by Cate Ashwood
“I think we were disconnected before. I was telling Mason I hoped you guys could schedule this month’s delivery a little sooner than usual. We had a caravan of truckers in through last week and we’re down to the bottom of the barrel so to speak.”
“You need it ASAP?”
“Yeah. Not too many locals around here, but cut ’em off from their beer and you’re not gonna like the results.”
“I got ya.” Frankie was watching me, the corner of his mouth curled into a curious smile. “Gimme a few to load up the truck, and I’ll be out on the next ferry.”
“You don’t gotta drop everything on my account. I can survive a day or two.”
“Nah, it’s nothing. I’ll bring it out myself.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
“Be there soon.”
I hung up the phone and turned and walked out before Frankie could say anything. I had a good feeling he was going to call me a chickenshit coward or whatever the fabulous New York lingo equivalent was.
No matter the terminology, he’d be right. I was running. I needed space away from him because clearly I couldn’t be trusted to keep my fucking dick in my pants when it came to him. I had absolutely no control. I’d gone more than three decades without being this much of a shithead. Even in high school when all my friends were chasing tail at keggers at the beach, I’d been so much more even-keeled. But now, it was like I was thirteen and just discovered what my dick was for.
It would take me the rest of the day to make that delivery. Russell’s pub was just a boat ride away, but the ferries only ran every few hours. All I could hope was that a day away from Frankie, a day away from the brewery and the site of… what had happened between us, would be enough time and distance that I could get my head back on straight and forget anything had ever happened.
Almost a week had passed since the near miss in my office, and the trip to Russell’s had done more harm than good, if that was even possible. In the days since, I’d kept my distance from Frankie, swapping out tasks with Ted, who usually ran the deliveries, and Dee, who spent most of her day in the brewhouse, which was as far away from the office as I could get without leaving the building.
When Frankie entered a room, I would leave it. When he arrived or left for the day, I’d go out back to supervise shit that didn’t need supervision.
The whole situation was so beyond fucked that I didn’t know where to start. In fact, the only thing in my life that hadn’t been complicated by Frankie Bell was my administrative department.
When Mason had let me know the entire staff was taking Frankie out on Friday night to celebrate his birthday, my first instinct had been to tell them to have fun and spend the night at home questioning all my life decisions.
That obviously hadn’t happened because although I’d spent days avoiding him, here I was, sitting on a stool at the end of the bar as half the room sang him Happy Birthday.
I’d hoped that by now, I would have gotten him out of my system, that that night had been a weird lapse in willpower. But I’d been at J’s for three hours, and from the moment he walked into the room, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off him.
Frankie, with his tousled hair and pale, smooth skin, was compelling most days, but tonight, apparently in celebration of his birthday, he’d gone all out. Not only were his clothes tight enough that they might as well have been airbrushed directly onto his skin, but he’d added makeup.
Dramatic, smoky strokes of charcoal around his eyes contrasted with the gold that shimmered over his cheekbones, even in the dim light of the bar. Frankie, as the center of attention for the night, was absolutely basking in it.
“Having a good time?” Mason plunked himself down on the stool next to me.
I shrugged. “Nice not to be at work, I guess.”
“Whoa, tone down the enthusiasm a bit. People are gonna think you’re a fucking psycho.”
I glared at him. “It’s been a long week.”
“And now it’s the weekend. So, let loose a little.”
“Like that?”
I gestured toward Frankie, who leaned over the bar, whispering something in Jane’s ear. She grinned and nodded, and Frankie pressed a kiss to her cheek. A moment later, the music started up and Frankie started to dance.
He didn’t seem to give a shit that no one else was dancing, that this was a hometown pub in the middle of Alaska, not a trendy nightclub in Manhattan. He danced like he was auditioning to be a go-go dancer at some exclusive VIP spot. He swayed his hips, his body undulating to the music, head thrown back—it was beautiful and hypnotizing. He looked so fucking free.
“Wouldn’t kill you.”
“I don’t dance,” I said, tearing my attention away from Frankie.
“Maybe you should start.”
Mason pushed himself up and strode off, and there was a part of me that was annoyed. Mason overstepped at work a lot, and normally I didn’t care. We didn’t have a traditional boss/employee relationship. It wasn’t like that with any of my staff. But today, for some reason, it rankled.
Frankie caught my attention once more as the music picked up and his dancing style changed. It was different, but just as mesmerizing, and I let myself watch him like a fucking creeper.
After what felt like hours, his body finally stilled. He wiped his palms against the tight fabric of his pants and shot a smile to Cody before walking in my direction. His eyes were trained on something behind me—I didn’t think he even saw me—but as he walked past, I reached out and grabbed his wrist. He spun to face me, his eyes bright, and I felt a bolt of lightning hit my chest. I was still holding on to him, and I didn’t want to let go. Warmth spread through me from that single connected point. I wanted to touch a whole hell of a lot more of him.
Reluctantly, I dropped my hand, and for a split second, Frankie’s smile faltered.
“Having fun?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. I love dancing, but I was just going to get some air. Cool down a little.”
“Want some company?”
Frankie
Everything was shiny.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a beer buzz—probably sometime in my late teens. The pints of Copper Creek that had been poured for me weren’t no Bellinis, but it was true that Barrett Anderson made damn good beer.
Wasn’t all he did well, and it was a damn shame he was so fucking repressed. I had a feeling that once the cap came off that bottle, that shit was going to explode. And fuck, I hoped I was around for that.
I hadn’t made up my mind on how I felt about Barrett. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. My mind was mostly made up. It was my dick that had other ideas.
“Jane’s okay with you hanging out on here?” I asked.
We were perched up on the fire escape from the second floor after climbing up the rusted metal stairs to the landing. There was a chair and a coffee can turned ashtray, but Barrett and I leaned against the railing, our backs to the parking lot below.
From here, you could see the shore and almost make out the waves of the ocean in the darkness.
“She never minded when I was a kid. Don’t see why it’d be any different now.”
“This is where you hung out as a kid? A rusty fire escape at the back of a bar?”
He shrugged. “One of the places. We weren’t old enough to drink, but me and my friends used to smoke pot here after the sun went down. Jane definitely knew, but she never gave us shit for it.”
“Ah, the delinquency of youth.”
“And I’m sure you were a perfect angel when you were a kid.”
I laughed so hard at that I nearly lost my balance. Barrett reached out to steady me but dropped his hands as suddenly as he’d touched me. “No. I was the farthest thing from an angel you could get.”
“Devil, then?”
“He was an angel once too.”
Barrett chuckled. “So you’re saying you were worse than Satan?”
“My mother’d probably tell you so
. Gia too. I slept around a lot. I like to refer to it as my experimental phase—the time when I was figuring out just how different I was.”
“Gay?”
“Gay. Femme. Unable to give a shit what other people thought about me. I kinda fell into that honestly. The phrase ‘born this way’ certainly applies to me.”
Barrett nodded like he knew exactly what I was talking about, but he didn’t. He and I couldn’t have possibly been more different.
“Gia’s your sister?”
“Cousin.”
“You guys are close?”
“Yeah, the whole family is.”
“But you’re closest to Gia?”
“I live with her in New York. Her and her husband Marco and their four kids. Soon to be five.” I shuddered.
“You all right? Cold?”
Barrett shrugged his jacket off and draped it over my shoulders. I had my leather one on beneath it, and truthfully I wasn’t cold at all, but being wrapped in his clothing, the smell of him all around me, I was more than happy to fake frostbite if it meant I could keep it.
“Just a little. Mostly it was the thought of the mess I left behind in New York.”
“What mess?”
“Holden didn’t tell you all this?”
“Holden and I don’t spend much time together. I know Gage better, but I wouldn’t really say we’re close friends.” Barrett crossed his legs at his ankles. “What mess?”
I took a breath. “I used to work for Holden’s dad. That’s how we met. Anyway, turns out, Philip Prescott is a piece of shit, and that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever been able to truthfully say about him.”
“Huh.”
“So anyway, he got arrested, the company was raided, most of the higher-up people are now in prison, and I was out of a job.”
“Wow.”
“I know. You shoulda seen the day the cops came to Westbridge. It was like something out of a movie. Didn’t end all that well for me, because as big as New York City is, it’s not always the easiest place to find work of that caliber. Westbridge valued my talent. They paid me a lot because I was good at my job, and when that was gone, I was left to try to make ends meet with temp jobs I picked up.”
Barrett was looking at me, his expression filled with sympathy… or maybe it was empathy. I could never get those two straight.
“So anyway, very long and pathetic story short, I ended up living with Gia. It was supposed to be temporary, but then a couple of weeks turned into a year. She’s been great about it, but she just found out she’s pregnant.”
“Shit.”
“I shouldn’t be here right now.”
“At J’s?” Barrett looked alarmed.
“No, in Alaska. I should be in New York, pounding the pavement with a renewed sense of purpose. Instead, I’m hiding out, pretending my problems won’t be right there waiting for me when I get back.”
“That’s why you came?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Holden painted this picture of him needing my help with planning his wedding. He made it seem like this would be a great jump start into a new and better situation for me. That maybe my birthday would come, and I’d make a wish and blow out my candles, and I’d be a brand-new me—someone who had their shit kind of figured out.”
“I don’t think that’s a requirement. I don’t know a single adult who really has all their shit together. They may look like they do, but it’s all for show.”
“You do,” I pointed out. “You run your own business. Everyone here knows you and loves you. And I’ve seen your books. They’re a mess, but you’re doing just fine.”
“There’s more to life than the status of your bank account. Yeah, my business turns a profit, and in general, I think the people who work for me are happy doing it, but there’s aspects of my life that are pretty much a dumpster fire.”
I leaned in a little closer. “Like your love life?”
“You picked up on that, huh?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“You make your birthday wish yet?” Barrett asked.
“No, but I have a pretty good idea of what I’m gonna ask for.”
I was a little drunk, and so maybe I was putting more stock into things than I should have, but there was something familiar about what I’d just said, like the innuendo dripping from my words was reminiscent of what I’d said the last time Barrett and I had been alone like this. There was a part of me that wanted him to feel it too.
Leaning to the side, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an antique-looking brass Zippo lighter. He flicked it open and lit the flame in one smooth movement. “It’s not a candle, but close enough.”
Our eyes met for a moment before I shifted my attention to the flickering flame. I took a deep breath, bent forward, and blew it out.
Barrett gave me a smile that I felt all the way in the pit of my stomach.
“You know, it’s very bad manners to ditch your own birthday party.” Holden’s voice floated up from the pavement below.
I leaned over the railing. “If you think this is a party,” I yelled back, “then thank God you aren’t planning your own wedding.”
“Rude.”
“Be in in a minute.”
I turned back to Barrett, and something unspoken passed between us. I wished I were more sober so I could actually interpret what it had been. I thought he’d get up and go back in, but he stayed put, barely moving from where he was still leaning against the railing.
I settled back into place, reluctant to leave. The fire escape felt private, even if it was anything but, and this was the first time all week Barrett had been around me without losing his shit. Between the avoidance and the panicked looks, I hadn’t thought I’d get a chance to spend any more time with him before I left.
And I’d pretty much accepted that.
But now, with him standing so close to me, the earthy scent of beer on our breaths, I felt like the awkwardness had sort of melted away.
“How’s the planning going, anyway?”
“I haven’t had as much time to work on it as I thought. Someone saddled me with a admin job so messed up, it’s nearly suffocated me under paperwork.” I sighed. “So on the grand list of wedding details, I have the date, which is fucking ridiculous, the alcohol… though come to think of it, we never did get around to finding that contract yet.”
“You can have my word for now, and we’ll sign the papers later.”
“The photographer, because I’m doing it.”
“I didn’t know you were into photography.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” The words had come out a little harsher than I’d meant to, in that I hadn’t meant to at all. Barrett looked momentarily surprised but schooled his expression almost before I could catch it.
“What else do you need?”
“Well, a venue for starters, but there is a distinct shortage of breathtakingly beautiful spots with the capacity for a wedding party. And before you even say it, no barns.”
He shook his head, laughing. “I wasn’t going to suggest a barn.”
“Well, you’d be the only one who hasn’t. Seems to be the consensus in town that if someone’s getting hitched, they’re doing it in a place that smells like horse manure.”
“Most barns don’t smell like horse manure.”
“Can I put that on the details section of the wedding website? ‘Venue decidedly does not smell of horse manure.’”
“Romantic.”
“It’s what Sawyer’s Ferry is known for—the romance.”
Barrett
“You busy tomorrow?” The brewery was closed on weekends, so I knew Frankie wouldn’t be in the office, but I didn’t know about any other plans he might have.
“You have a nice barn you want to show me?”
“Something like that.”
He shot me an unimpressed look. “If there’s cow patties, I’m out.”
“No patties of any kind,” I assured him. “But
I think it might be what you’re looking for.”
“Where is it? No one in town has had any good suggestions.”
“I’m not just anybody.”
I was playing with fire. Straight-up flames licking high in a circle around us. I had a difficult time keeping it in my pants at Copper Creek, surrounded by employees. Even now I was having a hard time not touching him. His hair looked so soft, his skin too. My coat draped over his shoulders made him seem small and almost vulnerable.
I wanted to press him up against the wall, to know what his body felt like trapped against mine.
“You’re really not going to tell me?”
“Nope. I’ll pick you up. Say nine?”
“In the morning.”
I laughed. “Yeah. That a problem?”
“No. Just making sure I’m not waiting around for you like some pathetic prom-goer whose date stood them up.”
“You gonna be wearing taffeta?”
“Honey, taffeta is so 1986.”
“You weren’t alive in ’86.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not well-versed in the fashion standards.”
“Last call,” Jane shouted from below.
“You wanna…”
“Yeah. Should say good night to my leagues of adoring fans.”
“The least you can do.”
“You coming?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I think I’m gonna stay up here a while.”
Frankie stood and as he shuffled past me toward the stairs, I grabbed his wrist for the second time that night. The first had been reflex, but this time when my fingers wrapped around his wrist, every nerve in my body lit up, tingling with that simple contact.
I dropped my hand, aware that if I held on for much longer, I was bound to do something stupid.
“Happy Birthday, Frankie.”
It was too dark to tell for sure, but I thought I saw a slight blush stain his cheeks. “Thanks.”
I watched him climb down, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to straighten his shirt.
I pulled into Gage’s driveway, two cups of coffee from the Starlight still steaming in the cupholders next to me. I parked and got out of the truck, and by the time I was halfway up the walk, Frankie was gliding out the door.
