by Frankie Love
Of course, that’s not happening.
Not after my sex-a-thon with a stranger.
Is he a stranger though? I think about the gala, about the way his hand felt wrapped around mine, the way he fed me Chinese food in Central Park, the way he undressed me as if I were a fragile gift he didn’t want to break.
Then, later, the way he filled me with himself, our hearts beating hard, our bodies moving in rhythm to a beat of our own making.
Ford is no stranger… but he is also just a man passing through town.
I try to stop my mind from wandering to the what-ifs and the maybes. Truth is, ever since my mom died, I’ve had no space for that sort of consideration. Work. Bills. Keeping our heads above water. Those are the things that matter right now. I’m my siblings’ guardian, and they are my priority.
I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about Ford’s broad shoulders, his rugged beard. He is everything the men in this city are not. Untamed in a way I’m not used to. The men I meet in Manhattan are Peter Pans, never wanting to grow up.
But Ford? He’s a man who knew exactly what he wanted. He didn’t mess around, or play games, or forget to reply to a text. He’s not a man who swipes right—hell, I never saw him pull out a cell phone once the entire night. That’s a first—I’ve never met a man in the city who didn’t check his phone mid-conversation.
Eventually, I fall asleep… and my dreams must be sweet because when the alarm wakes me I have a smile plastered on my face. Which is a big deal since I’m not exactly a morning person.
I shower quickly—washing off the night before—then throw on leggings and a tank top. I try to avoid dressing in my uniform for as long as possible.
Heading to the kitchen, I call out for Mathias to wake up. There’s school today, and I’m getting his lunch ready while he rolls out of bed. “Just ten more minutes,” he begs from his room.
“Sorry, bro, I’ve gotta get to work.”
Caffeine is my singular goal. Smile or not, I operate on coffee. The aroma of the brewed pot wakes my sister, and soon enough Tahlia is peering over her steaming mug begging for details on the gala.
I’d been scared that she’d press me on details about what I did post-party, but then I remember she doesn’t see me like that; like the kind of woman who goes off and sleeps with strangers. It probably hasn’t crossed her mind. Right now, she’s focused on how her dress went over with the party guests.
“It was perfect. I wasn’t under or overdressed. And my date thought I was smoking hot.” I wiggle my eyebrows as I refill her coffee, loving that wearing her dress has given her a reason to smile. She’s usually so moody and most days I understand. This year has been hell. Our mom’s sudden death, me leaving college to move home and take care of things… none of it is ideal. But seeing her grin makes me grateful I said yes to Ford last night.
“Well, you better change,” she says. “Because if you see your date today in the lobby, he’s not gonna think that look is bringing sexy back.”
I tug at the hem of my top, scrunching up my face as I stir half-and-half into my coffee, my clothing the last thing on my mind. My mind has returned to Ford… him running his hands over my bare skin, his lips pressed against my mouth, his—
Tahlia brings me back to reality. “And your date, was he cool?”
I try to conceal my emotions and be the responsible adult that I am, giving no hint that I slept with the man I just met.
“He was great,” I say, meaning it. I move papers around the countertop, bills mostly, noting the file folder with half-finished applications. I really need to try and finish those up on my lunch break today. “He even showed me the place he’ll be installing his sculpture.”
“That’s awesome. I heard people are going to live-stream his progress.”
I grimace. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”
Tahlia just shrugs. “It’s better than people live-streaming totally creepy things.”
Just then Mathias wanders into the kitchen, asking what’s creepy.
“Nothing,” I tell him, handing him a piece of toast with peanut butter. I take a closer look and see that he’s holding the sixth Harry Potter book. “Are you almost done with it?”
“I finished last night. It was so good,” Mathias sighs. “And so sad. And so good. Did I say that? You were right, Mia, watching the movie first would have ruined it.” Mathias grabs his toast and shoves it in his mouth, shaking his head in amazement. “I mean, what a double-crosser.”
“Snape?” Tahlia asks, looking up from her phone. “O-M-G, I literally sobbed over Dumbledore. Remember, Mia? I told Mom I couldn’t go to school the next day. I was ruined!”
I smile. Families that HP together, stay together.
Mathias looks at me with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Turning to Tahlia, he asks, “Did she let you?”
Tahlia nods, biting her bottom lip, and smiles sadly. I’m sure she’s remembering the way Mom taught us to travel the world through books, to places she could never afford to take us. She would have loved to be standing in this kitchen right now discussing Hogwarts with her three children. It hardly seems real that we buried her a year ago.
“Sorry, Matty,” I say, always the bearer of bad news in our shoestring budget household. “But you’ve gotta go to school. I have to work today.”
“You always work.” He frowns, wiping peanut butter off his face. “We never leave this place.”
“And aren’t we so lucky that Mr. Roller lets us stay here at his hotel? Aren’t we grateful he let me take Mom’s old job?” I swear I have to remind him every other day that we could be in a worse position.
Tahlia snorts. “Right, because Mr. Roller did us a solid when he sold this place to the highest bidder.”
It’s true, he did sell… which means in six weeks, we’re gonna need a new place to live. And I will need a new job in order to secure us a place. I swallow, knowing how impossible this situation is.
Still, I’m trying not to be bitter. In reality, he could have kicked us out a long time ago.
“I hate this,” Matty says. The spark of happiness from our Harry Potter conversation is now lost. “You used to take me to—”
“I know, Matty,” I say exasperated. “I took you to museums and the park and a million other fun places that I don’t have time, or money, for anymore.” I look at Tahlia, pleading with her to help give Matty some fun. He needs fun.
“Hey, why don’t we hang out after school today?” she offers. “We can go to that used bookstore. They might have a copy of The Cursed Child. You’ll be ready for that in no time. I bet you already started book seven.”
Matty smiles sheepishly, and the circles under his eyes make more sense. I bet he stayed up more than half the night.
“Really?” Matty asks, his eyes now bright.
“Really,” Tahlia promises. “Now go get ready for school and we can walk together. Mia clearly needs some time to get herself ready today.” Tahlia purses her lips together playfully, looking at my outfit again. “I mean, really, Mia, you look like you just woke up.”
“I did just wake up,” I tell her, laughing because honestly, I don’t look that awful. I showered and I swear I read somewhere that leggings now count as pants.
Resting my back against the kitchen counter, I exhale with a smile. If my wardrobe choice is the biggest drama of the morning, then we’re going to be okay. We may be unconventional, but we’re still a family living in the best city in the world.
I just can’t let any of these balls drop.
No pressure.
8
Ford
The bed may be empty when I wake, but the memory of last night lingers in my mind. Maybe this city isn’t home, but with Mia around, it won’t be completely miserable. I get dressed in my usual clothes—no more tuxedos for me. Today is gonna be a long one, so blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and a pair of work boots will suit me just fine.
I run a hand over my beard as I walk toward the lobby looking for coff
ee, hoping that I’ll see her; that I’ll have a chance to ask her out. Dating isn’t my thing, but that’s because back home the women I see are the ones I’ve known my entire life. This is different though, Mia is interesting and new, and more than that, she’s fucking gorgeous. Not seeing her again isn’t an option.
Unfortunately, she isn’t in the lobby and concierge desk is empty. I head to the hotel restaurant and find a continental breakfast set out. I grab a cup of coffee and a muffin and sit with a newspaper someone left behind.
The paper is folded to the Lifestyles section and usually, I’d flip right over to the sports section, but the photo catches my eye. Hell, it’s me, last night at the gala. Being in the paper is the last thing I want… more attention on me and this project. But my arm is around Mia’s waist, which is a mighty fine consolation prize.
She holds a glass of champagne, smiling, and looking up at me. Damn, she looks good on my arm. The article itself gives me a case of fucking anxiety—” Colorado artist, Ford Thatcher, is here for an art installation the Mayor believes will be a triumph for the city.”
A triumph? Fucking hell. It’s metal. Forged together. Simple. Pure. Clean lines. Maybe a few flourishes if I’m feeling particularly generous.
Already, I know my piece is going to let people down and I haven’t even started. I’m no Picasso. I’m a fucking mountain man.
“Matty, only one,” a teenage girl says, frowning at a boy of ten or eleven as he grabs three donuts from the breakfast buffet.
He gives her a cocky grin. “Too late, Tallie. I already touched ‘em all.”
I smile, watching them as I drink my coffee. It’s classic brother-sister behavior. It’s hard not to picture Cedric in that boy though; they would be about the same age now. It always stings, seeing a kid his age, the what-ifs running through my mind.
But I stuff them away, knowing the past is buried; some stories are just too damn sad to tell.
“I don’t have to take you to the bookstore after school, you know,” the teenager says. She’s wearing platform combat boots, black jeans, black tee-shirt shirt, and eyes rimmed in black makeup.
“You already promised,” he pouts, pushing his tousled hair from his eyes while balancing his haul of old-fashions on top of a large book.
“Just don’t be a pig. At least use a napkin.” She pours herself coffee in a to-go cup. “Have you seen Mia?”
The name causes me to pause and do a double take. Truth is they do look a little like Mia. Dark hair and light eyes, same slight build.
The boy shakes his head. “No, and don’t tell her about the donuts. She’ll be pissed.”
“Yeah, because she already made you breakfast.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, well she already made you coffee.”
Tallie snorts, knocking her coffee against his pile of pastry in a pseudo-cheers. “Touché, little man, touché.”
They leave the room with backpacks on, chattering about Harry Potter and I try to fit those two into my picture of my date last night. My brows must be furrowed pretty fucking deep, because a minute later, Mia enters the restaurant, looking around, flushed like she’d been running. She has a piece of paper in her hand and a lunch box in her hand.
“Hey,” I say, standing.
“Are you okay? You look so serious.”
I lift my hands in defense. “I’m good. Swear.”
She looks around the room, distracted. “Has a boy come in here? Probably stealing donuts?”
I nod. “He just left. With a girl who looked like she got in a fight with a raccoon and lost. Or maybe she’s the raccoon?”
Mia smiles while rolling her eyes. “Oh, my God, right? I tell her, Tahlia, you look like a feral animal. She doesn’t care. She says it’s art.”
“Who are they?”
“Who?” She shakes her head, not following.
“Matty and Tahlia?”
“Oh.” She looks me as if I’m an idiot. “That’s my brother and sister.”
I nod. “And you live together? They mentioned you made them breakfast?”
She steps towards me with a smirk on her face. “Were you eavesdropping, Mr. Thatcher?”
Chuckling, I shrug. “They were pretty loud.”
She runs a hand through her dark hair, groaning. “Tell me about it. And besides being loud, they’re forgetful.” She raises the lunchbox. “This is Tallie’s.” She lifts the paper. “And this is Matty’s permission slip. Which he needs today or else he can’t go to the Island-Bridge thingy at the end of the school year.”
As I’m trying to work out why she is taking care of all this, Matty returns, racing toward Mia. He passes the hotel owner, Mr. Roller, on his way, who doesn’t seem at all fazed by a kid running in his lobby.
“Don’t be mad,” Matty says snatching the paper and the lunchbox from Mia’s hands. “You’re the best sister everrrr,” he hollers, already running back to the front entrance.
“Love you too,” she says under her breath. She presses her hands to the back of her neck. “Now you know why I never get out?”
“What do you mean?”
“Those two are a full-time job. I swear. I always assumed babies and toddlers were the hard ones, and I mean, granted I’ve never actually had an infant, but my sister’s sixteen and somehow, she’s the one who is always in the middle of a crisis. And at ten, Matty still can’t seem to brush his teeth without a reminder.” She waves her hands in the air. “Blah, sorry. Gosh. Talk about word vomit.” She exhales and drops her shoulders.
“No, it’s fine, I’m just taking it all in.” I watch her as she twists her hair into a bun and secures it on her head with a pencil. Then she walks over to the coffee and pours herself one, adding cream and sugar. “Do you live with them?” I ask, sidling up next to her and pouring myself a second cup, black.
“Yeah.” She looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’m their guardian. Didn’t I mention that last night?”
“No, actually. You didn’t.” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to fill in the details.
She stirs her coffee, sighing. “It’s actually a really sad story, to be honest. Kinda early in the day to get into it. And I have work in like sixty seconds.”
“Well, then,” I say, more intrigued than ever. “We should go out tonight, that way we’ll have longer than a minute to get to know one another better.”
She twists her lips, then moves past me, walking toward the front desk. I follow, loving the way her black pencil skirt hugs her ass. “I don’t think so, Ford. I have like a thousand things to do tonight.”
I lean over the counter, watching as she turns on her computer. “Like what?” I pluck a Post-it note from her desk. “Don’t forget, exclamation point,” I read. “Mother’s Day luncheon at Hillcrest noon, May 11th.” I reach for another note.
She tries to grab it from my hand but I’m approximately two feet taller than her. “Don’t move them, it’s my calendar. And my reminders. It’s a whole system.”
I read the next note, already taking a third. “Pilates, question mark. Need to exercise A.S.A.P.” I raise my eyebrows. “You can mark this one off your to-do list.”
She frowns. “No way. I haven’t been to the YMCA in two weeks.”
I grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but last night we had quite the workout, didn’t we?”
Her jaw drops and her cheeks flush. She takes the note and crumbles it into a ball, making a free-throw into the trash basket behind her.
“Fair enough,” she says, turning back to me. “But I’m honestly swamped.”
“Right.” I nod. “Tallie’s applications are due Monday.” I hand her back the last Post-it I peeled off her desk. She really is juggling a lot.
“Exactly. This weekend we must finish her summer internship applications. School’s out the last week of May, which is in like a few weeks. She’s already behind.”
“What kind of internship does she need?”
Mia sighs, her palm on the mouse, her eyes scanning her comp
uter screen. “Her high school is at the Manhattan Institute of Art.”
I laugh. “The MIA?”
Mia rolls her eyes. “I know. Ha-ha. The program is pretty awesome though. But Tallie isn’t exactly organized. She’s sixteen, too creative for her own good, and her head’s in the clouds. So, I need to help rein her in. With everything, really, but especially with these applications.”
“I could help.”
Mia frowns, looking up from her computer screen. “That’s really nice of you to offer but I’ve got it under control. I don’t need your help.”
“Right.” I nod waving a hand over her notes. “You have your system.”
“Exactly.” She gives me a tight smile. “Look, last night was great. And really fun. But I can’t do it again. It was a one-off. A fling. A…” She falters for a word.
“A one-night stand.”
“Exactly. You get it, right?”
“You know,” I tell her, “last night you didn’t mention you were their guardian.”
She shrugs. “So?”
“So, I think maybe you need some more fun in your life. I think you subconsciously omitted the detail because you wanted the night to be about you. Us.”
“Oh?” She crosses her arms. “So, now you’re the armchair psychologist?”
I shake my head laughing. “No, I’m a man trying to get you to go out with me.”
The phone on her desk starts ringing and I realize there is a queue of people behind me, waiting their turn to be helped.
“I’m sorry, Ford. But I’ve really got to get to work.”
I rap my knuckles on the worn wood counter. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me, too.”
I leave the hotel, wondering just how exactly I can win over a woman it seems I don’t know at all.
9
Ford
A week in, and I’m officially fucked. I haven’t seen Mia more than a few passing moments. Mostly because I’m at the job site fourteen hours a day trying to make some headway.
It’s not getting me very far. I stare at the pile of metal, waiting for some inspiration, while tourists take photos of me “working”. That only adds to the tension.
