from being finished yet, some parts still need sanding down, then varnishing and painting. Being the perfectionist you are, you don’t feel as though you’ve really done much, but he’s not accepting your excuses. It doesn’t take him much persuading before you agree. You ask where he’s taking you. “It’s a surprise,” he tells you. “Dinner and a show.”

A warmth settles into your skin the rest of the day, mixed with anticipation and nerves. You spend far too long trying to decide what to wear for a date, that isn’t a date. You have to keep reminding yourself of that. The heats been sweltering the last couple of days and you know your nerves are going to make you feel even more sweaty so you settle on a summer dress. Midi length. Light in colour and small flowers decorate it. It’s not over the top, but you still look good. You leave your hair down, apply some light makeup and a spritz of perfume. A small handbag and some ballet flats and you were ready, for this not-a-date date.

When Frankie knocked for you, you answered the door and both took each other in. He didn’t have his normal cap on, his hair was pushed back, carelessly, like he’d run his hands through his hair one too many times. His beard had been trimmed. He had a crisp white shirt on and a pair of jeans you hadn’t seen before, but fitted him perfectly. You may have noticed that when he held your hand, walking slightly in front of you to the truck. Before opening the door, a hand on your back as he helped you in.

The restaurant was warm, a gentle rhythm engulfed you as you walked in. Fairy lights strung from the ceiling. Low voices from others dining. Privacy in the booths. Candles on the tables creating a golden hue.

Dinner was good. Really good. Seasonal recipes. Pasta made in-house. Impressive without trying. Both stealing bites from each other’s plates. A bottle of wine. Shared.

And Frankie… He kept watching you, like he didn’t want to miss a thing. While you kept getting lost in him, his words. He was funny, telling you stories and jokes you couldn’t help but laugh at. He listened to you, to what you had to say, didn’t try and talk over you, or make you feel like your feelings, your opinions didn’t matter. You both spoke easily, the conversation flowing, smooth and warm; effortless. Enveloping you and him in your own little bubble.

His eyes twinkle in the fairy lights hung around the restaurant, as you sat close to one another, knees brushing together, pressed into the same side of the booth.

He didn’t check his phone once, which is something you’re still getting used to. Him giving you his undivided attention. His focus on you. Somehow both overwhelming and not at all.

He tucked a stand of your hair behind your ear at one point. While you were waiting for dessert to arrive, something chocolatey and sweet. You couldn’t help but give him a shy smile in return, your cheeks warming at the gesture.

The show; a drive-in movie. Something classical, old school and just as perfect on the big screen. You and Frankie are however, the only people there, given that these normally happen over the weekend and you’re here on a Thursday night. All he’ll tell you is that he was owed a favour. you don't question him anymore but come to the fact that tonight wasn't a last minute thing, it had been planned.

He was watching you again, instead of the movie. Without overthinking it, he reaches for you slowly, giving you time to pull away but you don’t. Offering a place for you to fit against his side. You slide over and end up resting your head against his shoulder, as you sit closely inside his truck, watching the movie. He tucks you in close and your fingers tangled with his, as his thumb dragged slowly back and forth over the back of your hand.

Your head against his shoulder and the weight of your body against his own was both soothing and absolutely torturing Frankie. He tried to focus on the film, the smell of popcorn in his truck, the breeze he could faintly feel through the open windows, anything but the way his heart beat rapidly with you curled into him, hand holding his. The floral scent of your perfume, the vibrations flowing through him when you laughed at something funny on screen. While all you can do is try not to focus on how warm he feels. How good he smells. Like soap and pine and something uniquely Frankie. You can hear his heartbeat, feel hit pulsing in his chest, and it sounds a lot like how yours must be beating.

Neither of you speak about how you’ve ended up, but somehow neither one of you is ready to give in. To admit to how you feel. How you really feel. Something you’re both holding tightly onto.

Chapter Text

You haven’t stopped grinning since Thursday night. Choosing to bury your head in the sand about the worries you have and instead basking in whatever it is that’s developing between you and Frankie. He came close to kissing you after driving you both home after your not-a-date date, you’re sure of it. You both lingered before going your separate ways. Like neither of you were ready for the night to end.

Even Emma’s noticed the change in you. On Friday he’d messaged and asked if you’d had lunch yet, since you were helping out for a couple more hours than normal. When you answer, telling him that you’ve been too busy sorting out some things for clients, he turns up half an hour later with food. Turkey sandwiches with salad, hand cooked crisps and a couple of sweet treats from the deli shop nearby.

He was in the area, dropping off some furniture. Wanted to make sure you eat because he knows that sometimes you don’t realise the time when you’re focusing on something and then forget.

Emma teased you when Frankie left. Questioning that you’d been with-holding things from her, wanting to know details. Jokingly asking when the wedding is. You’d tried laughing it off, shaking your head, denying any such feelings. But it was obvious, your cheeks warmed, heart hammering in your chest. All the teasing remarks and sidelong glances. The innocent position of hands between you both. No matter how much you tried to pretend that you were just friends, to act like it was nothing, it wasn’t nothing. It was becoming everything.

It’s so crowded when you arrive for fight night. Following Frankie through the crowd, you can barely hear anything, slightly overwhelming you.
As if Frankie senses it, without a word, he takes your hand. His grip firm and strong, the corners of his mouth pull into a smile half hidden by his usual cap. But you see the steady way he looks at you, as if to say I got you and you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground. He walks with his usual measured steps, dodging people as you make your way over to Will, Emma and Santiago.

Your stomach flutters at the way he holds onto you; his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, the look of comfort and protectiveness. It’s somehow too much and not enough.

“Hey, fish!” Will calls out, you and Frankie joining the rest of the group minus Benny. Will pulls you into a side hug, “you brought our girl!” He exclaims to Frankie, in which he gives a nod, reluctantly letting go of your hand.

You laugh at something Pope says as he brings his arms around your frame and the sound is something Frankie wants to capture. A sound he wants to hold onto, forever. Something warm, protective, territorial settles around his ribs, as he watches you with his friends.
You’re his sunflower but also his sun. Following you for the warmth you give, settling in all the dark places inside his chest. It’s easy. Warm. Safe. He would do anything for you. He wasn’t used to this. Feeling this way, but could only hope he gives you the same feeling in return.

Benny’s fight is surreal. He’s the last one out to fight; and you could see the worry on the guy’s faces, throughout the night. Will slipped back to the locker room as the fight before Benny’s started, only to re-emerge seconds before Benny walked through the crowd. They look so nervous for him, all in their own unique ways. A tension building. But between the three of them, they’re the loudest cheerers in the room when Benny makes his way to the ring.

It was sweet- It is sweet how much they all care for each other. How much you can only imagine they’ve been through together. Frankie’s told you bits and pieces but you can tell just by the way they are together. It makes something ache in your chest. Something you don’t want to name. But want to hold onto anyway. Not just for yourself, but for them too.

Frankie had been explaining the points system, certain moves, other fighters Benny had fought against before through-out the night. You didn’t know what was more adrenaline inducing; watching the way these people willing fight and get hurt or the way Frankie’s lips kept grazing your ear as he was telling you bits and pieces.

Benny is quick on his feet; powerful, strong, a natural in the ring. He could take a punch just as well as he could give one. But his opponent didn’t stand a chance as Benny caught him off-guard with a few quick punches, after he’d taken a blow at Benny’s face.

The atmosphere is insane as the fight comes to an end with Benny winning his fight. Plenty of cheers and excitement, whistles and screams amongst the crowd.

You’re jumping up and down in celebration when you glance at Frankie and see he’s already watching you. Smiling and reaching for you. You bring your arms around those broad shoulders of his, leaning into him, “that was crazy!” You tell him over the loudness in the gym. He leans back to look at you, grin somehow bigger than it was before, his hands resting on your arms. “It was! I’m happy you got to see all his hard work pay off,” he replies, gesturing to where Benny is, now making his way over to your little group.

It was high fives and shoulder slapping hugs between the guys, them telling Benny how proud they were of him. You couldn’t help but think back to your earlier thought, admiring the way they fit together, their own little family. They’d welcomed you with open arms and for that you’d always be grateful for.

You and Frankie are both too hyped up from the fight, by the time you get home. Choosing to stay up, discussing books. Talking about favourite books; the go-to authors, the books that were overhyped or completely overlooked, those books that pulled you out of a dark place.

Neither one of you realise the time, how late it is. Comfy clothes had been changed into when you got back, a shared snack plate had long since been eaten, a bottle of beer for Frankie and a glass of wine for you had been drunk. Plans made for breakfast and a trip to the bookstore in the morning.

Before long, you and Frankie have fallen asleep. Curling into one another just like last time. Subconsciously moving together. Becoming one, once again on that tiny sofa.

It’s only an hour or two after you both fell asleep, but Frankie wakes with a slight ache in his shoulder. He’s already acutely aware of the fact that he can’t spend another night on the sofa, he put a brave face on but he felt like he was dying the last time it happened. He can only hope that you’ll be okay with this and he’s not overstepping but before he can overthink it he’s gently brushing the hair off your face before squeezing your shoulder and gliding his fingers down your arm to wake you up.

You groan at the disruption, trying and failing to bury your head into the cushions. He smiles, sleepily. He knows you’re tired, you both are, but he can’t let you stay on the sofa. Frankie bends down, grazing his thumb across your cheek.

“C’mon, mi girasol, let’s go to bed.” He whispers.

Groggily you whisper back “okay.”

Frankie pulls away to stand, pushing off of his own knees before offering his hand back down to you. You take his hand and Frankie pulls you to your feet, tucking you into his chest as you curl your arms around his shoulders. You’re fighting sleep and even though it’s only a short walk to his bedroom, he doesn’t want to let you go. So he lets you cling to him, steering you both carefully towards his room.

He leads you into the room, guiding you under his covers, giving you a quick, but soft and gentle kiss on your nose when you whine as he pulls your arms from around his neck.

“I’ll be right back.” He tells you, though he can tell you’ve already drifted back to sleep.

He quickly makes his way back out of his room, checking the doors are locked and the last couple of lights have been switched off before heading back and laying down beside you.

As soon as his body hits the mattress, you’re rolling over tucking yourself into his side again, your arm coming to rest on his chest; hand over his heart. As if you needed to feel his heartbeat to know that this was real. He pulls you in closer, if that’s even possible and his heart swells as he runs his hand through your hair.

“I like having you here.” He whispers in the dark, not expecting you to answer.
“I like being here with you too.” You whisper back, though he’s pretty sure you won’t have any knowledge of this conversation in the morning. But it’s also a moment he won’t forget any time soon.

You were still asleep when Frankie stirred. Pressed against his chest, your head tucked into the crook of his neck like you belonged there. Which he was starting to believe you did.

He laid there, listening to your quiet breathes. He could smell your fruity shampoo, his own scent of sawdust, eucalyptus and lemon now mixed with you. He thought about how being here, with you; he didn’t have to be the versions of himself that he hid behind, he could just be him. And you hadn’t expected him to be something that he wasn’t.

It wasn’t awkward when you woke up. Still tangled together. Frankie tried to pretend he hadn’t been watching you sleep but you didn’t call him out on it either. He made coffee for himself and tea for you and then you made your way back to your own place to get ready.

You were happy to finally be heading to the bookshop. It’s not that you hadn’t wanted to go before, you did. Desperately. It’s that part of you knows deep down, that once you go to the bookstore, you won’t leave to go home. Back to your life from before. No matter where you go you always end up falling in love with the bookstore you visit. You’ve even gone so far as to sending in your nieces with a list to pick up some new reads for you. It’s just that this time, this bookstore, has a lot more that you want to stay for.

You and Frankie decided to walk, the weathers finally broke so it’s a lot cooler than it has been. Stopping to grab breakfast on the way, warm drinks and pastries. Something that’s becoming a weekly habit with you both.

You’re definitely one of those people that gets excited by a bookstore and this one is no exception. You also love the fact that it’s got a used and rare section to it as well. Between the pair of you, you could easily spend hours here. And you did.

You and Frankie spent over two hours in the bookstore. Picking out books, looking at others, secretly catching glimpses of each other as you got lost in the world of books. You’d both been amused at the way each of you focused on the books you picked up; the way you both light up when finding a book you’d either wanted to read or one you and Frankie had talked about last night, teasing each other about adding yet another book to the pile Frankie was carrying for you both.

By the time you leave, there’s eight books in a reusable tote bag between the both of you. Some picked for yourselves; others picked for each other, something to read together. A Lily King novel you hadn’t read and a vintage copy of The Bell Jar. A rare copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet and an Olga Tokarczuk book for Frankie. An Ocean Vuong book to read together along with Like Love by Maggie Nelson. A book of poetry. And one about the way the body holds onto trauma.

Along with plans to go back tomorrow to ask the owner, you and Frankie got chatting to, more about that help wanted sign you spotted behind the counter.

Chapter Text

You’re excited for a day at the beach; somewhere a bit off the beaten track, only really known by the locals. Supposedly, absolutely beautiful and given what you’ve seen while living here the last month, you don’t expect anything less. 

Frankie had dropped you off at your sisters to help herd the kids together, then headed down to the beach to meet the guys and set up for the day. 

It was fun, spending this time with your family. You and your nieces ganged up on your sister, with you telling stories about her wild youth. Singing along to the radio, annoying your nephew, as he was outnumbered by the five of you. 

As your group makes its way to meet Frankie and the rest of the guys, your sister leading the way as you have no idea where you’re going. 

The pathway to the beach opens up and the view truly is stunning. Definitely secluded as you wouldn’t have found it had you been on your own.  Beautiful golden sand, already warmed by the sun with seashells and pebbles poking through. Crystal blue water. 

You’re distracted by the view, for obvious reasons, but as you turn to catch up all you can think of is how grateful you are to be wearing your sunglasses. Your mouth goes dry as you see Frankie. Seemingly already sun-kissed. His bare chest and back, your gaze subconsciously, instinctively dropping. Taking all of him in as you get closer. 

His chest; broad and somehow even broader than what you’ve originally thought and his shoulder to waist ratio is something you don’t have words for. He’s solid. Frankie doesn’t have chiseled abs or the form of a body builder, not like Benny or Santi. But there’s no mistaking the muscles he has, you can see how strong he is as his arms and back flex. 

There’s freckles dotting his skin and a slight softness to his stomach, as a soft looking patch of hair beneath his navel runs down below his swim shorts. 

He was real and natural and held a confidence, different to the rest of the guys.  

You stared. Longer than you should. A lot longer. Frankie noticed. You know he noticed. That little smirk appeared on his face that told you, he’d noticed. Frankie didn’t say anything and you were grateful not be called out over it. But he might have stood a little straighter once he realised. Pleased about you looking at him. 

You all get settled now, towels and umbrella’s had been set up, the coolers packed with cold drinks. Your nephew had already dragged Pope and Benny, along with your sister to the water. Your teenage nieces opting for sunbathing instead. Frankie guided you over to where he had placed your towel and his own next to each other, before setting up a volleyball net with Will. 

You set your bag down, opting to take your shorts and cover up off, leaving you in just your bikini. You took no notice at first, your bikini wasn’t anything special. Just something plain and simple, it didn’t show too much. 

But as you turn back, over to where Frankie was standing, you spot him already looking at you. You try to suppress a smirk of your own, seeing the way his eyes greedily take you in, the same way your own did for him. He’s completely focused on you, watching every move you make as if looking anywhere else would be a crime. 

It gives your own confidence a boost. Seeing the way Frankie looks at you. You could only hope, no one else had noticed the way you two were today and the way your skin heated, the longer Frankie looked at you.

You think back to your conversation with Emma the other day, when Frankie dropped off lunch for the both of you. She’d teased about Frankie, telling you he looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars. And while you’d brushed it off in hopes of getting her to stop the teasing, part of you couldn’t help but believe what she was telling you. You’d had similar thoughts before when you’d catch Frankie looking at you, and could never quite believe yourself. But maybe you’re starting to think you should? 

Neither you nor Frankie say much to each other to begin with. Just shy smiles and stolen glances over sunglasses and the tops of books. 

Lunch rolls around sooner than you realised. You all come together again, sandwiches being passed round, along with drinks, fruit and those picky bit foods you only ever seem to eat on days like this. 

Frankie steals a bite of your sandwich, so you steal the last of his crisps. You’re both sitting far too close together for people who insist that they’re only friends. 

But it’s hard to hide the way he makes your throat tighten and your breath hitch. Especially when he lets his new name for you fall so easily from his lips. His honeybee. After he’d spotted the tattoo earlier. 

It earns him a soft laugh from you, nervous and fragile, yet comfortable. Frankie’s thumb traces your cheekbone before he smirks, affectionally pinching your chin between his thumb and finger. Teasing you. Like you’d been teasing each other all day. 

After lunch comes a suncream top up, Frankie asks if you’ll get his back for him, something in which he returns the favour for. You had knelt behind him while he sat, but when it came to your turn, you sat between his legs. 

He’s squeezes the suncream onto his hand first, rubbing his hands together to warm it up. It doesn’t stop you from flinching at the jolts of heat spreading through your spine as his hands gently rub the suncream on your back. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t think it would be that cold.”

“It’s fine.’ You practically squeak back out, your nerve endings feeling as though they’re on fire just from Frankie touching you. 

Neither one of you aware of the other one’s inner-turmoil over Frankie rubbing suncream on you. 

And just to add even more heat, Frankie then whispers “can I?” 

You’d got lost in the feeling of his hands on you, so wasn’t aware of what he’s asking you but you agree to it anyway. 

Delicately, cautiously and respectfully he allows his fingers to slid underneath your bikini straps, making sure there’s not an inch of your back or shoulders that could possibly get burnt from the sun. His hands weren’t greedy, they didn’t rush, he took his time. Moving slowly and reverently. And somehow you didn’t combust from the feeling. 

“All done.” His voice was rough as he said it, like he was struggling to stay composed. 

“Thanks,” you stutter out, turning your head back to look at him. Which was a mistake; your eyes lingered on his mouth. Then his hands as they moved in the corner of your eye. You noticed a bead of sweat running down the side of his neck and you almost moaned. 

Frankie wasn’t doing much better, his gaze had lingered on your lips, a moment too long before dragging his eyes back up and taking in the hue on your cheeks, your neck. He looked away, clearing his throat, scratching at his patchy beard. 

You were relieved when Pope called out for Frankie, wanting him to join in with the volleyball again. You felt like you hadn’t breathed the whole time you’d sat between Frankie’s legs, completely flustered over what was happening between you and him. 

You chose that time to go grab a cup of sea water, and a chance to quickly cool off. Or at least an attempt. And decided to do some painting, as you’d brought your water colours with you. 

Emma and the kids soon joined in with you, with the kids refusing to join in with the volleyball game, much to Pope’s disappointment. You knew they’d been giving Pope a hard time about dating their mother, the girls especially, they are teenagers after all. But they did like him, they’d secretly told you, making you promise not to say anything. They didn’t push too far with the whole disliking him thing, but they also didn’t want him to think that winning them over was easy. 

Hours passed as you laid on the sand, painting. You’d cooled down from earlier, despite the heat and had dried off too. You’d refused to watch anymore volleyball games, you couldn’t risk it with Frankie playing. But you hadn’t realised he was in the water, until he was coming out. 

Honestly, maybe you had heatstroke. Because he looked far too good coming out of the water. His hair was slicked back and already curling at the ends. Even more broader when wet, with water running down his chest and dripping from the hair beneath his navel. 

He made his way over to you with a mischievous grin on his face and before you’d even realised he’d picked you up and was now running back into the water, despite your screams to get him to put you down. 

You cling to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, as he holds onto you in the water. You’re both soaking now, but Frankie can tell you aren’t annoyed with him. Not when you keep grinning up at him. 

When he finally does release his hold on you, you instantly splash him with water, laughing and making a quick escape back to the sand. Settling down with your book and discreetly watching Frankie, once again. 

The sun was just starting to set, burnt orange, candy pink and gold decorating the sky. The air had cooled too, finally, but heat still clung to you, thick in the air between you and Frankie. Like a storm waiting to break, that first drop of rain before it poured. 

Hunger won out, as the group began to tidy up and make their way back to the cars. 

Your sister caught up with you before you got into Frankie’s truck, after a round of hugs and bye’s. 

Pulling you into a hug before leaning back to look at you.                

“I know you said you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday this year,” she starts, “but I thought this might entice you to make some memories while you’re here.” Handing over the gift bag in her hand to you. “So technically it’s not a birthday gift but I didn’t just want to let it pass.” Emma adds, she doesn’t give you a chance to say anything before she jogs back over to her own car, with Santi and the kids waiting for her. 

A chill comes over you as Frankie helps you into his truck, rounding the truck to the drivers side he passes you his sweatshirt when he gets in. You curl up on the passenger side with his sweatshirt tucked under your chin and you wish you could have a million more days like this. The summer heat, the sea salt air whipping through your hair. Spending time with your family and new friends. Frankie by your side. 

Chapter Text

You didn’t mention your birthday, you were hoping it would just pass by. Frankie hadn’t questioned the gift bag Emma had given you the day at the beach, so you hoped that he didn’t know.

Especially as you didn’t open the gift until you actually went home to the guesthouse. It was beautiful, a camera, polaroid. Which you understood why Emma mentioned about making more memories. You used to photograph everything when you were younger, but you haven’t done it in a couple of years. Despite his flaws, your father was the first one to buy you a camera, it was only one of the children’s cameras, one not easy to break. But you loved it dearly.

The cameras had changed over the years but your love for photography had not, at least not until your father died.

He’d left while you were still young, four, barely remembering a time when he was around. He’d cut all contact with you, but that wasn’t the case for your sister. You wonder if thats why you kept up the photography when you were younger, a way to keep a connection with him.

He’d been sick for some time and you wasn’t sure if you did want to reach out, to see him for the first time in years but ultimately you decided against it. He was the one that left, that cut contact, not you. You were a child. It shouldn’t be up to you to reach out. He died a couple of months later after you’d decided not to reach out and your camera’s sat collecting dust.

You keep to the same routine as normal. An early morning walk down to the beach with Frankie; your cups of coffee and tea in hand, and you’d put your new camera in your bag at the last minute. Deciding that you did want memories of your time here, ones that weren’t just on your phone.

You take photos of the sunrise, the ceramic travel mugs you and Frankie have, side by side. A picture of Frankie, he didn’t know you were taking until it was too late and in return insisting that one of you must be taken too. He makes you laugh, and for the first time in years, your heart doesn’t feel heavy on your birthday.

You walk back from the beach slowly, eyeing up the clouds forming above, Frankie breaks out in a sweat when you exclaim how good it would be to have some rain to break the mugginess thats been forming for days from the heat. You don’t think much of it, honestly you feel a bit sweaty yourself and you know Frankie’s like a furnace after spending so much time with him.

You and Frankie head home to have breakfast. He makes pancakes while you pick some fruit from the garden to go with it.

Sitting down to eat, you notice that Frankie has a look about him, like he was keeping a secret. He seemed nervous too, you’d spotted him on more than one occasion on the way home, checking his phone. But it was like he was waiting for you to ask what was on his mind, a glint in his eyes, that kept sparkling. Eventually you give in, asking if he’s alright, is everything okay?

He brushes off your concern over him, choosing instead to mention that he’ll be taking you out tonight. And to wear something nice.

He seems to stumble over his words slightly then, exclaiming that you always look nice. Before he can say anything else, you laugh at his awkwardness, telling him it's fine, you’ll wear something nice, as he’s requested. It makes him laugh too, and you wish you could bottle up the sound. Things go back to normal after that.

Despite your efforts at getting him to tell you where he was taking you, he refused to give in. He’d only answer your questions with, “it’s a surprise” and “trust me, you’re going to love it” but you could see the nerves forming the longer Frankie drove.

What he didn’t realise was that you’d go anywhere with him. You hadn’t wanted to let him get too close, but that ship sailed long ago, he’d easily broke through the walls you’d built to keep yourself safe and the thing was you hadn’t even realised he’d done it until it was too late. Your mind, body and soul had already made space for him, tucking him away without asking for permission first.

A quiet intimacy settles between you in Frankie’s truck. You find yourself watching him in the muted glow of sunlight, the shadows dancing across his face and his steady, focused hands on the wheel.

You’d been driving for a while when Frankie handed you a blindfold and asked you to put it on.

“You trust me?” He asks, glancing at you before going back to the road again.

“I do.” You answer, but still don’t move to put the blindfold on.

“It won’t be for long, girasol, we’re almost there.”

You don’t answer but place the blindfold over your eyes, completely blocking your view. Frankie takes hold of your hand, giving it a small squeeze. Soon enough you come to a stop, he tells you he won’t be long, only a couple of minutes and leaves with you promising that you won’t look.

He keeps his word, opening your door and helping you out of his truck, guiding you to where he wants you to stand.

You can feel him close behind you: his breath on your shoulders, his light grazing touch as he gently lifts the blindfold from you and says, “open your eyes for me, mi girasol.”

You open your eyes and can’t help the gasp that escapes your mouth. “Oh Frankie, wow!”

In front of you is a field full of sunflowers. Standing so tall and seemingly going on for miles. You’re amazed, completely stunned by the view in front of you. It could’ve been hours but it was actually just minutes that you stood there taking in where you were.

Frankie watches you as you take in the flowers. Completely in awe of them. Every time he looks at you, he feels his heart burst.

Part of him couldn’t remember what it was like not to have you by his side, not to want this; a life with you where he could surprise you with a drive to see sunflowers but still get excited over the mundane every day things like standing side by side at the sink drying dishes while the other washed.

The other part, continued to be surprised that you were still here, that he hadn’t made you run from him yet.

“I figured you’d like it,” he whispers in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I love it Frankie, it’s beautiful.” You reply, looking over your shoulder at him. Finding your throat dry, eyes flickering to his mouth when you realise how close his lips are to your own.

“I was driving over to the next town last week, saw this and it instantly made me think of you and I, I wanted to show you.” He’s shy as he tells you.

“Then I’m really glad you showed me.” You tell him, more confidently, but just as honest.

He looks at you then, really looking, not hiding behind his hat when you’ve notice him looking at you at home. Breaking the spell, he turns you around, gesturing to the little picnic he’s set up.

There’s blankets, a couple of pillows, a picnic basket. There was fancy sandwiches he’d made, pasta salad, plenty of fruit, a cake too, which you now understand why he’d disappeared for a few hours this afternoon.

Just like he did this morning Frankie insists, on taking a picture of you standing in front of the flowers, in return you request a picture of him, it’s only fair.

What you don’t see when you finally sit down to eat, is Frankie tucking the picture of you inside his wallet to keep it safe.

You rest your head lightly on his shoulder, the weight of his arm wrapped around you. Your fingers tangled with his, that involuntary thumb stroke he does, slowly and steady over the back of your hand, as you and him chat quietly about everything and nothing, surrounded by the sunflowers, and the darkening sky.

You love the way he expresses himself to you, the way he says things that are meant for your ears only. The soft, intimate, loving gestures. So distracted in the little bubble you and Frankie find yourselves in, and not for the first, but still neither of you are aware of the storm thats been brewing on and off all afternoon finally decided to burst.

The grey clouds that had been on and off all day, give way and in a matter of seconds you and Frankie are drenched. Soaking wet.

Between you both, grabbing the picnic basket, blankets, glasses; you make quick work of tidying up before you run to Frankie’s truck.

It’s silent sitting in Frankie’s truck until you both burst out laughing. Frankie groans, shaking his head, making the water flick everywhere “I was hoping the rain would hold off, at least for a couple more hours.”

“Is this what you’ve been worrying about all day?” You question, a slight teasing tone.

Frankie looks up at you then from where he had his head in his hands, “was it that obvious?”

“I knew something was up, it made sense once I saw the sunflowers.” You reply.

“I wanted to do something nice for you and…” Frankie starts, before he can carry on, you lean over placing a hand on his thigh, “Frankie, this was nice. I’ve had such a good time tonight.”

“Really?” He doesn’t seem convinced, as he places his hand on top of yours resting on his thigh.

“Really.” You state and he gives your hand a squeeze.

You’re standing close together outside Frankie’s truck. The air had cooled with the downpour and luckily the rain was holding off for now, even just for a few moments. But your skin feels hot, burning from the charged tension radiating between you and Frankie.

His gaze flickers over you, taking in your warmed cheeks and the rain drops still clinging to your skin. He brings his hand up to push your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. Your hair is still damp. His hands slide from your hair to cup your cheek, his palm is warm and steady. He leans in, body pressing against yours. His arms around your waist, your own wrapped around his neck.

When your arms slid down from his neck, he catches your wrist, bringing it to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss against your pulse. Your heart does something stupid at that, feels as though it’s beating outside of your chest. And without thinking you shift closer to Frankie.

Letting go, his hands find your waist; careful and warm.

You’re not sure who leans in first, you or him. He grazes your lips with his own, before they meet, warm and patient, gentle. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was slow, steady, slightly hesitant. But full of unspoken promises. One of his hands lift to brush his fingers along your cheek, once again, before he touches his palm to the back of your neck, pulling you in.

You melt into his touch. His kisses. Getting lost in Frankie as he invades all your senses.

He was kissing you. Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Then you remember that you can’t do this. Bringing your palms up to his chest, you push lightly at him. You manage to say “stop,” so quietly, softly, you’re not even sure you said it out loud.

Pulling back, he presses his forehead to yours, as you both catch your breaths. It’s quiet, not a drop of rain or the sound of birds tweeting away in the trees. Only the sound of heavy breathing, the kind that only comes after something irreversible happens. His hands fall from your face, making their way to your waist, his eyes are closed, only for a moment, as he pulls you closer to him. Your throat tightens. You can’t look at him, keeping your eyes down, looking at the ground. You can already feel the tears forming.

He’s still holding your waist, thumb rubbing circles absentmindedly. His voice is low; deep and gravely, as he asks if you’re okay.

You pull back and your words are soft , more whispered than actually spoken. Not sure whose heart you’re going to break more, Frankie’s or your own.

“I’m sorry, I just… I can’t do this.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, I just… I can’t do this.” You stutter out. 

As soon as those words leave your lips, you see Frankie start to retreat into himself, building walls of his own protection against you. And you can instantly feel the guilt pouring into your stomach, filling your lungs, surrounding your ribs. 

He lets go of your waist, taking a step back. Feeling the loss of his heat against you. Desperately, you want to reach out, pull him back close to you. But you know you can’t, it wouldn’t be fair to Frankie. The consequences of the whiplash of your emotions. 

Frankie doesn’t understand what’s happening. What’s changed? Inwardly, he begins to spiral. Second guessing everything that has developed between you both these past few weeks, so naturally and so easily. The looks and inside jokes, the little touches, the domesticity. 

Has he completely misread the whole thing? 

“Can we at least go inside and talk?” He asks so softly, gently. As if asking too loudly would push you further away. 

He was worried about you pulling back, slipping back into yourself and hiding away in that practiced way you did when you’re scared. He’d noticed that about you, he’d recognised the signs because he did the same. Could feel himself doing the same right in this moment. And he didn’t want to fall back into that old defence mechanism of shutting down, pushing people away, making things worse. Not with you. Especially not with you. He couldn’t let that happen. 

“Would that be ok?” He whispers out, hopeful. 

You can’t speak. You don’t trust yourself. You can only nod in response and follow Frankie inside. As he stands at the open front door, you see that his gaze is full of a mix of emotions; guilt, want and relief. 

The air between you is thick, full of all the things unsaid between you and him, as you stand in the hallway. Frankie breaks the silence first, “Do you want to shower? Warm up after all that rain?” His voice comes out rough and ragged as he asks. 

“I can shower at mine.” You answer, still not trusting yourself. You’re desperate to run, but Frankie deserves better so you stay. 

“Will you come back after?” He asks and you can hear to nerves in his voice. You struggle for an answer, but it’s an answer Frankie clearly knows.

He heads for the stairs, gesturing to you to follow him, “You can use my shower, I’ll get you some clothes.” 

He’d left you to shower in his bathroom, choosing to use the guest bathroom for himself. 

Turning the water on to warm up, he pulls the polaroid out of his pocket as he takes his jeans off. he couldn’t understand how so much had changed within a couple of hours. 

Holding the photo in his hand, the memory of how happy you’d been among the sunflowers. He’d made you laugh as he took the picture. Your head tilted back, eyes closed. You looked so carefree, peaceful, full of love. 

He looks at the second photo he’d hidden away then. One of the both of you. You still had that look about you from the first photo, but what caught his eye was the way he’d been looking at you. Like you were the only thing that mattered. It was instinctive, natural for him. But he hadn’t been fully aware of it until now. How easily he showed his love for you.

Standing under Frankie’s shower, you exhale. Feel the pressure in your chest ease slightly. You let the water wash away the evening while trying to make sense of everything that happened. The sunflowers and the picnic, the mad dash in the rain. The kiss. The kiss that you stopped. 

Eventually you step out. Drying off, you pick up the clothes Frankie left out for you. A soft, worn navy sweatshirt and a pair of grey joggers that you have to roll up at the waist. 

You were surrounded by him. Wrapped up in Frankie. You’d used his body wash in the shower and the clothes smelt like him. Comforting, familiar. Padding out of Frankie’s bedroom, you make your way downstairs. 

Frankie’s fresh out of the shower too. Waiting for you on the sofa. You take a moment to look at him; his hair is damp, full of messy curls that stick up every which way from where he’d roughly dried it. He’s wearing grey joggers too along with a white tee that strains his shoulders as he sits there. You see the flick of his wrist, a tremor in his knees. He’s nervous and that made you feel less alone in your feelings. 

He notices you then and without a word, Frankie grabs a clean towel from the laundry. An instinct to look after you, even when you’re both hurting. He’s firm, but careful with his touch as he dries the ends of your hair. It makes your throat tighten. That even when you’re trying to not need Frankie, trying not to want him, trying to push him away. He’s still here. Looking after you. 

As he finishes towelling your hair, he breaks the tension by asking, “Did I do something wrong? Have I upset you?”

“No, no Frankie.” Your voice breaks as you turn around, continuing, “Please, don’t for one second think that this is your fault. It’s not, it’s mine. Completely mine.”

Frankie sits back on the sofa, head in his hands for a moment before he looks up at you, “I don’t understand, I thought things were good between us. I thought you knew how I feel about you. His voice is rough, vulnerable. Your eyes sting. His does too. 

You don’t mean to cry, but the tears come anyway; hot streams against your cheeks. Before he thinks better of it he takes your hand, guiding you to sit next to him, closing the distance between you both; instinctively bringing his arms around you, tucking you into his chest.   "You're okay. I've got you.” He murmurs against your hair. 

His fingers gently lift your chin, turning your head towards him, face to face. His eyes full of warmth and reassurance, but you can see the pain there too. 

Frankie wipes away the tears that had fallen down your face, cupping your cheeks. He knows the look on your face all too well. A look of quiet ache. Not just sadness. Not just tiredness. One he often sees in the mirror, looking back at him. One that comes from holding on to too much; too much pain, too much heartache, but with the pretence of everything being fine. 

He says your name. Not one of his nicknames for you, not girasol, or honeybee or cariño. The names that always make your heart beat that little bit faster when he says it. But your name, your real name. 

“Please talk to me,” he whispers to you, searching your face for clues. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” you whisper back, closing your eyes to hide the pain of breaking both Frankie’s and yours hearts. 

“Why not?” He asks, still cupping your cheeks. 

“Because… because I’m supposed to be leaving at the end of the month.” You choke out, realising in that moment that you don’t have a good enough reason to give as to why this wouldn’t work. And that made your shame worse. Your guilt and fear. Because you’d allowed this to happen, you’d let yourself become attached to Frankie; let him develop feelings for you. And he didn’t know everything. Not all of it at least. Not what you’d hidden behind your ribs, where it lived, locked away. The messy, raw things that even your sister didn’t know the full extent of. The wreck and ruin. 

“You could stay. You can stay forever if you want.” His voice is so soft, as he tells you and you feel another crack in your heart. 

“Frankie,” you whisper out his name. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to explain to him that you would stay, you don’t want to leave. That it feels so natural with him, but you know it won’t last. 

“You can tell me, whatever it is that’s worrying you; you can tell me. Anything.” Frankie’s waiting patiently, giving you the time to form your words. You can hear him breathing, feel the warmth from his hands holding your face, the gentleness he’s always shown you. You look at him then,  see the darkness of his eyes searching yours and your resolve begins to crack. 

“I’m scared Frankie. So scared.” You choke out, feeling your hands tremble, “Of the damage you could find in me and the damage you could do to me.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, I couldn’t. Mi girasol, I love-“ 

“Please don’t say that Frankie.’ You cut him off, tears flowing freely, you stand up to move away, but Frankie stops you. Taking hold of your hand, tugging at you to sit back down.  

“But I do, I need you to know that I do.” He tells you. 

“Love and leaving are linked for me Frankie. They have been for so long.” You know deep down it wouldn’t last because it never does. “Everyone I have ever loved has made me feel like a burden to them, has somehow made me feel both too much and not enough. I’m not a good person and once someone stumbles upon that thing that makes me unloveable. That thing that I can’t name and can’t see and can’t place, but what I know is there. As soon as they find it they leave. And the longer I let this,” you gesture between you and Frankie as you ramble on,  “continue, whatever this may be between us. Whatever I want this to be between us. The more it will hurt when you ultimately decide I’m not worth it.” 

Your nose is stuffy and the tears are still flowing but you don’t stop, you need this out there now. You need Frankie to know. “Even my own family don’t want me around anymore. They blame me for what happened to my mum. I wasn’t even in the car, but she’d just dropped me off before the accident… The worst thing is they think I don’t blame myself, but I do. I blame myself so much. We’d had an argument in the car and I can’t help but think if we hadn’t argued then maybe… maybe she’d still be here.” Your lips tremble as you finish.  

“What about your sister? And the kids?” He asks. 

“She knows they blame me. Keeps telling me that I shouldn’t blame myself, that it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t help it. You know, this is probably the best mine and hers relationship has been  for the first time since we were kids. After our dad died, we didn’t even speak to each other for about a year. I wouldn’t even talk to the kids. Thats how awful of a person I am.” You trail off, wiping your eyes. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch at your words, just watches you. Sees the guilt and the pain you kept hidden away, fully exposed. The heartache. It hurts him to know that you went through this on your own, that even though he didn’t know you then, he couldn’t be there for you to hold you through the pain. He would do anything for you. You’d made him feel so full of affection, of peace, of love, of things he’d long given up on in this lifetime. You make him feel like he matters, that he’s worth more than the way he’s been treated in the past, more than the way he’s treated himself, more than just the things he’s done. And you do this despite everything you’d had to go through. 

It broke him. To know that you’d been made to feel this way. To know you’d been blamed for something out of your control, treated as if you weren’t worthy enough, that you were both too much and not enough for people that didn’t deserve you in their lives, that you weren’t loved how he dreams of loving you. 

He’s been quiet too long, and that panics you, so you start to ramble again between your short breaths. “You’re such a good man Frankie, and you’ve made me feel so safe, loved, protected. More than I think I ever have before and I can’t trust it. I can’t trust that it won’t be broken. Even though I know, deep down you wouldn’t hurt me. ”

“I’m not a good man.” Frankie states, gruffly as you take a deep breath. 

“Frankie? What makes you say you’re not a good man?” You question. 

“I’m not. I’ve killed people I shouldn’t. Been too quick on the trigger. I took drugs to cope with what I’ve done and then I lost my pilots license because of it.” His eyes are streaming now too. You’re both two broken people, trying to find a way to survive. 

Frankie continues, “I was angry. So angry. The kind that sinks in deep. I stopped trusting myself. Doubting everything, everyone. I didn’t think I deserved to be here anymore. I lashed out, hurt not just myself but others too. It was why I threw myself into fixing up this house and building furniture and I thought it was enough… I was doing better… and then you showed up. And you treated me like I was worthy of more, that I wasn’t broken. A light in a place I’d thought was long gone.” 

His voice breaking, he takes a breath. There’s a desperate desire you can see in Frankie; to get all his emotions out, lay his cards on the table for you. 

“You don’t have to love me. I’m not expecting anything, you don’t have to make any promised just… let me take care of you. Let me try. You deserve to be loved and feel safe and protected. I’m not like those other people. They’re the ones that weren’t worthy enough of your love, not the other way around. You’re everything. You deserve everything. I wouldn’t leave or run or disappear and I’d stop you from hiding yourself away. Tell you everyday that you don’t need to hide to be loved. I’d protect you, not because I think you need it but because the world is cruel and if I can be that safe space for you, I will. And if there’s anything worth protecting, it’s you. So stay. For as long as you want to. I’ll be here. I won’t leave.” 

You feel the air leave your lungs. A flicker of disbelief crosses your mine, because how could someone like him think he doesn’t deserve anything more, but also thinks that you’re worthy of a lot more. 

His eyes remain on you and all you can think about is that if not now, with him, you’d likely never feel something this real again. You know you won’t, ever since you met Frankie it’s been different with him than it had with anyone else. 

He actually feels like something you can hold onto. His words sink into you, warm and grounding. Frankie’s still a good man, he’s not going to change your mind about that. There’s still a lot you two need to talk about, but the worst is out there and neither of you have run. 

“Frankie, you deserve to have all that too. Not just me.” 

He shakes his head, like he can’t quite believe you. 

You both feel so empty yet emotional too. And that’s when you decide that you’re tired of always having your guard up, being scared of getting hurt by people you love and you love Frankie. You really do. You fully believe him when he tells you he’s not going anywhere and that you can stay. Because you do desperately want to stay. 

You take a deep breath, “I want this. I want you, Frankie. If you’ll have me.” You tell him, confidence in your voice and you can feel the anticipation growing. 

You see the resolve crack in Frankie, at your words. An aching kind of hunger. 

A pin could drop amongst the silence in the room but it wouldn’t be heard over the heavy breaths coming from you both. 

Frankie leans in bringing his forehead to rest against yours, slow at first, almost as if he was giving you time to change your mind. But you didn’t. You wouldn’t.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks so softly, just above a whisper.

Your breath hitches, “please,” you whisper back. 

You lean in towards him, lips parting as his find yours. Melting into the kiss, he curls one hand around the back of your neck as his lips move against yours. The kiss is deep and tender, holding onto every second of it. Completely in the moment this time around. It was heat and need and full of everything that had been building between you and him. 

Your hands slide up his chest, curling around towards his neck. Pulling him closer as his own arms wrap around your middle, until there was no space left between you. He kisses you like he can’t quite believe this is happening, but neither can you. 

Time seems to slow; the solid weight of him in your arms and wrapped around you, the shared breaths between kisses, the warmth of his mouth. 

Pulling back from the kiss, you stay pressed together fully emerged in each other’s presence. Breaths still heavy. Heart racing. Pupils blown. Lips swollen. His hairs a mess. You’re almost sitting in his lap. He’s holding you close, as if he’s afraid to let go. 

“I…” he starts, voice rough. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Neither do I. But I’m not going anywhere.” You tell him. 

“I’m not going anywhere either.” 

An unspoken conversation seems to settle between you then. 

His voice is low, cautious as he says, “let’s go to bed.” 

There’s no pressure, it’s your choice. 

The weight of the moment hits you and you dive in, head first. 

Placing your hand in his, feeling the warmth spread through you as his fingers curl around yours and leads you through the house. Pulling you with quiet certainty. 

Love, affection had felt like something you had to earn, to prove yourself worthy of, for so long. But Frankie, he made it simple. Like you weren’t something he’s had to question. 

He reaches for you, as you settle. Feel the fire spreading through you from all the places he’s touching you. Neither of you move for a long time. Wrapped in each other’s arms. Wrapped in safety. You and Frankie breathed. And slept. Letting the storm pass through. And slowly began to heal. Together.