Page 26 of The Hampton Beach Café 3
Frances smiled. "I know, but you'll have fun, I promise. Take her on one of your lunchtime tours?"
The Jet Ski Eco Tours Alex ran were some of the most well-reviewed attractions in town, and even though he often came back exhausted, he loved giving them.
Hayley sidled up to the pair and popped a piece of the Halva into her mouth. "This stuff is great. I can't believe I'd never tried it before."
A bell tinkled and Clarkson stepped through the door. "Hey, guys! How are we feeling about the meeting today?"
Frances gave an exaggerated shudder. The formal check-in with Kennedy was happening soon and she couldn't think of anything she'd want less to be doing––except maybe actually talking about what she had learned about her dad. She moved around the counter to greet Clarkson, who gave her a light peck on the cheek.
"You'll be fine," he said with a laugh.
Taking advantage of their route around the hot button areas for Kennedy––primarily the alcohol signage and the locked garden door––Frances leaned into eavesdrop on the conversation Lucinda was having with Vince.
"...well, if you'd just ask for help, I'd be happy to lend you my expertise."
Frances recognized the lilt in her friend’s voice was one-hundred percent the same one she used on dates. Maybe this little bit of perceived competition with Hayley would push her to acknowledge the chemistry between her and Vin. Sneaking a glimpse at the artist's face, Frances saw that he wasn't blushing like she expected him to be––he was giving Lucinda a similarly wolfish look, and suddenly Frances felt like she was intruding. She was, after all, eavesdropping. Turning her attention back to what Clarkson was saying, she tried to fully engage in the conversation about getting the garden sorted out.
"We really just can't afford it…" Frances said as they arrived back at the counter with Alex and Hayley, "...it's going to have to wait."
"What if I talked to some guys about getting it done cheaply?" Clarkson asked.
"Depends what cheap means to you, Mr. Versace Suit Jacket," Frances teased, then she noticed the awkward look on both Alex and Hayley's faces. "What?"
Hayley smiled but was forced. "I wanted to check the time, so I turned your phone over to see the lock screen and..."
The phone was on the counter, and Alex pushed it towards her as Frances felt her stomach drop. The screen lit up, dozens of notifications were popping in and out from her email and social media. Trying to halt the feeling of nausea that was tightening around her stomach, Frances reached for it and scanned through the contents.
1 Minute Ago: "who even is she? she's so much less hot than him wth"
1 Minute Ago: "lol what's with the au naturel, get some botox lady look after yourself"
2 Minutes Ago: "leave her alone guys, come on, let's not act like high school bullies"
2 Minutes Ago: "old much?"
1 Minute Ago: "she's literally the same age as him, stop being gross"
"Frances, what is this?" Alex asked, concern tinging his words.
She sighed heavily. "It's nothing...well, it's nothing new, anyway."
When she glanced at Clarkson, who was reading over her shoulder, she saw that he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
"These guys are idiots," he said softly. "I'm sorry they're annoying you. I deal with it all the time."
He really did sound sorry but he also sounded almost bored to have to be talking about it.
"How long have you been getting this?" Alex asked, sounding angrier now.
Frances shrugged. "Oh, well, since the article really. I thought my socials were pretty well private but...apparently not."
What she had intended to be a lighthearted laugh to brush it off sounded more like a small hiccup and did nothing to remove the concerned expressions around her. Several loud beeps sounded from the kitchen and Alex turned away to go and deal with whatever they signified. Hayley followed after him. Maybe she sensed what Frances was about to do.
"Listen, Clarkson," she said. "I really think we should talk about this. I don't think we should go out anymore…I can't deal with all this chaos as well as all the other chaos too..."
"It's hardly a big deal, come on..." he said, one eyebrow lifting. "You're not freaked out by some online trolls, seriously?”
"It's not just online! I get letters pushed through the door. People leave reviews when they've never even been here. I spend an hour or more every day going through and filing reports on one-star reviews saying that the owner––you know, me––is a lying, promiscuous cow who's using you! It's constant..."
