Page 7 of The Ex Effect (Meet Cute in Minnesota #1)

Connie waved over the new barista. “Say now, did I introduce you to my niece here, Megan? Megan, meet Morgan. Morgan, Megan. And wouldn’t ya know, your names are only one letter off.”

Two letters , but I would never say that. I nodded at the young woman with the messy bun and tortoiseshell glasses. “Hey, Megan. You must be new. I’m here all the time and haven’t seen you yet.”

“Yep, just started two days ago.” Megan shoved a mug under the filter as the water hissed through the beans. “School just got out, so I’m helping Auntie for the summer. Good to meet you.”

The door chime rang, and a few heavy footsteps moved toward me. A moment later, I felt the energy of someone standing a few inches too close. I didn’t even need to turn around to know which she-devil was at my back.

“Isn’t this fun coincidence?”

Groan . I hadn’t heard from Frankie since we parted ways at the Satan’s Den Diner a few days ago, which admittedly surprised me.

But also, why would I think I’d hear from Frankie?

This was the woman who left for New York City all those years back without saying goodbye.

I turned on my heels. “Two adults getting coffee at one of the three coffee shops open before nine a.m. is not that coincidental. This isn’t New York when you probably don’t see the same person twice in a lifetime. ”

Living in a town of under three thousand for my entire life, I constantly ran into people I knew.

That was why I always had my face and hair done, and a smile plastered on top of the makeup, even when my insides were knotted.

But I loved it here. This was home. The town was stable and supportive, always holding me in a protective security blanket.

But Spring Harbors was never enough for Frankie. She wanted out since childhood. The town… me… none of it was enough to keep her anchored.

“So feisty this early on a beautiful Saturday.” Frankie reached in her back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Looks like someone didn’t get their neighborly May Basket.”

Whoa . Years had passed since I thought about the May 1st tradition.

As a kid it used to be one of my favorite events where I’d make neat little baskets of gold-wrapped chocolate, wildflowers, and a couple of my mom’s homemade chocolate bars, and I’d ding-dong ditch baskets around the neighborhood.

The last year I did it, Frankie and I were probably around thirteen or fourteen.

I remember tripping while ditching, spraining my ankle, and Frankie giving me a piggyback ride back to my house.

“I’m not feisty.” I gritted my teeth, then smiled at Megan, who called my name for the coffee.

Frankie ran her fingers through her dark cropped hair and stepped up to the register.

She was always more masc than me—a tough, fast-as-hell, gym-shorts-and-sports-jersey-wearing girl—but the short hair with buzzed sides and the Harley driving would take getting used to.

And I would admit this to absolutely no one, but the look suited her. Incredibly well.

I sipped the deliciously smooth drink and had every intention of bolting out the door when Frankie stepped in my path.

“I have some good news.” Frankie shoved her wallet back in her pocket. “I’m taking Olivia and Tommy’s engagement photos today.”

I almost spit out my coffee over Frankie’s brown leather jacket.

“Wait, what? Why don’t I know about this?

They should have told me.” I tapped my fingers against the cup.

“ Where? How long does processing take? We can get these out with the invites if there’s enough time.

” This was actually really good news. But did anyone even consider that I should have been told immediately?

I checked my watch. “Dammit. I have to pick up cupcakes for Sam.”

“Your brother?” Frankie tipped her head in thanks at the barista and grabbed her drink.

“Yes. His oldest is having a soccer game and he’s on cupcake duty.”

A grin tugged at Frankie’s lips. “God, those were the days. Orange slices, tearing up the field, screaming with my buddies. Soccer was always my favorite.”

Yeah, I remember. I must’ve sat through hundreds of Frankie’s games over the years. Frankie was a phenomenal athlete—basketball, softball, hockey—but a star on the soccer field. Seemed like she could run for days without dropping. “Do you still play?”

“Nah.” Frankie lifted the drink to her lips. “I had surgery about five years ago, and sadly, no more soccer for me.”

I stopped in my tracks. Surgery? What kind?

For what? No matter how many questions verged on the tip of my tongue, I kept my mouth zipped.

It wasn’t my place to ask any invasive questions, but it reiterated that a lifetime had passed and I no longer knew the person I used to know better than myself.

“Which place you grabbing the treats from?” Frankie held the door open for me.

“Zoey’s Bakery, across the street.” I stepped onto the sidewalk and jutted my head to the shop across the street with the pink-and-white awning and the obvious Zoey’s Bakery written across the large front window.

Frankie glanced toward the store as if this was the first time seeing it.

God, she really doesn’t notice things, does she?

How has she not evolved as an adult? I swear Frankie was perpetually in la-la land and completely unaware of her surroundings unless on a court or field, where she had magical laser focus.

“Zoey’s Bakery, huh?” she said. “That’s where the nail salon was, right?”

“That was like five years ago. Zoey’s been here since then.

” Why did this annoy me? Not that Zoey took over the salon, but that Frankie didn’t know Zoey took over the salon.

When new stores opened in town, it was always a big deal.

A write-up in the local weekly newspaper, a long line of locals cheering for them on their first day, homemade Grand Opening Event signs stapled into wooden light posts.

No chance Frankie’s ultra-hipster neighborhood in New York rallied like this.

“Cool.” Frankie squinted into the sun. “I’ll walk with you, and we can chat about the wedding.”

Although this was the very last thing I wanted, I reluctantly agreed.

Like it or not, I needed the details about the photo shoot so I could plan.

The wedding time bomb ticked in my ear, and the more I could cross off my list, the better.

Nightmares of being lost at a reception, dropping a cake, and sending out the wrong invites flooded me this past week, and I’d give my left pinkie to be able to sleep through the night.

I walked the sidewalk with Frankie and took grateful sips of the Americano. “Are you taking photos at the water?”

“Actually, no. At least not today.” Frankie pushed the crosswalk signal at the lights. “We’re going to go up to my aunt and uncle’s place. Remember Pete and Patty? The ones with the Christmas tree farm.”

“The one up by Maple Creek?” Talk about blast from the past. When I was a kid, my whole family would go there every year to chop down a tree and attach it to the top of my dad’s car, Griswold-style.

“Yeah. I heard the place is kind of a wreck, but the land is still pretty. And I don’t need a permit or have to worry about people getting in the way,” Frankie said. “And, selfishly, I wanted to capture the place while I’m here. Sounds like they’re going to be shutting down the farm and retiring.”

“Really?” My heart sank. Sure, I didn’t frequent the Christmas tree farm.

For the last decade at least, I stuck a four-foot, pre-lit tree by my front window—which was more to not look like a bah-humbug to my neighbors, and less about my holiday spirit.

But Pete and Patty’s place was a local tradition, even if it wasn’t what it used to be.

“That’s too bad. But also…good for them.

Keeping up a tree farm has got to be a ton of work.

” I moved past the pride flag outside Zoey’s Bakery and reached for the door handle.

Inside, I stepped into a mushroom cloud of dough and sugar scents. I inhaled, filling my lungs. Yum. God, I was a sucker for sweets. Chocolate, raspberry, vanilla, I’d even tried a pickle cupcake a few weeks ago that was surprisingly delicious. I breathed in one more time, then went to the counter.

Zoey glanced up from tucking edges into a pastry box. “Heya, Morgan!” She wiped her hands on her pink apron and moved to the counter. “You haven’t been here for almost a month. Did we break up and I didn’t get the memo?”

“Nah. I’ll never leave your raspberry scones.” I grinned. “Sam sent me to pick up cupcakes.”

Although the queer community was small around here, it had been apparent from day one that Zoey and I would never be a match.

Zoey was cute. Wavy dark hair, chunky glasses, bright blue eyes, a wide grin.

I swear I’d befriend her properly if I had more time.

But no spark ever existed. And even though I wouldn’t call myself a romantic, I relied heavily on sparks and tingles to indicate if someone was a good match.

The brain might lie, but the body does not.

“Sam’s little guy has a soccer game, right? I got them ready for you right here.” Zoey dug out a pink box from under the counter. “Lisa called earlier and said you’d be by to grab them. ”

Frankie leaned toward me. “Jesus, do you seriously know everyone in this town?”

Kind of, yes . I wanted to snark that Frankie would know everyone, too, if she didn’t bust out of here like Spring Harbors was a jail, but I refrained.

Zoey tapped on the screen, her gaze flashing between Frankie and me. “Are you two together?”

“Definitely not.” I stiffened, then softened when I looked at Frankie’s deadpan stare. “I mean, yes, we’re getting these cupcakes now… together.” But only out of sheer desperation to move the wedding-needle a fraction.

Zoey swiped the credit card I handed her in the machine and smiled at Frankie. “Are you new to the area? Tourist? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”

“Um, something like that.” Frankie’s dimples deepened with her smile.

Are they flirting? In front of me? God, that smile, though. Honestly, it was unfair. People who had smiles like that made other people melt. That smile hid what a terrible, awful, horrible person Frankie was, and hopefully Zoey could see through those deep-set dimples’ facade.

“Great place you’ve got here.” Frankie took a step back and cast a gaze across the space. “Love the pride décor.”

The tiniest swipe of blush crossed Zoey’s pale cheeks, enough that I wanted to stomp out of the store.

The very last thing I needed to see was another victim succumb to Frankie’s famous charm.

Christ, too many things hadn’t changed with Frankie.

She always had this way about her… someone who could talk their way out of a ticket or convince a teacher to swap a grade, which I distinctly remember happening at least twice our senior year, which infuriated me because I had done the due diligence of studying my ass off, and she’d done the bare minimum by charming the teachers.

I called out my thanks to Zoey and headed out the door, with Frankie at my heels .

Outside, I balanced both boxes and my coffee as I scurried across the street.

Frankie held out her arms. “Let me hold one of those.”

“I’m perfectly capable.” I didn’t need some motorcycle-driving, knight-in-shiny-leather-armor coming in and doing chivalrous things. Although it was pretty cumbersome trying to dig out the keys from my purse while propping the boxes on my hip.

I wanted Frankie to ask me again, so I could hand her a box.

She didn’t.

Frankie tossed her drink into the sidewalk wastebasket. “Hey, why don’t you meet us up at Pete and Patty’s for the shoot?”

I sighed. I had so much to do. However, it was nearly impossible to get Olivia nailed down for longer than a few short emails.

At least if I were in person with Olivia, I could strong-arm her into making a few decisions.

“Okay, maybe I’ll try. Can you send me the details?

” I opened the back door and slid the boxes on the backseat.

“And, um, thanks.” Ugh, if those words didn’t feel like glass shards coming from my mouth.

In the car, I pinched the bridge of my nose and exhaled.

The headache eased up, but the thought of spending the afternoon with Frankie kicked it back into high gear.

I turned the ignition and… Oh no. Oh, no, no, no .

A horrific sound like a metal fork scraping across something under my hood flooded the car.

I pushed the back of my head into the seat. Not now.

A knuckle rapped on the window. “Need a ride?”

I stepped out of the car and pointed at the motorcycle. “On that death trap? Absolutely not.”

Frankie shrugged. “Cool.”

If she says that one more time, I swear to God …

Frankie tugged on her helmet and flung a leg over the bike seat without so much as a second glance.

Dammit. Sam would already be at the soccer game, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to call my workaholic parents for a ride.

I could Uber, but in this town, the rideshares weren’t plentiful.

I may hate anything sports-related, but the last thing I could bear to think about was Henry’s disappointed cherub face when I didn’t make his game or bring the cupcakes.

Crap . I really didn’t want to do this. But… but I had no choice. “Frankie, wait!”