Page 81 of The Worst Best Man
“It’s just not going to be what you’re used to.”
“Franchesca, just because I haven’t experienced something yet doesn’t mean I’m not going to like it. But if you don’t want me to go, say the word. Anything you want.”
She paused, chewed on her lip. “Come. Meet my crazy family.”
“I’ll be there. Besides, someone has to save Gio from the widow.”
“You’re awfully loyal to my brother.”
“The man made me a sandwich that I’m still fantasizing about.”
“Just wait ‘til I make you a sandwich. You’ll forget all about Gio and his wilted lettuce and soggy bread.”
“A sandwich artist, too? Is there nothing you don’t do?” Aiden teased.
Was he taking a dig at her blue-collar roots? Sandwich maker and catering help?
“Well, if you wouldn’t be so busy making all that money, you could learn to make yourself an acceptable sandwich,” she said lightly.
“How was your week?” he asked, changing the subject suddenly.
“It was… good.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Why?” Frankie laughed.
“I’m interested in you,” he said dryly. “Tell me about your week. How did your exam go?”
So she told him, and he listened. She couldn’t get a read on him. It was as if he were treating this as a real relationship. Something she couldn’t afford to do. Get used to late night calls with the gravel-voiced Aiden Kilbourn? Then what exactly would she do when those calls stopped?
It played on an endless loop in the back of her mind. Even as she enjoyed the conversation, the banter, the interest.
Chapter Thirty-One
Frankie glanced out the front window of her parents’ house for the ninth time in two minutes.
“Someone’s waiting for herboy-friend,” her brother Marco sang in an annoying falsetto.
“Shut up, Marco,” his wife and Frankie’s new best friend, Rachel, snapped.
“Babe, don’t yell. The doc says it’s not good for the baby,” Marco said, rubbing his hand over her rounded stomach.
“Oh, hang on there, buddy. Why don’t you just stop doing things that require getting yelled at for?” Rachel was her brother’s match in everything… including volume.
“Both of you stop yelling so I can hear Drew.” Frankie’s father was a short and stocky man whose favorite place to be was ass-first in his recliner with the volume cranked on the TV. He DVR-edThe Price is Rightall week long and binge watched it every Sunday. “For shit’s sake, two dollars? Whatsa matter, lady, you never do your own shopping?” he demanded in disgust.
“Ma! When are we eating?” Gio called from the back of the house where he was probably sneaking scraps in the kitchen.
“When Frankie’s boyfriend gets here! Get your hands off of that roast!” May Baranski had the gift of sight when it came to the goings on in her children’s bedrooms and her kitchen. The first time Frankie had snuck a boy into her room, May had suddenly needed to “borrow” a sweater from her teenage daughter and had scared the shit out of the guy in her closet.
“Is that him?” May threw herself at the couch in front of the window and peered through the window.
Frankie’s family didn’t go to church, but her mother still believed in Sunday best and was wearing her very best elastic waist slacks and turtleneck purchased from JC Penney in 1989.
The car that pulled to a stop was worth more than the house they were in. It had to be him. Her phone dinged, and Frankie dove for it.
Aiden: I’m here. Is it safe to come in?
