Page 9 of The Ex Effect
Two letters, but I would never say that. I nodded at the young woman with the messy bun and tortoiseshell glasses. “Hey, Megan. You must be new. I’m here all the time and haven’t seen you yet.”
“Yep, just started two days ago.” Megan shoved a mug under the filter as the water hissed through the beans. “School just got out, so I’m helping Auntie for the summer. Good to meet you.”
The door chime rang, and a few heavy footsteps moved toward me. A moment later, I felt the energy of someone standing a few inches too close. I didn’t even need to turn around to know which she-devil was at my back.
“Isn’t this fun coincidence?”
Groan. I hadn’t heard from Frankie since we parted ways at the Satan’s Den Diner a few days ago, which admittedly surprised me. But also, why would I think I’d hear from Frankie? This was the woman who left for New York City all those years back without saying goodbye. I turned on my heels. “Two adults getting coffee at one of the three coffee shops open before nine a.m. is not that coincidental. This isn’t New York when you probably don’t see the same person twice in a lifetime.”
Living in a town of under three thousand for my entire life, I constantly ran into people I knew. That was why I always had my face and hair done, and a smile plastered on top of themakeup, even when my insides were knotted. But I loved it here. This was home. The town was stable and supportive, always holding me in a protective security blanket.
But Spring Harbors was never enough for Frankie. She wanted out since childhood. The town… me… none of it was enough to keep her anchored.
“So feisty this early on a beautiful Saturday.” Frankie reached in her back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Looks like someone didn’t get their neighborly May Basket.”
Whoa. Years had passed since I thought about the May 1st tradition. As a kid it used to be one of my favorite events where I’d make neat little baskets of gold-wrapped chocolate, wildflowers, and a couple of my mom’s homemade chocolate bars, and I’d ding-dong ditch baskets around the neighborhood. The last year I did it, Frankie and I were probably around thirteen or fourteen. I remember tripping while ditching, spraining my ankle, and Frankie giving me a piggyback ride back to my house.
“I’m not feisty.” I gritted my teeth, then smiled at Megan, who called my name for the coffee.
Frankie ran her fingers through her dark cropped hair and stepped up to the register. She was always more masc than me—a tough, fast-as-hell, gym-shorts-and-sports-jersey-wearing girl—but the short hair with buzzed sides and the Harley driving would take getting used to. And I would admit this to absolutely no one, but the look suited her. Incredibly well.
I sipped the deliciously smooth drink and had every intention of bolting out the door when Frankie stepped in my path.
“I have some good news.” Frankie shoved her wallet back in her pocket. “I’m taking Olivia and Tommy’s engagement photos today.”
I almost spit out my coffee over Frankie’s brown leather jacket. “Wait, what? Why don’t I know about this? They should have told me.” I tapped my fingers against the cup. “Where? How long does processing take? We can get these out with the invites if there’s enough time.” This was actually really good news. But did anyone even consider that I should have been told immediately? I checked my watch. “Dammit. I have to pick up cupcakes for Sam.”
“Your brother?” Frankie tipped her head in thanks at the barista and grabbed her drink.
“Yes. His oldest is having a soccer game and he’s on cupcake duty.”
A grin tugged at Frankie’s lips. “God, those were the days. Orange slices, tearing up the field, screaming with my buddies. Soccer was always my favorite.”
Yeah, I remember.I must’ve sat through hundreds of Frankie’s games over the years. Frankie was a phenomenal athlete—basketball, softball, hockey—but a star on the soccer field. Seemed like she could run for days without dropping. “Do you still play?”
“Nah.” Frankie lifted the drink to her lips. “I had surgery about five years ago, and sadly, no more soccer for me.”
I stopped in my tracks.Surgery? What kind? For what?No matter how many questions verged on the tip of my tongue, I kept my mouth zipped. It wasn’t my place to ask any invasive questions, but it reiterated that a lifetime had passed and I no longer knew the person I used to know better than myself.
“Which place you grabbing the treats from?” Frankie held the door open for me.
“Zoey’s Bakery, across the street.” I stepped onto the sidewalk and jutted my head to the shop across the street with the pink-and-white awning and the obviousZoey’s Bakerywritten across the large front window.
Frankie glanced toward the store as if this was the first time seeing it.God, she really doesn’t notice things, does she? How has she not evolved as an adult?I swear Frankie was perpetually in la-la land and completely unaware of hersurroundings unless on a court or field, where she had magical laser focus.
“Zoey’s Bakery, huh?” she said. “That’s where the nail salon was, right?”
“That was like five years ago. Zoey’s been here since then.” Why did this annoy me? Not that Zoey took over the salon, but that Frankie didn’tknowZoey took over the salon. When new stores opened in town, it was always a big deal. A write-up in the local weekly newspaper, a long line of locals cheering for them on their first day, homemadeGrand Opening Eventsigns stapled into wooden light posts. No chance Frankie’s ultra-hipster neighborhood in New York rallied like this.
“Cool.” Frankie squinted into the sun. “I’ll walk with you, and we can chat about the wedding.”
Although this was the very last thing I wanted, I reluctantly agreed. Like it or not, I needed the details about the photo shoot so I could plan. The wedding time bomb ticked in my ear, and the more I could cross off my list, the better. Nightmares of being lost at a reception, dropping a cake, and sending out the wrong invites flooded me this past week, and I’d give my left pinkie to be able to sleep through the night.
I walked the sidewalk with Frankie and took grateful sips of the Americano. “Are you taking photos at the water?”
“Actually, no. At least not today.” Frankie pushed the crosswalk signal at the lights. “We’re going to go up to my aunt and uncle’s place. Remember Pete and Patty? The ones with the Christmas tree farm.”
“The one up by Maple Creek?” Talk about blast from the past. When I was a kid, my whole family would go there every year to chop down a tree and attach it to the top of my dad’s car, Griswold-style.
