by Jean Oram
Frankie turned to face her, his hand clenched tight around his bottle. “Who says it would break?”
“Have you met me?” She was fighting tears.
Dodger shifted in his seat, as though uncomfortable.
“But if they never try, they’ll never know. What if it’s the best thing they could ever imagine?” Frankie pushed back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, biceps bulging. A forehead vein expanded and contracted like a great flashing warning to Mandy that he was losing his cool and that she should run for cover.
They stared at each other, neither budging. Silence expanded until it was strung through the kitchen like an overstretched rubber band.
Frankie would back down. He always did. She just had to hang in there and hold it together.
“Are we still talking about letting Mandy use Frankie’s building?” Dodger asked cautiously.
“We should go,” Alex said gently, moving slowly as though fearing he could wake something dangerous.
Mandy closed her eyes, making a decision. She never backed down and she didn’t know what it meant that she was about to but she couldn’t stand the idea of her best friend being so upset. She needed to find a way to make this right again, to convince him that she was protecting him by not getting involved.
She stood, pushing in her chair, flashing the group a light smile. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll go. I have to feed Portia.”
“Your cat is fine,” Frankie said tightly, his mouth barely moving. “Stay.”
“No, I’ll go.”
“I said stay. Everything is fine.”
She dropped into her chair, embarrassed that Frankie’s friends didn’t know where to look.
“It’s fine,” Frankie repeated again, his voice softer. His cheeks were flushed, hands still scrunched into fists as though fighting for control.
Right. Obviously it was far, far away from fine and would be for some time.
4
Mandy shoved another fudge cookie into her mouth and clicked through pages and pages of information on restaurant franchises that were expanding. There were so many of them. She brushed cookie crumbs off the keyboard and pushed the laptop away. She didn’t even know why she was looking at franchises. Just because Frankie thought she could manage something like this didn’t mean she had the skills or money. Some of them demanded an applicant’s net worth to be so amazingly huge that if she had that kind of money, she wouldn’t be opening a restaurant--she’d be sitting on a beach in Mexico sipping whiskey and Coke. Every day. For the rest of her life.
She walked to the bay window overlooking Main Street below. She craned her neck to snag a peek at Benny’s. Through the budding trees, she couldn’t make out much, but she still half expected to see Benny marching up the street to demand she explain what all these restaurant rumors were about.
Portia, her half Persian kitty, rubbed against her legs as though determined to leave as much gray fur on Mandy’s navy uniform as possible. Mandy went back to the kitchen table and clicked on a listing for a wraps franchise and skimmed the requirements. Wrap it Up had possibilities. If only. If, if, if.
She glanced at the Chevy clock Frankie had given her as a Chevy vs. Ford joke and sat again. She could safely look around online, daydreaming about owning her own restaurant, for at least another hour and a half before her shift. Then she’d go in and face the music with Benny about the rumors she’d started.
Portia, suddenly on a mission, trotted to the couch below the bay window, and in a series of short hops, landed on the windowsill, where she began rubbing the glass with the top of her head. In her happy kitty ecstasy, she pushed herself forward, knocking herself off the ledge. Mandy laughed as Portia strutted away, nose pointed skyward, her gargantuan tail effectively acting like a middle finger.
Mandy closed her laptop and crossed the room when Portia returned to the windowsill to scan the street below. This kind of behavior usually meant she could see Frankie. Portia, despite her typical haughtiness, had a thing for the man, even though the puss did her best not to let it show around him.
Mandy leaned closer to the glass in order to peer down at the sidewalk. There, amongst the elms, was Frankie, pacing back and forth, gesturing as though he was trying to convince an invisible friend of something important. Intrigued, Mandy perched on the back of the sofa and watched. Back and forth he went, hands gesturing every so often.
A tiny flicker of hope made her wonder if it was about her. But at the same time, she hoped it wasn’t. While the thought of Frankie being worked up about them was terrifyingly exciting and made her feel important and needed--and quite frankly, that sort of feeling shot by about as often as Haley’s Comet when it came to men these days--the thought also made her cringe. She needed Frankie long-term, not for a fling.
Mary Alice Bernfield, a known gossip, passed Frankie and glanced up at Mandy’s window, shooting her a wink.
Crap.
Mandy dropped out of sight before Frankie had a chance to follow Mary Alice’s gaze.
Mandy duck-walked across the open room, staying low and out of sight.
Whatever should she do next week to stay on top of the local gossip list? This week, there’d been the plethora of sick days following Oz’s wedding, then the rumor of her opening her own place, and now she was spying on Frankie who was acting odd outside her apartment.
She busied herself tidying up while she waited for him to knock. A minute later, she was rewarded with his rat-a-tap-tap on the door at the top of the steps. She opened it and Portia strutted straight to Frankie, wrapping her tail around his leg before stalking off so he couldn’t reach down to give her cuddles. Same as always.
“Women,” Frankie grumbled as he straightened up, his attempt at sharing affection with the feline denied.
“Hey,” Mandy said, heading to the fridge for a carton of juice. “Want something to drink?”
Frankie shook his head, remaining in the doorway.
“Well? Did you want to come in?” She gave a short laugh that sounded nervous to her ears. Her gaze flicked to his perfect lips and in her mind, she relived that amazing kiss they’d shared in his garage. She shook off the moment and distracted herself by pouring a glass of water.
Frankie paused, glancing around her small living space as if he was expecting high-speed traffic to run him over if he stepped inside. Finally, he strode to the kitchen table and gripped the back of the chair as if it was a life raft and he was being tossed about in high seas. She stayed by the sink, waiting for him to speak.
“I think you should go ahead and open a restaurant and I think you should use my building to do it.”
“Um.” Mandy squinted at Frankie. “Okay?”
Various expressions flitted across Frankie’s face and he shifted his weight to one side. “You do want to open your own place?”
She shrugged. “It’s an nice idea. But honestly?” She fidgeted with the smooth glass, rubbing it against her palm. “I don’t think I have what it takes.”
Frankie sat in the chair, hands clasped. “Of course you do.”
“You’re saying that because you’re my friend and think I want this.”
“No, I’m not, actually.”
She shot him a skeptical look and frowned. “I don’t have the money for that kind of a venture.”
“Partner with someone.”
She made a face and set down her glass.
“What? You have to be Miss Independent and Miss In Control and can’t accept anything from others? Things that might be good for you? And them, too?”
She leaned back, raising her palms. “All I’m saying is that I don’t think I have what it takes and a partner isn’t going to suddenly make me magically delicious.”
Frankie stood, his agitation returning. “Mandy, why can’t you just…” He shook his hands as if he was trying to shake some sense into the air around him.
“Just what?” she asked, crossing her arms, the table between them. “Why can’t I what?”
<
br /> Frankie sat again, his body trembling with frustration. He took a deep breath, his body slowly stilling. In a low voice, he said, “Look. I know you worry about becoming a nothing in this town and never doing anything.” He lifted a hand as she opened her mouth to protest. “Don’t interrupt me.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Okay, so her pants were totally on fire, but did he have to know everything about her--even the stuff she didn’t tell him?
“And that you feel as though this town might not be enough.” He met her eye and she sucked in a deep breath so she wouldn’t be able to argue with him--so she would be forced to hear him out. “But I think you could do something here. Something big. You’re great with the customers at Benny’s. I hear about it all the time.”
“Really?” A shot of pleasure surged through Mandy.
He kept his eyes on her, voice low, as though trying to calm a wild horse. “The stuff you don’t know you can learn. The soft skills that could sink a business such as settling agitated customers is stuff you already know--instinctually. All you need is a little capital and a location.”
Mandy let out a half-snort, half-sigh. She had to admit, the compliments meant a lot and created an unrealistic amount of hope inside her. “Frankie… There’s so much more than those two massive things standing in my way.”
“How much do you need?” He shifted as if he was going to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.
“Frankie you don’t have that kind of cash. And anyway, I couldn’t take it from you. I can’t partner with a friend. And besides, we’d butt heads and it wouldn’t work out and then our friendship would suffer. Nothing could ever be worth that. Not even to be a big fish in this stupid little backwater town.” She pulled out a chair, placing it in front of her like a shield. “I’m not borrowing money from you.”
“I didn’t offer money. I’m offering my building.”
“I’m not taking your inheritance!”
“I’m not giving it to you.” His eyes flashed with impatience. “Just use it. It’s sitting there empty. I can’t use it for my business and you should.”
“I can’t do that.”
Frankie leaned forward, challenge lighting the amber flecks in his eyes. “Why can’t you ever take anything I offer?”
“I--I--” Mandy fumbled through her mind, looking for something to pull into her side of the argument. “I took your help when I customized my truck.”
Frankie snorted and leaned back, his arms crossed. “You paid for every little thing down to the fuses, Mandy.”
“I--”
“You insisted on favors as a way to pay me back for my time. You always find a way like you’re afraid to owe me something. We’re friends. Friends help each other and share things. Let me help you for once. And without feeling like you have to pay me back. You keep saying I’m your best friend but there’s no give and take with you, just give.” Frankie stood, banging the table with his leg. “It’s time for you to take. Like a real friend would.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Frankie cut her off, stepping closer. “You even paid me back for the tomato juice and replaced the outfit I had to toss out. And you cleaned my garage. Most friends would let the other person help and give without feeling as though they had to make up for it.”
“That wouldn’t have been fair,” she protested, taking a step back. “I couldn’t just show up, expecting you to help and inconvenience you and cost you--”
Frankie pushed away the chair so there was nothing between them. He lowered a finger over her lips, silencing her. His body stilled and so did hers. “If you want to be friends, then for heaven’s sake, woman, let me act like one. Let me give you something.” He slowly lowered his finger.
Mandy’s eyes prickled and she struggled to keep her voice steady. “You give me your friendship and that’s all I need.”
He pressed his finger over her lips again and shook his head. “No.”
“No what?” she said through his finger.
“I’m not letting you out of this one.”
“There’s nothing to be let out of, Frankie.” She held Frankie’s gaze until she had to look away.
“What are you afraid of?”
She let out a snort. “Nothing.”
Frankie grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying not to panic. What if he kissed her? What if he demanded they get it on right here on the table instead of going back to her bedroom that overlooked the alley and she said yes and their friendship was never the same as a result? And worse still, what if it was the best moment of her life and he walked away afterward because he finally saw the truth--that she wasn’t enough?
“There’s only one way to settle this,” he said, opening the door.
Right. Of course. His place had a bigger bed.
No. He wasn’t going to do something like that.
Which was good. Wasn’t it?
Mandy squeezed her hands around her truck’s steering wheel, trying not to react to Frankie’s challenging grin from the old beater with the powerful engine rumbling beside her. She had nothing to worry about, right?
She had grippy tires.
She had an engine with pep.
She was an aggressive driver.
But was she as good as Frankie in crap conditions like today? Over the years, they’d worn the meadow’s homemade track down to dirt on the corners where their tires had skidded out in the abandoned bison paddock. Today it was covered in slush and half frozen crud and surrounded by unpredictably deep snow banks. One false move and she’d be bogged down and stuck. Even in her big truck.
She called to Frankie, who had his window down, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
He shot her that wicked grin of his and punched the gas pedal, making the frame of his car twist and lift like a horse ready to race out of the gate.
Mandy focused on the track. It was a mess of snow, mud and slushy puddles, but had enough of a packed base from winter skidoo races that even Frankie’s car would be able to manage. Although, come to think of it, she might be able to use her truck’s height to her advantage and blast slush onto Frankie’s windshield. Because honestly, if he got the momentum going in his car, he could blast through as well as she could.
Her nerves poked at her stomach, sending it into a tizzy.
If Frankie won, she had to open her own restaurant in his building. If she won, they wouldn’t turn their friendship into a business partnership. If she won, she wouldn’t lose--in more ways than one.
“Why are you shaking your head?” he called up to her. “You’re not a big chicken sandwich are you? Bawk-bawk!”
She gave him her best glare. “Just thinking how I’m going to have to mollycoddle your poor bruised ego when I crush you. I know how you feel about being beaten by a girl. A girl in a much bigger vehicle.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said with a glimmer in his eye that made her nervous.
She turned off her truck dropping her head on her steering wheel. Her voice wobbled. “I can’t do this.” She saw his question coming and plucked the first excuse she could think of. “I can’t betray Benny. He didn’t teach me everything so I’d become his competition.”
Frankie shut off his own engine and slung an arm across the passenger seat so he could lean out the open window to see her better. “People like choice, Mandy. You’ll offer something Benny doesn’t.”
“He’s my mentor. I can’t go against him. It doesn’t feel right.”
“People do it all the time.”
“Would you go against Alex with your own parts store?”
“Blueberry Springs couldn’t handle another parts store. But it can handle another restaurant--especially if you made it a place you’d like going to.”
Mandy stared at the crocuses peeking out of the meadow’s still snowy ground, toying with the small chain around her neck.
“Why don’t you eat at Benny’s, Mandy?” he ask
ed.
“I do eat at Benny’s.”
“Yeah, the two healthy menu items. That’s not eating. Open a place that has what he doesn’t. You won’t be competing, you’ll be complementing. Just like with my restoration business. I complement the parts store.”
“Healthy stuff doesn’t sell.”
“Says who?” Frankie scoffed.
“People can do healthy at home. They come out for the deep fried, greasy stuff.”
“Really?” His forehead wrinkled in thought. “So you’re the only one in town who wants healthy alternatives when she goes out to eat?”
“Well, no.” She thought of how often moms picked through the menu for healthy items for their kids or how Fred, who ran the carwash and gas station, had stopped coming every week since his heart attack. There really wasn’t much more than salads when it came to heart smart on Benny’s menu. Even his soups were all cream based. But whenever she talked about adding healthy items, Benny said that wasn’t what his restaurant did and customers could go somewhere else if they wanted rabbit food. But there wasn’t anywhere else that offered ‘rabbit food.’ Blueberry Springs only had Benny’s, a diner, and two fast food places.
Maybe there was a niche she could slip into. And it would fit with who she was. She wouldn’t have to compromise. She wouldn’t go home smelling like garlic, burned butter, and old fryer oil.
And that wraps place she saw online just before Frankie came over had a menu that would fit the bill. Fast food that was healthy and delicious.
If she lost this race--or was it win this race?--she would have a building to use. If she had a building, the restaurant (and money) might just fall into place for her, too.
Shooting Frankie a grin, she started her engine. She pointed to her chest. “If I win, I pay rent or lease your building. Something. Not free.”
“And if I win?”
“Then…your conditions.” Under her breath, she added, “And you are so not going to win.” She was going to cream his beater, big engine or not. She had better tires and there was a lot of mud and slush to get through.
