Falling In Love With A Police Officer (Rich & Rugged: A Hawkins Brothers Romance Book 4)

by Ellie Hall

  On the other hand, her brothers weren’t joking when they offered to “take care of things”. One of them was a trainer at a boxing gym uptown and had offered his services if any knuckles needed to be thrown. There were six Costa brothers and that intimidation factor alone could make the landlord rethink his decision if he’d ever show his face.

  Frankie had a lawyer look at the lease—something she should’ve done before she signed it. Unfortunately, it was valid. The landlord’s sneaky plan became clear as day to lease the space, wait until the business was successful, and then go in and replace it with a restaurant that he backed, hoping to edge in on her customer base. He was so slimy, he’d even named his new restaurant Mangia Mama.

  When Frankie reached the top of the stairs in the building, she glared out the window. The new sign filled the spot that had previously said, Mangia Bella. However, she couldn’t bring herself to fight. She just wanted to go somewhere quiet and lick her wounds.

  She entered the office and presented the key to the property management assistant, a young man wearing a bowtie—in a hipster, ironic way. He had neatly trimmed hair and deliberate movements.

  “That look on your face,” he said.

  Frankie arched an eyebrow, taken aback.

  The man held his hands up in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. You look like you might start sending laser beams out of your eyes.”

  She glanced back toward the window, to the building across the street, and the sign. The place where she’d poured in blood, sweat, and tears for years. She snorted.

  The assistant peered left and then right before leaning close. “Listen, I don’t like this any better than you do. Your lunch specials—” He bunched up his fingers, kissed them, and then spread them wide. “Welk marched in here, demanded we handle his property, and have the premises vacated. When I found out it was Mangia Bella, I begged my boss to reconsider. My life will not be the same without your lasagna.”

  Frankie smiled thinly, flattered and surprised at his candor.

  “Okay, I didn’t beg because that’s beneath me, but I did tell my boss that it was a bad idea. All my boss sees is dollar signs and Welk is a tycoon so...” He lowered his voice another octave. “But you better be sure I’ll patronize Mangia Mama and then make a call to the health department. A place like that is sure to attract rats.” The assistant’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Now that is not beneath me.”

  Frankie could hardly believe her ears. He wasn’t the first to offer revenge. “That’s very, um, thoughtful of you, but—”

  “But?” He got to his feet. “Girl, you just walked in here with murder-face. Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound like the perfect plan.”

  In a way, it did, but the whole thing left her feeling helpless and hopeless and like maybe having her own restaurant wasn’t meant to be. She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you,—”

  The assistant held out his hand. “Markus. It’s nice to meet the talented and fabulous chef at Mangia Bella. I wish it were under different circumstances.”

  She shook his hand and introduced herself. “Likewise.”

  “Could you do me a favor?” he asked. “Will you let me know when you reopen and where? I’m addicted to the lunch toast you make—those crostinis with the burrata.”

  “I could just give you the recipe.”

  “Oh, I don’t cook and I know that you’ll make a comeback, Frankie.”

  She snorted. Not likely. She felt deflated, as laden as the gray sky outside.

  Once back on the sidewalk, Frankie said a final goodbye to Mangia Bella. It was so named because that was what her dad always said, encouraging her to eat. Eat, beautiful. As the only daughter of seven, he always called her Bella. Her brothers did too—never letting her forget that she was pretty, inside and out. But right then she felt something else.

  Empty. Alone. Sad.

  When she got to her studio apartment, only three blocks away, she sunk onto the sofa. She still wore her hat, scarf, and gloves. Her head tipped back and she stared at the ceiling.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked out loud.

  Frankie had given her all to Mangia Bella—even staying in the tiny apartment with the low rent so she’d have more to invest back into the restaurant. It also helped that it was so close to the location because she was at work most of the time. In fact, not one member of her family had ever been to the apartment. They’d find her at the restaurant, day and night. And it showed. The small studio wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t tidy either. She had a plant by the window that was past the point of resuscitation. She hadn’t put up one Christmas decoration—not in the four years that she’d lived there. A stack of unread magazines sat on the table and on top of it, a large manila envelope her father had given her before he and her mother left for Italy at the end of the summer.

  He’d said, “Your mama and I are getting old. It’s time we got our affairs in order.” She hadn’t liked the sound of that so she’d ignored the envelope, assuming it contained their will—not something she wanted to think about then or ever.

  The whole idea made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. She tossed her gloves on the table and frantically tore at the scarf wrapped around her neck. As she did so, the large envelope fell on the floor with a thud and a plink. She frowned, hoping nothing broke and retrieved the envelope.

  Inside, sure enough, was a will, but there were also numerous black and white photographs that had yellowed slightly—her grandparents and great grandparents. She studied each one, dropping into the distraction, feeling a sudden connection to her ancestors who’d overcome greater hardships than losing a restaurant—they’d survived wars, illnesses, and losses. There was one image of her grandfather standing in front of a sign that said Costa Christmas Tree Farm.

  She unfolded a thick piece of paper that spread to cover the entire coffee table and scanned a family tree, written in an old script that was much different than handwriting nowadays. Her finger traced the Costa line from her great-great-great-great Nonno, to her great grandfather, to her grandfather, Francesco, to her father and then to her. The family tree limbs spread in every direction with aunts and uncles and cousins. So many cousins.

  Her mother and father had never said it, but she sensed they were disappointed there weren’t any grandkids yet. Frankie hadn’t found love. No, that wasn’t true. She had and it was called Mangia Bella. Her brothers had joked that she was married to the place and now she’d suffered a bitter divorce. But she hadn’t wanted to break up. Begging to get back together wasn’t beneath her, but she kept telling herself that it wasn’t meant to be.

  She had to let it go.

  She went to put the items back in the envelope, but there was something else inside keeping the papers from sliding in smoothly. She pulled out a key taped to a postcard. Majestic mountains capped with snow printed the words Hawk Ridge Hollow were on one side and the key was taped to the other.

  In her father’s handwriting were the words A great place to escape if you ever need to get away along with an address. Then at the bottom, the words stay away from the Hawkins family were scrawled as though added as an afterthought.

  She slouched back on the couch. Her stomach dipped. They knew. Her parents knew she’d lost the restaurant. The eviction had been set in motion before they’d left for Italy, when she still held onto hope that she could save Mangia Bella. If she hadn’t told them then which one of her brothers did? She dug into her bag to pull out her phone when the name of the place on the postcard, surrounded in happy little pine trees, caught her eye.

  “Hawk Ridge Hollow,” she whispered.

  A memory flooded back. Headlights beaming along a winding road through the woods. A cabin. An escape. Peace. Quiet.

  She scanned the family tree, finding her grandfather’s limb. There was family lore that Francesco had disappeared for a few years. Her dad had said those were the lost years—it was before he’d been born and had married her grandmother. Francesco must’ve
found himself because he’d returned to Italy, got married, and lived out the rest of his life there.

  Memories of the cabin slowly returned. The Costas had gone there once. It was winter and she and her brothers played in the snow until they were practically frozen. When they went inside, their mother had made hot chocolate. Each mug was filled to the brim with marshmallows. The house was so warm and cozy. With all nine of them there, extremely cozy, but she remembered it fondly. They’d played cards around a big wooden table. A fire burned in the hearth.

  A tiny smile, the first in weeks, tickled Frankie’s lips.

  Her father won every round of cards and her brothers accused him of cheating. He’d said, “Nope, nope. It’s a Costa thing. We never lose.”

  Frankie felt like a loser that was for sure. But maybe she needed an escape. A trip to the old family cabin. She was surprised they still owned it. Maybe like her grandfather, she’d find herself there.

  The next day, the airplane made a smooth descent in the far north, surrounded by mountains and a gray sky. The captain announced the temperature and that snow was expected. It looked like it had already snowed plenty. Frankie had hardly left New York City in over a year—the last time at her parents’ insistence because they said she’d been working too hard. They’d gone to Italy, as usual, but she couldn’t deny it had replenished her. The food, as always, gave her renewed inspiration. She wasn’t sure what waited in Hawk Ridge Hollow, but she didn’t expect she’d find culinary greatness.

  After getting a rental car at the airport, Frankie drove a half-hour along mountain roads in a winter wonderland. The evergreen trees were iced with snow and the occasional field was a blank white canvas. She even saw a few deer grazing by the woods.

  A sign welcomed her to Hawk Ridge Hollow. She had no recollection of it, but her family visit had been over twenty years ago. It was no wonder she didn’t remember much.

  As she pulled into town, wreaths tied with red bows hung from wrought iron lanterns, Christmas lights were strung up everywhere, and while the main street was closed to traffic because of a Winter Festival, the shops and restaurants on the outskirts were festive with decorations.

  She passed the Hawk Ridge Ski Resort and Hotel. She’d heard it was a world-renowned destination for outdoor sports enthusiasts and a premier location for the rich and famous because of its amenities. In fact, the Hawkins were something of celebrities—one of them even proposing to the pop star Cece Sparrow live after one of her concerts on Thanksgiving. It was so romantic. Blake Hawkins had said of everything in the world, he was most thankful for her. Then he got down on one knee and popped the question. Rumor had it they eloped immediately after.

  A sign for a spa caught Frankie’s eye as she waited at a stop sign. She sighed, feeling the tension she’d been carrying for months begging for release.

  Not knowing what she’d find at the cabin, she picked up some basic supplies at the market. The cashier was talking in hushed tones to a woman purchasing some groceries. “I told you that I called dibs.”

  “We’ve been friends since we were in diapers and you knew I had a crush on him.”

  “That was in fifth grade.” Her voice got louder in defense.

  “The same year that you accidentally walked into the boys’ bathroom. You think that’s going to win him over?”

  “He didn’t notice.”

  “The whole class did.” She laughed.

  The woman with the groceries huffed. “We’re really going to let that mountain man come between our friendship?”

  Frankie tried not to listen, but their voices had risen so everyone in the market could hear.

  “I told you, he came in here and smiled at me. Next time, I’m going to ask him—”

  Frankie coughed, drawing the women out of their quarrel.

  The cashier glared at her friend and then turned to Frankie. “Have you ever experienced love at first sight?”

  Frankie shook her head.

  “Well, I have and you’ll know because you’ll get the goosies. You know the kind?” she asked. “Every time he comes in here, I get all—” She rubbed her arms and blinked dazedly a few times.

  “Well, I have a thing for mountain men. The rough and rugged kind,” the other woman said. “He’s my dream guy.”

  Frankie had no idea who he was, but hoped he was quite the catch, given that he had the potential to come between friends.

  The cashier rang up her order and she toted everything to the car.

  Across the street from where she’d parked, a candy store tempted her. Mom & Lollipops. Everything about the town was cute, quaint, and she couldn’t resist the lure of chocolate wafting in the air.

  Bells on the door jingled, announcing her arrival. An older woman with white hair appeared from the back. She wore an apron and a bright smile. “Welcome to Mom and Lollipops.”

  Frankie surveyed the cases filled with truffles, chocolate-covered caramels topped with sea salt along with a tray of white chocolate-cranberry almond bark. Raspberry dusted brownie bites, cashew clusters, and a display of fruit-shaped marzipan reminded her of when she was a little girl and begged to be sampled. Her eyes must’ve been just as wide as they got when she was younger because when she straightened the woman was surveying her with a look of amusement.

  “I take it you’re not from around here?”

  Frankie spoke fluent Italian but didn’t have an accent since she was born in the US. Although all her friends said she had a certain foreign elegance about her that made her seem at home wherever she was. She liked to think it was because she felt at home with her self. One of her brothers called it the Costa confidence. However, overheating in her winter jacket and with her mouth-watering, she felt very out of place. “Just visiting.”

  “That’s what everyone says. Then they fall in love and never leave.”

  Frankie laughed lightly.

  “In fact, there’s one remaining bachelor in town that has all the single ladies clamoring, hoping they’ll be the one who’ll tame him. It’s something about those mountain men.” She clicked her tongue.

  That got a real laugh out of Frankie, recalling the women in the market. “Is that what brought you here?”

  “No, that’s what kept me here.”

  “I take it your mountain man is the Pop part of this place.” Frankie twirled her finger, indicating the candy shop.

  The woman folded her hands. “He was. He passed a few years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Frankie said softly.

  “Thank you. We had many good years and, in many ways, he’s still with me. Always will be.”

  Frankie thought of her parents. Sure, they had their moments over the years, but she was sure they were still in love—whether they were in Manhattan or Italy, they took a walk every evening together, hand in hand.

  She’d never been in love—she’d had her share of crushes, but her brothers had done a decent job scaring off every guy who so much as looked in her direction. Not to mention she didn’t have time for that kind of thing.

  “That’s sweet,” she said at last.

  “I’ll tell you what else is sweet—” The woman smiled and gestured at the case with her hand. “What would you like to try? My treat.”

  “Oh, I intend to try one of each,” Frankie said in a low tone.

  “Uh oh, do I sense you came here to escape a breakup?”

  “Something like that.” Frankie hadn’t talked much about losing the restaurant—everyone seemed to know and she definitely hadn’t talked to anyone about how the whole thing made her feel—distraught.

  The shop owner started filling a white box stamped with the Mom & Lollipops logo.

  A sigh escaped along with an abbreviated version of the story. “I’m a chef and owned a restaurant. I lost the lease and, well, I feel like I lost everything. My identity, my passion, and what my brothers used to call the Frankie fight. I’m the youngest of seven, all boys except me. They didn’t always give me a hard time, but I did lea
rn to stick up for myself. I just feel like it’s drained out of me after I had to close up.”

  The woman looked thoughtfully at her for a moment.

  Frankie took a deep breath, the first one in weeks—the scent of chocolate in the air probably helped.

  “In that case, you definitely came to the right place.” The older woman passed her the box sealed with a Mom & Lollipops sticker.

  Frankie nodded. “One of my best friends says, ‘What duct tape doesn’t fix, chocolate will.’”

  That time, the woman laughed. “Practical and true. The locals call me Mom, but my name is Carol.”

  After introducing herself, paying, and saying thanks, Frankie was about to leave but turned back. She held up the postcard. “Do you know where this is?” She showed her the address.

  Frankie couldn’t quite discern Carol’s expression, but when their eyes met, the older woman’s sparkled.

  Carol gave her directions and then, wearing a smirk, she said, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from the Hawkins boy up there, but seeing as you just bought a big box of chocolates, I’m not sure you stand a chance.” She winked. “Good luck.”

  Frankie left, feeling a bit lighter, stronger, and gladly accepting the good luck wish especially as the rental car struggled up the winding mountain road toward the cabin. The boughs of the trees hung low over the road, narrow enough for only one car at a time even though it had been plowed and maintained.

  At last, she reached a fork in the road and idled a moment. Carol hadn’t mentioned whether she should go right or left. She closed her eyes, recalling the trip when she was little. It was no use, she couldn’t remember. She blinked her eyes open. Fresh tire tracks lined the driveway on the left so she put the vehicle in gear and slowly made her way up the hill, hoping that was the right way.