Page 16 of The Ex Effect (Meet Cute in Minnesota #1)

EIGHT

MORGAN

Satin button-down pajamas do not get the love they deserve.

Sure, on movies or TV shows they might show people wearing them, but I’ve never known anyone besides me who actually owns a pair.

Most stick with cotton, a more practical and breathable material.

But with the temperature rising just a touch every day, my satin-pajama-wearing nights would be coming to an end any day now.

Two days had passed since the engagement photo session with Frankie, and I needed to do everything possible to take my mind off the fact that my fate rested in the hands of a woman I didn’t trust. So, I slipped on my pajamas and grabbed an overstuffed bowl of cereal for dinner ( don’t judge ), sunk into the couch, and clicked on my favorite guilty pleasure, The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City .

No matter how entertaining, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about Frankie.

After the engagement photo shoot, she’d brought me back to my car and fixed my spark plug on the side of Main Street.

It went way above the call of duty, and I almost hugged her right there in front of the coffee shop but refrained.

I did, however, offer to buy her dinner, which she declined, lightning- fast.

It wasn’t dinner dinner. It was more an “I’ll pay your labor with food” type of offer. But the snap rejection… Whatever. Frankie could think what she wanted and let her ego get in the way of what was clearly, obviously, meant as a friendly gesture.

I really needed to stop dwelling on that interaction.

Another thing I should stop? Practically salivating while watching Frankie take charge not once, but twice, that day.

I was the least submissive person I knew.

I was the one in charge, always . But during the photo shoot, then while fixing the car, having Frankie be totally in control made places tingle that definitely should not tingle for a terrible, awful ex-girlfriend.

I crunched into the Honey Nut Cheerios with extra honey swirled on top—Henry’s and my favorite—and tried to pay attention to the TV but couldn’t. Had Frankie talked to Pete and Patty yet? What did they say? And more importantly, why wasn’t Frankie answering any of my calls or texts?

As much as I wanted to hate Frankie, I didn’t.

She wasn’t a bad person, so I didn’t want to believe this ghosting was a way to somehow retain control or get back at me for what she perceived as past relationship mistakes.

She knew how important this was, right? Not only for me, but for Olivia and Tommy.

Yesterday, I made a final, last-ditch effort call to a similar farm two and a half hours outside of town—way further than Olivia wanted—and they were not interested in having people on their property.

So, I was done. My business livelihood hung on my ex-girlfriend, who I barely knew. I grabbed the honey bottle and squeezed more on top of the milk and cereal, and took another bite.

Who was Frankie, now? What made her go from Katey to Frankie?

When she left, she was a hyperactive, inattentive, totally unpredictable wound-up ball of energy.

Which, I hated to admit it, could be very fun.

She’d kept things interesting during our relationship for sure, convincing me to do things I’d never normally do.

Skinny-dipping in a lake at night (I still cringe about the amount of lake beasts that could’ve eaten me alive), getting my ear cartilage pierced, which hurt like hell, making out in a truck a block away from my parents’ house.

But now, she was a bit more serious, more laid-back, perhaps even more responsible?

She’d showed up with Henry’s cupcakes, she snapped photos like a pro, and when I finally took the time yesterday to dive into her website, it was extremely well-thought-out, with a portfolio of hundreds of gorgeous pics.

A very, very small part of me wanted to get to know the new Frankie.

And then I’m zapped back to her hardly responding to my messages.

Perhaps I sent ten too many. Perhaps . But I wanted her to know how buttoned-up I was in case she forgot, so she could ease Pete and Patty’s minds that I’d make this work no matter what.

She needed to see I had contacts, and knew how to run my business, and could succeed. All I needed was a chance.

I scooped a heaping spoonful and bit into the cereal when my phone buzzed.

Frankie:

Confirmed. They’re in.

My fingers tapped the call button before I could stop them. “They said yes?!” I asked with a mouthful of food. I muted and crunched as quickly as I could, then swallowed.

“First, it’s customary to text someone that you’ll be calling first, otherwise you give off some seriously boomer vibes,” Frankie said on the line. “Second, it is really customary to say hi first.”

I wanted to say something snarky but couldn’t. In the past forty-eight hours, Frankie had saved my ass not once but twice. I hated how much I loved it. “Hello. Top of the morning to you, my fellow lady.”

“Whoa. ”

Something that could only be described as a chortle sounded through the phone.

“Wait a second,” Frankie said. “I’m not a comedy connoisseur or anything, but I think you just tried to be funny. I need a moment alone with my thoughts to consider the enormity of this situation.”

“You’re a dick. Please, I’m dying to know everything.” I clicked pause on the TV. Frankie didn’t need to know my preoccupation was indulging in what surely was going to be a screaming match between some self-absorbed rich ladies. “What did they say?”

A goosh sound of a pop can opening sounded over the phone.

“Honestly, they were a little reluctant at first. Not because they don’t want to help us out, but because the whole concept was overwhelming.

” A gulping noise sounded. “But we chatted money, about their right to veto anything, and confirmed they won’t be asked to lift a finger. ”

My chest lifted. “Perfect. And they were cool with it? Should I contact a lawyer to draw up some paperwork?”

“Nah. I think that’s the piece that freaked them out the most. Contracts and legal stuff. They’re ‘handshake deal’ type of people.”

I bit my lip. Of course, not hiring a lawyer would save money. But handshake deals were nerve-racking, even though that was common practice around town. “Okay. What else?”

A long pause followed. “There is one caveat on all of this, though, and they won’t budge.” I swore I could hear her swallowing through the phone and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. “They refused to do any of this unless I’m there, every day, overseeing everything with you.”

My stomach dropped. Every day? Together?

Frankie and me? I fanned the bottom of my pajamas, which were quickly turning into a thermal body wrap.

“Every day?” was all I managed to squeak out.

I hadn’t spent any significant amount of time with Frankie in fifteen years.

What if she actually had evolved into a terrible human being?

Was she still late all the time? What happened if she didn’t show up, or completely flaked out, or left—as she was obviously known to do—would the word-of-mouth-only contract then be null and void?

God, it was hot in here. I unbuttoned the top two buttons and rolled up my sleeves.

Throughout my life, I’d faced enough adversity.

The love of my life leaving without any warning.

Opening my own business. Watching my brother and his wife fight a cancer battle.

Tiptoeing on the edge of losing my business.

If I had to work with my ex-girlfriend to save my company, I would.

“ Every day,” Frankie repeated.

I flicked the side of my thigh, my brain verging on a full-on breakdown. “And, ah, what do you think?”

“What do I think about working together every day on the first summer I’ve had off in my entire life? Peachy.”

It sounded like she had a teasing tone to her voice, but I didn’t know adult Frankie that well, and this could be her being passive-aggressive. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I didn’t actually say that. I’m just repeating what they told me,” she said. “Do you even want to work with me this summer?”

Knots filled my stomach. Want was a very strong word.

And the answer was, no, I did not want to work with Frankie this summer.

I’d never worked with a partner before, and if I was going to, my untrustworthy, impulsive ex-girlfriend would be the very last person I’d choose.

This is to save my business… This is to save my business…

I exhaled the taste of eating crow—which was a seriously disgusting term—and swallowed.

“I, ah… yes, of course, I’d love to work with you.

It’ll be…fun…to take this time and catch up. ”

Puke. This felt more terrible than not having a venue. So many seconds ticked on my analogue clock that I wondered if Frankie heard me at all. I was just about to see if the phone disconnected when a soft exhale sounded.

“I didn’t hear a please.”

God, she sucked. Inhale for counts of four before spouting off. “Please.”

A moment passed. Then another. “I like pleases to be accompanied with a ‘pretty’ and ‘with a cherry on top.’”

Well, if this didn’t just flash me back to the past. We used to do this to each other—when Frankie really wanted me to go to a game, she’d say this to me, or when I really wanted to do a joint book report, I’d say this to her.

I’m not sure if she remembered that or was just teasing.

Either way, I gritted my teeth. “You are the biggest asshole in the world.” A smile escaped.

“You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you? ”

“Sure am.”

Now this time, the smile in Frankie’s voice was undeniable. She was officially, 100 percent the worst human alive. “Pretty, pretty, pretty please with a freaking bowling ball-sized cherry on top, will you help me out?” The words tasted icky. After this, from now until eternity, I’d fly solo.

“Wow, that was a lot of emotion, and I felt it right here. Oh, I’m tapping my heart for reference,” Frankie said, clearly loving every painful moment of this.

“For real, though, my aunt and uncle love their place, but I get the sense they are over it.” She took a loud, sharp breath.

A few moments passed before she spoke. “Look. I know you’re ambitious.

But we’re talking about not only cleaning out that massive disaster station but also remodeling a broken-down barn in less than three months. Can you even find a crew that quick?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve totally got this.” But those words prickled the back of my throat.

Supplies, permits, workers, equipment, design, on top of planning a wedding, in ninety days .

If given more time, no problem. I do this stuff in my sleep.

I’ve planned hundreds of weddings. But ninety days to remodel and plan?

Yes, I’d sent Frankie at least a dozen texts these last two days talking about my contacts and how I would make this work if Pete and Patty agreed to it, but that was me in fighting mode.

This was now reality. I scratched at my neck.

We were out of choices. Marlboro-gate was the last real venue available, and no way would I have the wedding there.

“Are you sure?” Frankie said. “This is a ton of work, not to mention a gazillion moving parts.”

It’s like she can read my mind . “I can handle it.” I absolutely cannot handle it .

Why did I say that? My belly churned with the undigested cereal, and I pushed the bowl to the side.

Floor measurements, plumbing, new windows, cleaning, junk removal…

My God , where would we put all the stuff?

All moisture depleted from my mouth and skyrocketed to my forehead. “I’ve got this,” I choked out.

“Cool.”

Ugh, I wanted to pluck out Frankie’s annoyingly beautiful brown eyes with that word.

I hated this so much…this need, this dependency, on someone else.

These things always ended in a disaster.

It’s why I never took on an employee, it’s why I owned my own business, it’s why I stayed single all these years.

Dependency was an unsteady, splintered crutch that could break at any time.

“I mean, we’ve got this,” I said, fanning my notebook across my face.

Here we go . Like it or not, for the next three months, Frankie and I needed to be locked at the hip.