Page 25 of The Ex Effect (Meet Cute in Minnesota #1)

THIRTEEN

FRANKIE

The Blatnik Bridge never seemed to disappoint. Seeing sunrays bounce off the glassy water while anxiously waiting for a cargo boat to open the bridge was a chef’s kiss. I took a deep breath, the freshwater-infused air prickling my nose, and dangled my legs off the tailgate.

I couldn’t believe I’d been back in town for almost four weeks now, and after the blowup with Morgan last week at the farm was the first time I’d gone to the bridge since I was a teen.

This place was damn near heavenly. The white noise of traffic above, the lack of horn honking (unlike New York), the tall grass waving in the breeze, provided a perfect serene background.

Which meant this place also provided the perfect opportunity to clear my mind and think.

And that was exactly what I did for hours that day.

Sitting under the bridge, it felt like I contemplated every life decision I’d ever made.

I revisited what made me leave this town, why I loved New York so much, why I didn’t just hire someone to take care of Peaches’s house, and why the hell I was spending the summer with my ex-girlfriend who tugged at my heart while simultaneously driving me up a wall .

That afternoon, after being seriously—and fairly , I might add—annoyed as hell at how Morgan snapped at me, I’d called Quinn.

She cut me off from my rambles about not understanding the big freaking deal about getting invitations out by an arbitrary deadline and point-blank asked me, “How would you feel if someone who wasn’t a photographer said, ‘Who cares if the lighting isn’t great?

It’s just a picture.’” I both loved and hated my sister for calling me on my bullshit.

I didn’t like not being right, and I definitely didn’t appreciate Quinn’s refusal to coddle me.

But it was the phone call I made after my conversation with Quinn that really sealed the deal in my decision to return to the barn and help Morgan finish what we started.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I really didn’t want to think about that conversation, nor about how different my life in New York would feel when I returned.

I was here with Morgan, and right now, that’s what mattered. Not the drama back home.

The low horn of a cargo ship passing through the waters sounded, and a little jolt went through me.

Who knew watching a boat trudge under a bridge would be so interesting?

In New York, I loved the action, the hustle, the energy.

The city was invigorating, had its own personality, and had a strong pull that made you believe if you moved fast enough, you could achieve your dreams. In the city, I could eat anything I wanted, from dim sum to sushi to the best steak in the world.

I could go to Broadway, sit in a whiskey and cigar bar, or dance and scream under the flashing strobe lights and with the best EDM DJs in the world.

Not that I’d done that since my mid-twenties, but I could if I wanted to.

Spring Harbors had none of this for me, at least not at the scale I’d become accustomed to.

But, in New York, I never took the time to do anything like this—sit and watch bridges. Or stare at squirrels running up trees in Peaches’s backyard, or learn the name of the barista at a local coffee shop. The pace here was different. Not better, not worse, just fundamentally different.

And I kind of loved it.

I rolled my head, trying to remove the tension from my shoulders.

Morgan and I had busted our asses these last nine days and finally made a dent in the space.

But I was making next to zero progress on Peaches’s house, which was the whole point of me taking this time off and coming here.

After lifting heavy tools and junk all day long, when I returned to Peaches’s house at the end of the night to tackle the mound of shit waiting for me, I was too exhausted.

I usually ended up spending the evenings icing my knee and watching as time slipped by at a furious rate.

When I tore my ACL during a “friendly” co-ed soccer game by plowing into some assholes on the opposing team who needed to be taught a lesson, I knew my days on the field were done.

But rarely did my knee act up how it had this week.

At this point, I might need to hire someone to help me clear the house, which would be totally financially counterintuitive to helping Morgan clean out the barn.

So maybe I should just stop helping Morgan?

She could hire someone else with what she was paying me, I could swing by a few nights a week and look through the potential salvageable items, and I could finish what I came to Minnesota to do.

Although that was by far the most logical plan, I didn’t like it.

But I didn’t want to contemplate why I didn’t like it.

My phone rang and I dug it from my pocket. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Morgan said on the other line. “I just got off the phone with Olivia. A little change of plans for tomorrow.”

Knowing Morgan, little change of plans could mean just about anything.

I lay back in the truck bed and closed my eyes.

“For the love of everything holy, please tell me we’re not going back to the barn.

You said a day off. No, wait, you promised a day off.

You told me you had to get liquor-permit appeals and court stuff and other paperwork things that I one hundred percent didn’t pay attention to.

I need a break from moving rat-poop-infested junk.

Please. You are killing me.” I added an extra-heavy whine to my words for good measure.

“In fact, I think I’m already dead. I’m the ghost of Frankie and not a real person.

Does it feel breezy? That’s my spirit haunting you. ”

“You are the most dramatic human alive, and that’s saying a lot since I grew up with Sam,” Morgan said with a smile in her tone. “Take a breath. We don’t have to go back to the barn until Monday.”

Thank God. “Oh, okay, cool. Then what’s the plan? You up for a quick skydive?” A playful smile tugged at my lips.

“Not this week. Maybe next,” Morgan said without dropping a beat.

“Long story short, Tommy and Olivia had hired a choreographer to teach them a wedding waltz. They were supposed to meet him tomorrow, but that person backed out. Flu something or other. Doesn’t really matter.

Bottom line, we’re going to meet them on campus at noon. ”

I propped my elbow up on the truck bed and switched the phone to my other hand. “I fail to see why we would need to meet them at all since the person backed out.”

“ Because I’m going to show them how to do the dance. We thought it might be nice for you to capture some of the practice photos,” Morgan said. “I gotta run. But be there tomorrow, noon, on campus near the Old Main Park.”

I was about to respond when Morgan cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” Morgan sighed. “What I meant to say was, it would be great if you could meet us tomorrow on campus to capture the memories. But also, you’re under no obligation. But if you wanted to, we’ll be there at noon. Will that work for you?”

Well, if there wasn’t something damn near endearing listening to Morgan trying to act like an empathetic human.

Having someone else in her space, working alongside her when she’d been working solo, would take a bit of getting used to.

Except for the initial rough patch, Morgan had handled the change better than most.

I took one last look at the bridge and hopped off the truck bed to head home. “No place I’d rather be.”

And I actually meant that. Ever since the call I made last week, being alone with my thoughts, questioning if I made the right decision, thinking of my past in New York, was the very last thing I needed.

The only question I had now was if I was obliged to tell Morgan the truth.