Page 32 of The Ex Effect (Meet Cute in Minnesota #1)

NINETEEN

FRANKIE

Seriously, stop using ADHD as an excuse .

I pulled Peaches’s truck out of the driveway with Morgan riding shotgun and scolded myself.

My therapist would not be happy with me right now.

Because I knew exactly what I’d been going to say to Morgan back at the house. I was going to ask her out for dinner.

After working together for two months and eating sandwiches or takeout at the barn or Peaches’s house, having dinner probably didn’t seem like that big of a deal.

But I didn’t mean supper . I meant dinner .

At a restaurant with wine and a server, eating from a plate with actual silverware, not a box with chopsticks.

But also dinner was a terrible fucking idea. What in God’s name was I thinking? If dinner went well, then after dinner might go really well, and if all that went well…then it wouldn’t be well. At all . I’d be repeating history, with full knowledge of how painful everything was last time.

As the truck shook from bumping over a hefty pothole, I looked at Morgan’s bouncing body like a horny teenager and gripped the steering wheel to stop myself from doing something stupid.

But being in such close quarters with Morgan was doing me no favors, and more than once I lingered over Morgan’s shoulders to inhale the signature scent from her neck.

After dropping off a load at the donation center, I steered the truck down Main to Zoey’s Bakery.

Inside, the air swirled with an intense chocolate and buttered-dough aroma.

This might be the best job ever . Morgan said earlier she’d never encountered a couple who wanted the coordinator to cake test before but was up for the challenge.

Of course, she’d said that with a twinkle in her eye, and invited me along.

The combination of spending some non-manual labor time with Morgan while eating sugary desserts sounded like a perfect afternoon.

Zoey popped around the corner. “Hey, friends!” She waved Morgan and me to a small side table in the corner. “You excited for today?”

“Cannot wait. I finally have an excuse to try everything in your shop.” Morgan pulled out a chair and sat. “Hey, how is prepping for the Fourth of July event going? I heard from Connie at the coffee shop this morning that it’s going to be huge this year.”

Morgan should really run for mayor. Or CEO of Spring Harbors.

Or something . Because I swear to God, she knew everyone and everything that happened around here.

At first, it seemed almost creepy, how everyone knew everyone’s business.

But now it was comforting. I ran into the guy from the auto shop the other day at the grocery store, and he asked me if Morgan’s car was still holding up after I fixed it back in May.

Back in May .

“You know the whole gratitude thing, right? Great opportunity, great for business, excited to do it. Blah, blah. I know it hasn’t even happened yet, but if I never see another red, white, and blue firework cupcake in my life, it’ll be too soon.

” Zoey leaned back on her heels and tugged on her pink apron string.

“But I’m actually really excited for today.

We have the usuals, of course, but I just tried a new salted black sesame and pistachio cake that was freaking delicious, if I do say so myself.

So, even though that’s not a typical wedding cake, I want you to give it shot. ”

“That actually sounds really good,” I said, my mouth already watering. “Can’t wait to try.”

As Zoey walked away, I eyed the display case next to the table.

Behind the glass lay chocolates shaped like miniature gift boxes with edible gold, a small fruit tart that looked like glass, and delicate yet beautiful pink cupcakes, all nestled around pink tulle.

Normally, this much pink would give me serious Pepto vibes, but Zoey had it decorated with perfection.

“Does Zoey do this all herself?” I asked.

Morgan unfolded a napkin and placed it on her lap. “She does, at least most of it. I think she has only like two staff members. Rumor on the street is that she practically lives here.”

Ah, Mayor Morgan strikes again. “How long has she had this place open?”

“About five years.” Morgan tilted her head forward. “Let me tell you, there was some major drama around that.”

Dammit. She sucked me in. Now I must know everything. “Spill.”

In a hushed voice Morgan talked about how Zoey once worked at a local diner famous for the best coconut cream pie in town.

The diner had been around since before I was born, so I knew what place—and pie—Morgan meant.

“But after Zoey left and started the bakery, rumors that she stole recipes spread through the town like a bad case of chicken pox in a daycare center. And you know me,” Morgan whispered.

“I had to know, so I just point-blank asked her.”

Dear God . “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” Morgan tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

She scanned the buzzing customers like a spy, then leaned in.

“Turns out the owner of that place was a super creeper, and his wife is a total enabler, so they started this whole smear campaign. Went to the church circle and asked everyone to pray for Zoey.”

Morgan didn’t need to do air quotes around the word pray for me to know what she meant.

No news travels quicker than the church ladies’ “prayer” circle.

Sometimes it was done with good intentions, but mostly it was used to gossip with impunity.

“I’m not sure if it’s impressive or terrifying how you know everything around here.

I’m pretty sure you know everyone in this town. ”

“The city is my home, you know? I like to know people who are in my home.” A softness took over Morgan’s face. “It feels good. Safe. Like someone will always be there if you need them.”

In New York, even though the same guy worked at the corner grocery store for years, and I was a regular at a few restaurants, I didn’t know anyone at this level. With a constant rotation of people, I barely even knew my neighbors.

“Okay, friends…ready for this?” Zoey stepped from around the corner holding a large white tray with what must’ve been fifteen different desserts.

My blood sugar rose just looking at it. If for some reason the whole Birch & Willow thing didn’t work out, I was putting in an application somewhere as a professional taste tester.

I refrained from drooling and tried to pay attention to Zoey’s words.

“The cards are underneath the place setting, but here we have classic vanilla, chocolate, red velvet, almond, pistachio cream, butter mocha…” As Zoey continued pointing out the flavors, her employee popped out with another tray holding water, milk, and coffee. “To cleanse the palate,” Zoey said.

Yeah, yeah. Got it . Drink in between sips.

Label underneath. Lots of flavors. My mouth was salivating so much I might need a napkin.

When Zoey stepped away, I rubbed my hands together with my eyes cartoon-wide.

“Okay, where are we starting? Left top to bottom?” I sliced into the cake with the side of my fork without waiting for answer.

The warm vanilla sweetness melted into my mouth.

This wasn’t any ordinary vanilla, either.

It was simple and smooth, but full of flavor, and perfectly accented with a pillowy lavender frosting. “Winner. No need to try any more.”

Morgan laughed and dug out her notebook. “We can’t declare a winner already. We need a rating system. One to ten.”

“Eleven.” I dug my fork into the cake but stopped when Morgan touched my wrist.

“No judgment here, but you might want to pace yourself. We have another dozen to try.”

“Rude.” I looked down at the second bite with a grin. “Okay, fineeee . Good call.”

The cakes were phenomenal. Truly. When did I turn into a big city snob that thought a town like this couldn’t compete with Manhattan bakeries? Although, and I’d never say it to the nice lady, Connie, at the coffee shop, but NYC still had the best bagels.

So many bites and sips of coffee later, I bounced between marveling at a simple chocolate cake with a thin layer of raspberry that was equally as delicious as the complex coffee cake layered with swirls of salted hazelnut and topped with a Kahlúa-and-amaretto-based mousse.

I was completely useless at giving recommendations, but thankfully Morgan was taking the job way more seriously.

Morgan slid a small chunk of red velvet in her mouth and swirled the food like she was at a wine-tasting event. “Tell me what New York was like when you first got there.”

Hmm . How deep did I want to get, here in the middle of tasting treats at Zoey’s Bakery, with the bell dinging above the door anytime new customers entered?

“Exhilarating as it was terrifying. That first year, I was so homesick, even for my parents, if you can believe it. Terrified to walk at night.” And heartsick over Morgan, but I didn’t tell her that.

During those first years, though, I was also alive, free, and curious.

Feeding my curiosity was all-consuming. As I discovered the city and what made it spark alive, I discovered myself.

Getting diagnosed and finally treated for ADHD, learning to drive a motorcycle, going to underground clubs, listening to slam poetry at a small bar in West Village, taking a woman or two home from a speakeasy in SoHo, all contributed to the woman I became.

“Not everything was perfect, but God, it was freeing to just…be, you know?” I said.

“I learned who I was. Before Quinn arrived and I met Savannah, let’s just say I had some…

interesting apartments and even more interesting roommates.

Lived above a Subway shop and my clothes smelled like dough and onions for a year. Which honestly could’ve been worse.”

Oh, the sugar hit . Glaze covered my vision and I slammed back a full glass of water. “I did the most random jobs while developing my client list and skills. Bike messenger, dog walker, server. Oh! I even nannied for six months.”

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “Shut the hell up.”

I laughed. “It’s true! It was pretty great, if you can believe it.

The family was nice and I would’ve stayed for a few years, but they left for a job overseas.

I used to take all sorts of fun photos of the kids, and legitimately thought I would go on a full Annie Leibovitz trajectory and become a famous portrait photographer.

But then I got hired to shoot real estate photos, and it just evolved from there. ”

“I could see you doing the portrait photography. Those ones you took of Olivia and Tommy were amazing.” Morgan sipped on coffee, her eyes dipping. A few moments passed when she set her cup down and her gaze bounced between my eyes. “So, are you ready to share how you evolved from Katey to Frankie?”

Sugar high for the win. I dove in, told her something never felt right, whole, inside my heart.

I left out the part about how the self-exploration I had to take was also to learn who I was without Morgan.

Being co-dependent for so long left with me a debilitating self-identity crisis.

Who was I, if I wasn’t Morgan’s girlfriend?

“It wasn’t the name Katey so much as it was what Katey represented, you know?

It was the long hair, and my parents, and the need to be known as more than someone who could kick a ball and mess around with teachers.

” I added a dash of cream into the coffee and stirred.

“So, one day I just had this epiphany and shaved off my hair. Which was not the smartest thing to do in the dead of February, but whatever. And that day I decided I wanted to be known as Frankie.”

I kept talking, telling Morgan about my therapy and learning everything I could about ADHD, forgiving myself for past mistakes and forgiving my parents for being the way they were.

I told her about my fear of never being good enough, always a few steps behind, never taken seriously and how I fought like hell to shed that insecurity.

Morgan’s eyes glistened as she plopped her elbows on the table and leaned forward like she didn’t want to miss a single word.

The plates hadn’t been touched, the coffee left un-sipped.

After God knows how long, I glanced up, emotionally raw.

In the middle of rotating customers and the ringing bell, and half-eaten plates of cake samples, I shared more with Morgan than I had with Savannah.

But also, it was more than Savannah ever asked. No one had ever shown this much interest. Watching Morgan’s eyes grow wide, her hanging on my every word was doing something to my insides. I wanted to grab her hand and kiss it and thank her for being so genuinely interested in me, the person.

And now I was completely spent. I didn’t want to talk anymore about this. I was taxed and sleepy. But switching the subject back to Morgan felt disingenuous .

As if she could sense me dropping, Morgan pushed herself away from the table. “I can’t eat any more sugar. I’m out.”

“Wimp.” I laughed then groaned, thankful for the reprieve. “My stomach hurts so bad. I seriously feel like I’m drunk.”

After Zoey swung by, and Morgan gave her the top three choices she’d recommend to Olivia, she scooted back from the table and grabbed her purse. “Ready?” Outside, before we got into the truck, Morgan stared at me for a moment.

In the sun, Morgan’s purple shirt—which was my favorite color on her—highlighted the round cheeks which turned rosy from the sugar. Her eyelids sagged, and I was almost sure that Morgan would fall asleep before we even reached her house.

She paused on my side of the truck and reached for my hand.

What is she doing? My pulse quickened, unsure how to read Morgan’s reaction. There was a softness to Morgan, an unsureness, as she softly nibbled on her lower lip. Holy shit, she’s gonna kiss me . And perhaps it was the sugar talking, but I was ready. So unbelievably ready.

“For whatever it’s worth,” Morgan started as she gripped my hand, “even with all the good memories of the Katey I once knew, I really like Frankie.”

The words warmed me, more than I could have imagined. But when Morgan dropped my hand without a kiss and moved to the other side of the truck, my heart dropped.