Page 20 of The Ex Effect (Meet Cute in Minnesota #1)

ELEVEN

FRANKIE

A small container of food, some tools from Peaches’s shed, and cleaning supplies filled the truck’s passenger seat as I made my way up to the tree farm. Who knows what I’d do when I arrived, but I wanted to be prepared.

Not wanting to think about the hug from yesterday, because absolutely nothing good would come from diving into that pond, I turned on Ruby Reanne’s podcast, Love ’Em or Leave ’Em .

“Okay, all, a listener emailed this to me last week, and I had to jump on it,” Ruby said in her signature smiling voice. “‘Hi, Ruby, I’ll keep this short but looking for your advice here. I’ve been married to a wonderful man for ten years and have never lied to him. But I’m lying now.’”

Oh, juicy . I turned up the volume.

“‘My husband thinks he has a good singing voice,’” Ruby continued.

“‘And he doesn’t. It’s truly terrible. I think he struggles with tone deafness or voice dysmorphia or something.

And if he only sang around the house, that would be fine.

But he told me he wants to develop this singing hobby into a career.

He even recorded demos, sent audition tapes to every show you can imagine, and next week he’s trying out as the lead singer in a band.

But, as the rejections trickle in, he asked if I thought he had a good voice and if he could make it in the business.

I dodged the question, but what should I do when he asks me again?

I know your motto is honesty is the foundation of relationships, but I’m torn.

I don’t want to lie, but also I don’t want him to feel humiliated if he auditions and gets laughed out of the club. Sincerely, a New Jersey Wife.’”

I turned left onto the county road and leaned in to hear Ruby’s response.

“So, honesty is the foundation of everything. You cannot have a healthy relationship built on lies,” Ruby said through the speakers.

“Being married to Amelia has taught me this a million times over. Now , that being said, I’m reminded of a few things.

One, several years back, Amelia forced me to listen to this new singer, Billie Eilish, and her song ‘Bad Guy.’ I did not understand the appeal at all. ”

Say what? Ruby was just knocked down ten points. She better redeem herself, stat.

“I thought Billie was too breathy, spoke more than sang, and her style was not at all my cup of tea. I told my wife this. Mind you, I consume grunge and metal the same way I consume coffee, and it was just…different. But, before you grab the pitchforks, hear me out. I thought Billie didn’t have a good voice .

Can you believe that? Considering I am now one of her biggest fans, I’m shocked that ever entered my mind. ”

Thank God Ruby restored my faith in her. I’d really hate to stop listening to the show.

“Next point. Bob Dylan. I mean, notoriously not good voice, right? But he’s one of the most respected artists ever.

So, who are we to judge? Maybe even if your husband doesn’t have a traditionally good voice, he can still make it in the business.

There’s an audience for everything, you just have to find it.

Final point. I’m reminded of a time when Amelia wore one of these poofy shirts that were apparently all the rage.

I thought she looked like a pirate. But when she asked, ‘How do I look,’ I said she looked beautiful, because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or sleep on the couch.

So, to recap, voices are subjective. Maybe his voice is good and you just can’t hear it.

Second, every once in a while , it’s okay to lie.

In this case, lie like a damn doormat. Tell him he’s wonderful.

Let someone else tell him he sucks. It’s going to hurt either way, but he can be hurt by them and not you. ”

Huh. Solid advice. I cracked the window as I weaved up the winding road into Pete and Patty’s.

The phone rested in my palm. I shouldn’t…

don’t do it… but I couldn’t help it. I slowed to a stop and held my breath as I swiped through emails.

No new messages from Birch & Willow . I exhaled.

I was not the praying kind, but another week or two of silence and I may dig out one of Peaches’s rosaries.

Less than five seconds after getting out of the vehicle, Morgan marched towards me with a frown visible from across the valley.

“You’re late.”

If this was the attitude on the first day of this massive project, I would seriously consider telling Morgan to screw herself.

After all these years, Morgan still hadn’t dropped her holier-than-thou attitude when it came to things she thought were important.

Time, rigid schedules, college…it didn’t matter.

If it was important to her, then it was clearly important to everyone else.

How had she not evolved over the years and realized that other people had different priorities?

The self-centeredness was truly remarkable.

I was about two seconds away from saying something snarky but goddamn…Morgan was in denim overalls, tennis shoes, with her blonde locks tucked in a red bandanna. She looked like an even sexier version of Rosie the Riveter, and I was totally disarmed. Unfair playing field, unfair advantage.

I glanced at my watch. “I’m exactly on time. It’s eight a.m. You said be here at eight.”

Morgan crossed her arms. “Which is late.”

Whatever. No matter how hard I tried, I’d never get her logic.

But for now, I’d play nice. Besides wanting to do Tommy’s family solid, the distraction from waiting on Birch & Willow ’s response, plus taking a break from packing up Peaches’s house, was exactly what I needed.

I lifted the mug in my hand. “I brought you coffee.”

Morgan’s frown flipped, and she reached out her hand. “You’re forgiven.”

I scanned the property . Jesus. Did the place look this bad when we took pictures, or had Pete and Patty somehow accumulated even more shit?

Every imaginable busted, rusted, and broken thing was piled high on the lawn.

Was that a freaking toilet in the middle of the yard?

I squinted. Yep, sure was. I followed Morgan across the marsh and tried to keep up with her mile-a-minute talking about the plans for the crew that was already clearing brush, the process we’d follow for organizing and cleaning the barn, and how she was going to attempt to fire up the abandoned bulldozer, so we didn’t have to rent one.

Two guys dragged what looked like a broken-down table saw from the junkyard pile, while another guy banged on the window frame. Sam rounded the corner, his hat tugged low, and his shirt already smeared with dirt.

“Kat—sorry—Frankie.” He removed his hat and swiped his forehead with his shirt. “Not very good seeing you.”

“Same.” I sipped from the mug, the warm coffee sliding down my throat. “Similar to the feeling I had when the Wolves bit it during March Madness.”

Sam shook his head. “I still have nightmares. I mean eight minutes is like?—”

“Eight years, right? And then he gets it and?— ”

“Totally chokes.” Sam flung his hand. “How the hell could he get a charging call?—”

“ That one was on the ref. He was plowed into?—”

“He didn’t even have a chance. But the D they were playing was?—”

“Guys. Really.” Morgan stepped in between us with a scowl. God, she’s cute when she’s angry. “Can we please focus on the barn?”

I saluted the drill sergeant and tilted my head at Sam with a grin.

Morgan put me on moving duty with a couple of the guys, which was fine enough. I loved hitting the gym and lifting weights, but I’d much rather work out by doing this stuff, or a fierce game of one-on-one. Less boring, same effect. And way less time being in Morgan’s presence, thank God.

Hours soon passed as the spring sun beat down, becoming a shade too hot.

For every minute spent piling usable items for Pete and Patty to go through, I grew even more nostalgic.

This place used to be everything. Sleigh rides, a laughing Santa taking gift wishes, a bonfire crackling in the background, the smell of mint and chocolate and snow.

I hauled pieces of metal, mouse traps, dirty rugs, and too many unidentifiable things to the dumpster.

The loud noise of chainsaws and men yelling at each other poured over the area.

The dumpster filled quickly, taken up by several old mattresses and a box spring, and I started a new pile next to a haystack.

The work was hard, but rewarding, and I couldn’t help but getting a kick out of Morgan heaving and dragging a wheelbarrow full of broken jars to the dumpster. “Need some help?”

“No, I absolutely don’t,” Morgan huffed, then stood with her hands on her hips, probably trying to figure out how in the hell she was going to dump the contents into the dumpster.

I almost stepped toward her and offered to lift it, but nah .

Morgan said she didn’t want help and who was I to overrule the queen?

But too many minutes passed, and what was once amusing was now inefficient and no longer funny. I tugged my work gloves tight. “For Christ’s sake, just let me help.” I crossed the lawn to Morgan. “Sam! Can you give me a hand?”

In no time flat, Sam and I lifted the wheelbarrow and dumped it out, and Morgan returned to the barn. I sipped water and watched as one of the crew members hooked a broken snowplow up to an ATV and drove it down the valley.

I walked back up the incline toward Morgan as a crew member pushed past me with a hand-held snowplow. “Where are they putting those snowplows?”