Page 17 of The Hampton Beach Café 5
Suddenly the little pop-up with its oppressively maximalist decor was too hot. She needed to be outside.
Frances stood and made a beeline for the door, she heard Alex talking with the waiter behind her but she couldn't stay––it was all too much.
The sea breeze was cool on her skin, she'd left her jacket inside, and she took in a deep breath. She breathed in and out calmly and felt her heart rate return to normal. Why had she panicked so much?
“Are you alright?” Alex asked quietly from behind her.
She leaned against the railing and looked out down onto the sand and the waves breaking on the shore. The sun was dipping low in the sky and was turning the light golden.
“I think so,” she said, “I'm sorry, everything just got the better of me for a second. There's so much I haven't told you and I feel so guilty about it. Then on top of it all, the party, and the hash-tagging, just to get people to stop harassing me! And you're so good about it all even though it's clearly weirded you out and you're doing it anyway because you feel obligated––”
She felt one hand on her hip and another on her shoulder. She didn't resist the pressure he applied in turning her around to face him. What did give her pause was the intense expression on his face as he looked down at her. He stepped in closer, the small of her back pressed against the cold metal railing. The hand on her shoulder moved up to her face, and he gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
He opened his mouth to speak but clearly thought better of it, swooping down to kiss her mouth instead.
It felt like an electrical charge between them. She didn't know if she could draw breath, but she honestly did not care. The hand he had placed on her hip slid up to her waist, his fingers slipping underneath the white tank top she wore.
When they broke apart, breathless, she realized that the kiss could have gone on for ten minutes or just a few seconds––she wasn't sure.
“I don't feel obligated,” he said in a rough, deep voice. “Now… we should go back in and finish our dinner, or they're going to call the cops on us for dine and dash.”
Frances had no idea what had just happened, but she found herself being led back into the restaurant by his hand. She felt like she was floating.
This did not feel like a fake date anymore, and she did not mind at all.
A nagging feeling at the back of her mind brought her back to reality as they sat down to eat under the suspicious eye of the manager––she really needed to tell him about her agreement with Clarkson.
TEN
The meal was perfect––the food delicious and the atmosphere livelier now that she wasn't having a small anxiety attack. As they talked, Alex leaned over and took her phone to send himself the pictures of their night and to post them on Café Bruno's social media, complete with tags of all the businesses they had visited that night.
It was kind of surreal, but the perfect kind of surreal that Frances didn't want to end. She knew it would though when she told him the truth about the café.
Frances knew that telling Alex about her plan to sell the shop would be difficult, but every time she nearly got the courage up, he would take her hand or say something that stopped her in her tracks––just a few minutes more?
They finished their dessert and started the walk back to the shop.
“Alex, I really need to tell you something,” she said, stopping so suddenly her hand was pulled from his before he turned to face her.
He smiled, his eyes alight with mischief the way she loved to see them as he stepped closer to her.
“Oh yeah?” he said quietly. “Really? What's that then?”
She took in a breath of cool night air that made her shiver, or was that the effect of Alex stepping so close to her? She swallowed hard, realizing he had snaked his hand around her waist again and pulled her close. Before she could speak, he had moved down and was kissing her again. She struggled to form a cohesive thought.
“No, really,” she said, managing to break away from the embrace even though it was just about the last thing she wanted to do.
Last, except for this...
“You know that when I bought the shop... I didn't really mean to…” she started, “…well, I did. But I didn't really think it through.”
Alex was suddenly still, his hands heavy on her waist. “Yeah?”
“Well, I panicked, and when Clarkson offered to help, I said yes...”
“What do you mean, help?” Alex said, his voice low and shaking.
“I spent every dime on it, even though it was run down and was going to cost way too much to fix, he said he'd help––and he has, you know, with the influencer marketing and the planning, and Kennedy... if I agreed when I sold it I'd let him have the listing...”
