Page 36

Thirty-Four

Date night.

Fran’s planned a date for us. At least, I think she has. She asked me to meet her on the south end of the lake, just off Tesoro Drive. But I didn’t realize there were any good walking paths or beaches over there.

After following her directions, I pull into a small parking lot. I peer around the lot for Fran. Her car is parked, but she’s not inside. To the left, there’s a bike trail that wraps halfway around the lake with a semi-decent beachy spot to sit by the water. But there’s no Fran over there either.

To the right, there’s moss, tall grass, reeds, and eventually water, but there isn’t any beachfront—just overgrown brush that no one in their right mind would walk through.

And, of course, yards and yards away—through a sea of weeds, moss, reeds, and waist-high grass—stands Fran.

“What the—” I run a hand through my hair as she sends over a wave. “What is she doing over there?” I mutter to myself.

I’m in my nice loafers. She told me to dress nice—and to bring a long, light jacket. It’s nice out, it’s almost summer—I don’t need the jacket.

Ugh.

I pull my phone from my pocket and hit call.

“Why are you calling?” she says. “I can see you! You found it. Get over here. Hurry before the sun sets.”

“Uh… I’m calling because I don’t understand what’s happening. I thought you’d be on the beach.” Somewhere my shoes wouldn’t slosh through muck.

“Well, I’m not. Come on.” She waves again. “Did you bring the frock coat?”

“I—I don’t have— I don’t know what that is, Fran.”

“Did you bring anything? You had one job, Callum.”

“I brought a raincoat.”

“Is it long?”

“It’s a jacket…”

She hums in thought. “Hmm, it might work. Come on! Just get over here.”

“Why are you so far out? I?—”

But she’s gone. She hangs up, and I’m left looking at a miniature Fran waiting for me clear across this field.

Grabbing the gift I brought her, I ditch the rain jacket and I start over.

I weave my way through the grass, searching for the least sloshy parts.

I sidestep and tiptoe for what seems like a very long time, just before coming to a clearing.

Fran has set up a small table for two, with folding chairs on either end.

Instrumental music plays from her phone.

She runs her finger over her ear. Her hair is pulled back, with wisps falling about her face. Then she lets her hands fall to her sides, brushing along the fabric of her long gold skirt and flowy white blouse. She’s beautiful.

“You made it,” she says, and she’s grinning wide and joyful.

“What is all this?”

The sun sets just behind me. I feel its warmth dipping out of sight.

“You took a while,” she says, but she’s still got that red-lipped grin on her face.

“The sun is almost down. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.

” She moves in front of me and picks up my hands in hers.

Her skin is cool and soft, and the feel of it does something to my insides. Something it shouldn’t be doing.

We. Are. Friends.

This girl is a goofball—an adorable, kind, loving goofball.

She tips her face up, her cheeks pink from being outside so long. “Can you say one thing for me?” Her cool fingers whisper over the back of my hand as she holds my hands to her abdomen—thoroughly distracting me.

My brows lift in question. “Say what?”

“Just look at me and say these words.” Her amber eyes shut, her chin lifts, and she whispers out the line she’s feeding me. “‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.’”

My brows cinch. “What is that from?”

“Don’t take me out of the moment, Callum. Just say the line.” She opens one eye to peek at me. “It’s for research.” She does have that paper due soon.

“Okay.” I clear my throat, peer down at the beautiful girl before me, and speak. “You have bewitched me, Fran.” My words feel scripted and clipped; they don’t have any of the feeling to them that hers did.

Her head gives a small shaking bobble, and she closes her eyes once more. Again, she prompts me, her voice just above a whisper. “‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.’ ”

I huff out a breath. “ Fine . You have bewitched me. Body and soul.” I can’t put the feeling in it that I know she wants. But I don’t know how—not when it’s so clearly scripted.

Again, her eyes flutter open, her long lashes fanning to the top of her brow as she looks up at me.

They tell me they are not impressed with my sloppy performance.

“Watch. Listen.” Her fingers move over mine, sending chill bumps over my arms as she entwines our fingers.

She clings our fingers close to her chest. “Callum,” she says, whispering my name.

“‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.’”

Her chin lifts. Her words are breathy and emotional.

I would be lying if I said she didn’t have skills, that she wasn’t drawing me in…

just a little. I think it’s the red lips.

The woman looks good in red. She’d look cute in a number ten Reno-Tesoro jersey too.

Which is why there’s one sitting in the gift bag I just set on the ground.

My gaze drops to her mouth. But soon, one of her eyes opens. She’s peeking at me again.

“It’s your turn,” she says.

My thumbs trace over her fingers still in my hands, and my heart flutters. I feel silly. This is silly. I’ve never been an actor. And speaking lines that aren’t my own feels strange.

And yet, she draws me closer.

I bend my face near hers, keep my hands tight in her grasp. In a low voice, one that mimics the way she just whispered to me, I say, “Fran Fairchild, you have bewitched me into doing things I’d never normally do. You’ve taken away my sanity, my reasoning, and possibly my self-control.”

With her eyes still closed and her rosy lips lifting at the corner, she sighs contentedly. “Close enough.”

I swallow, reliving what I’ve said and the truth of my words. I probably shouldn’t have said all that. It’s far too late now.

Her eyes flutter open, and I take one step back. I’m too close. Fran smells a bit like the diner, and I’ve never wanted a cheeseburger so bad in my life.

“Dinner,” she says, her throat bobbing with her swallow. “I brought dinner.”

“Which movie, Fran?”

“If I weren’t so busy swooning, I would be completely appalled that you don’t know,” she says through another sigh.

I run a hand over the back of my neck and chuckle. “Movie night?”

“Yes, please.”

Oh, Franny. You’re making this friend thing difficult.

She sighs again, her head ever tilted up to me, as if she’s waiting for me to seal the evening with a kiss. It’s tempting.

Instead, I clear my throat and take one more step away from her—for both of our good. “You said we’d be eating dinner?”

“Ah, yep.” Her shoulders drop, and so does her chin. Her hands flap at her sides, and then she bends over, picking up an insulated bag from beneath the table. “Okay, Mr. Egg White Omelet, I brought you a salad, a veggie wrap, or a turkey on wheat.”

“And what did you bring for yourself?” I ask, sitting in one of the chairs, watching as Fran pulls each dish from the cooler. “A greasy cheeseburger?” I say, my mouth watering.

“No.” She sits across from me. “I will eat whatever you don’t.”

“And what if I want it all?” I ask.

“Then I will force you to share half of everything with me. ”

I breathe out a laugh and grin, peering at the golden hue that takes over Fran’s hair in this light. “I’ll take the wrap.”

“Perfect. Wanna split the salad?”

“Sounds good,” I say.

I’m not sure why Fran making me dinner and offering me half her salad gets to me. But it does. And sure, we may not be dating like regular people date—still, we are dating.

Strangely, and all at once, I’ve decided I want Fran to meet my mother. For her. Fran is a kind soul, despite her difficult upbringing. She needs good people in her life. And my mom is the best. Knowing her would be a gift to Fran.

I take one bite of my veggie wrap. It’s tasty, and I wonder if Fran made it herself. I chew and think for a minute, wanting to make this decision and not jump on a whim. But at the moment, the only thing I dislike about the idea is that it was Zev’s before it was mine.

“Two things,” I say.

She looks up from her sandwich.

“Yea. First—I sort of brought you a gift.”

Those amber eyes widen. “You bought me something. A man has never bought me anything before. I mean, besides dinner, and half the time, I’m even the one buying that.”

“Whoa. Slow down. And you should not be buying your own dinner. This is why I’m helping you. Wrong men will get you nowhere.”

“You said you brought it?” Her lips purse to the side, and her eyes rove all around me, as if her gift may jump out at her.

“Yeah.” I reach for the bag that she hasn’t noticed yet. She was too busy “swooning” to see that I’d brought something. I hand it over and clear my throat. Why did I buy her my own jersey? What does that say? I just wanted her to have some team gear. What possessed me to buy my own number?

No taking it back now.

She grins. “Thanks, Cal. This is so sweet of you.” She opens up the bag—no tissue paper. I didn’t think that far ahead. Or maybe I didn’t think at all. Number ten.

I swallow as she pulls the size small jersey from the bag. “You can always return it.”

But she’s already smiling. She’s looking at that jersey like it might be some kind of promise. “I love it.”

“I know the team shop has plenty of Lucca’s number. We can always?—”

“Shut up, loon. I love it. I’m happy to represent Superman.”

I am suddenly warm. I’d love to ditch my tie and unbutton this shirt at the neck.

I nod. “I’m glad you like it.”

“What is number two?” she says before taking a bite of salad.

My nerves are spiked after that gift. What was I thinking? What am I thinking now? And yet—I open my mouth. Words come out. As if Zev were pulling my puppet strings and saying them himself. “Fran, would you want to come home with me? For a visit?”

She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “Home? As in your apartment?”

“No. As in my home home. Where I grew up, in California. My parents still live in Ventura. I’m going home for a party my mom throws every year.

She always plans it around one of my breaks.

I have three days coming up, and I’m headed home.

” I swallow. “Would you want to come? You could make fun of the stuffed animals still in my childhood room and soccer posters on my wall.”

“Why would I do that?”

I lift one shoulder. “You wouldn’t. But you could if you wanted to. A childhood bedroom is fair game. It’s next Saturday to Monday. Quick trip.”

Fran nibbles on the corner crust of her bread. “Meeting the family. That’s… big.”

“It’s just an introduction. One friend meeting another friend’s family. Nothing to stress about.”

She nibbles on her lip. “Did Simone?—”

“Yes, Simone met my family. But Fran, it wasn’t what you think. If anything, my family may be nervous about meeting you because of Simone. The fact that you are nothing like Simone is in your favor.”

“What does that mean—nervous about me?”

I clench my jaw. “I’m close to my family. But when Simone and I were together, I somewhat estranged myself from them. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. But it happened. I don’t want them ever worrying that it’ll happen again.”

Her brows pull together. “I don’t want to worry them either.”

“You won’t. I will explain. They’ll be okay. I want you to meet them.” And I do. My own nerves ease with each comforting word I offer.

“Okay, then. Yes, I’d like to meet your family, Cal.”

“Good.” I grin, feeling the rightness of this invitation. Fran will come home with me. My family will see—we’re friends, and that friendship won’t change things at home. “I’ll send you the information. Hopefully it’s enough time to take a few days off. ”

“Jan owes me,” she says. “Last year, she said her uncle died, and I worked five days in a row for her. Really, she was following Pulse Theory around on tour.”

“The boy band?”

“Yes. Jan and a million thirteen-year-olds were in heaven.” She presses her lips together and dips her head. “I can get the days.”

I rein back my grin and take another bite of my wrap. “Now, let’s talk about this remake. Why is sending your date through weeds, mud, and thistles fun? How does this help you?”

“Oh, Callum Whitaker, if only you knew. Also, you forgot your raincoat.” She waves her empty fork in a circle my way. “I might need you to replay the whole thing.”

“Yeah… that’s not going to happen.”