Page 64 of Craving Francesca

“Love you, too,” Grandpa Casper called.

“Same,” Uncle Gasper added.

Grandpa Dragon didn’t say anything. He wasn’t the type to announce that shit to the world. He’d told me that he loved me more times than I could count, but it was never in a public setting. He’d said it when he’d helped me put the chain back on my bike in fifth grade. The night before I started kindergarten, and I was shitting my pants scared. When I’d wrecked my mom’s car at sixteen because some asshole had pulled out in front of me, and I hadn’t had time to stop. The day I’d quietly graduated from college. The first time I took him out to see my new property.

His declarations of love were private. They weren’t throwaway words or used lightly. When he said shit, you knew he meant it.

I rode until the wind and the feeling of the bike eating up the road relaxed me enough I knew I could sleep. Realizing that I was into Frankie in a way I wasn’t sure I could ignore worried the hell out of me. Recognizing that the age difference between us had been a bullshit excuse to keep myself away from her…was uncomfortable.

I’d parked my bike and was unlocking the camper when my phone rang.

Staring at the screen, I debated not answering it. Like an asshole.

“Thank you for today,” Frankie said without a greeting, her voice husky and low. “I know I keep saying it, but you’ve gone above and beyond. You’re the best.”

“Thought you were sleepin’,” I replied, climbing inside the dark trailer.

“I woke up right after you left because I got way too hot,” she replied. Blankets rustled.

She was vulnerable. She’d had an eventful and traumatic day. And I was a creep because I couldn’t stop wondering about what she was wearing.

“Thought you might,” I said, setting my keys and wallet on the counter. “With all those blankets on the bed.”

“I have the perfect amount of blankets,” she stated firmly. “Are you home now?”

“Just got back. Had to drop my mom’s rig at the club.”

“Why didn’t you just take your truck earlier?”

“Truck was at the house,” I explained, turning on the speakerphone as I pulled off my cut and hoodie. “Mom’s was at the club.”

“Oh.”

“It was no big deal,” I assured her as I pulled off my boots and jeans, stuffing the latter into the laundry bag I kept in the shower. “She and my aunt met up there, and they’d already left in Aunt Rose’s Jeep. She’d rather ride home with my pop anyway.”

“There is something to be said about riding on the back of a motorcycle,” Frankie replied, a smile in her voice. “That would be my choice, too.”

“Oh yeah?” I paused with my hand on the thermostat.

“I love it,” Frankie murmured. “But I always liked dirt bikes as a kid, too. My dad bought me one that was way too big, and my feet couldn’t even touch the ground at the same time. I didn’t give a shit, though. I grew into it eventually, and I swear I rode it into the ground.”

“What kind of bike?” I asked curiously as I climbed into bed.

The pillows smelled like Frankie’s shampoo.

Sinking into them I pulled the phone back to my ear.

We talked late into the night like a couple of teenagers about everything and nothing important. What we’d been into as kids. What our parents were like. Family traditions. How much trouble we’d gotten into as teenagers. Our first cars. Favorite foods. The list was extensive and detailed.

Which is why I was so surprised when I didn’t hear a word from her again for nearly a month.

Chapter 7

Frankie

“You guys needto work it out,” Lou ordered as we moved around each other in the kitchen. “Myla was just worried, and you were stressed out, and it was a perfect storm.”

“She was a dick,” I countered.

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