Caught Looking

by Holford, Jody;

  Chloe took the key, her tinkling laughter breaking through some of the stress Frankie felt herself drowning in.

  “I won’t move anything. In fact, if you think he’d be okay with it, what I’d love is a shower and maybe a nap,” Chloe said.

  “He won’t mind. You’ll be able to tell which room is his and which ones are guest rooms,” Frankie told her, herding her toward the door.

  “Guest rooms, plural?”

  “Totally plural. Also plural jetted tubs, waterfall showers, and fireplaces.”

  “Good Lord, if you change your mind, can I have him?” Chloe pretended to swoon. Frankie playfully pinched the arm she’d gripped and Chloe laughed again.”Trust me, I won’t be changing my mind.”

  Picking up her suitcase, Chloe smiled. “You sound sure. I like that. Breathe, honey. Text me when you’re done,” Chloe said.

  She kissed her cheek and walked over to Ryan’s, waving when she got to his driveway. Frankie shut the door behind her once again and sighed against it, clunking her head against the wood. Her breath stuttered out and she dragged another deep breath in. She had this. Everything was going to be okay because there was no other choice. They’d become a makeshift family. Like Ryan had said of his teammates, any one of them stood out on their own. But together, they shone.

  Chapter 31

  Pressley Ayers did not have Leslie’s squeaky voice or high-pitched laugh. She also lacked Leslie’s charm and approachability. She walked, ramrod straight in her black flats, through Frankie’s house. She nodded in each room, like she was confirming it existed. Kitchen? Yes, there’s one of those. She said nothing as Frankie showed her where the boys would sleep. The process that had started out slowly, painting, buying furniture, had accelerated. With three spare bedrooms, Frankie bought bunk beds for Miles and Travis and had given Carter a room of his own. She’d outfitted the rooms with inviting bedding that complemented the different shades of blue she’d chosen for their walls. The third spare she’d turned into an office, and chosen a pale green for the walls to lighten the room and add color.

  “Has it always been your goal to foster children?” Pressley asked, surveying the twin bed and matching dresser that were in Carter’s room. Frankie stood in the hallway and answered to the woman’s back.

  “Truthfully, no,” she said. Pressley turned around and Frankie decided that playing it straight was the only option. She cringed. “Leslie told you that the boys were here when I took over the house?”

  “She did. Unorthodox decision on your part, letting them stay,” Pressley said, gesturing Frankie forward. They moved into the living area and took a seat across from each other, Pressley sitting primly on the couch and Frankie in an armchair. The heater kicked on, breathing warmth into the room.

  “Maybe. Miles—he’s eight—was sick. Really sick. Just finding them here, knowing that my aunt had let them stay, well, that was enough of a jolt but to suddenly be faced with taking care of him? It was a lot,” Frankie rambled. Looking at Pressley, her sharp features accentuated by the tight bun in her hair, she tried to get a sense of what the woman was thinking. She probably wasn’t much older than Frankie. But Frankie would bet any amount that Pressley could beat her at poker.

  “Most adults would have phoned social services. Or the police. It never occurred to you to do these things?” Had she just said ‘adults’ condescendingly?

  “It did. Several times, right from the minute I found them. But, as I said, Miles was so sick. The boys were scared. They were scared about their brother and they were scared about being split up. They knew my aunt and had lived with her, which, on my part, having just lost her, felt like an unexpected connection. I planned to phone but didn’t think a few days of letting Miles recover would hurt.”

  Frankie made tiny circles with her index finger on the fabric of her skirt. But she didn’t look down. She held Pressley’s assessing gaze and kept her own back straight.

  “Putting all of that aside, how do you plan on providing for the boys?”

  “I’m a successful writer for several magazines, as I said on my application. This house is paid off so my money won’t have to go to a mortgage. Also…,” she started, realizing she hadn’t said the next part out loud to anyone yet, “I’ve accepted a position as an editor and contributor to Variety. It’s a steady and secure income.”

  Pressley nodded and made a note in her small, coil-bound book.

  Frankie hesitated before adding the final piece. “And Leslie mentioned that there’s compensation for having the boys,” she said, rushing on when Pressley looked up with only her eyes. “The money has nothing to do with why I want them, honestly. But, it obviously helps because it would go directly toward their care.”

  Pressley’s smile was tight. “Frankie, trust me when I say that no one goes into foster care for the money. No one will think that. But yes, the state does pay a small amount per child.”

  Frankie breathed out, not even realizing she’d been holding her breath. It might not be much, but every little bit would help if she was going to provide for them. Her shoulders relaxed, muscle by muscle.

  Until Pressley spoke again. “You recently moved from the Hamptons. Which part?”

  Frankie’s jaw clenched. “Southampton Village.”

  “Must be a big change for you.” Pressley’s tone was neutral—just stating a fact.

  Frankie worked at not sounding defensive. “It is. But it’s a change I’m really happy with.”

  Pressley sighed and set her pen down on the notebook. “I can’t say I’ve met a lot of people that would leave that kind of luxury for something…less.” Again, there was no judgment in her voice, but certainly curiosity.

  Frankie followed her heart. Mostly, it didn’t walk her into too many walls. “It might seem strange, but places like that are not always what they seem.”

  “Oh?”

  “I didn’t want to stay in a place that seemed perfect on the outside and empty on the inside. That’s how I felt when I lived there. Here,” Frankie said, gesturing to the living room, “it’s not as shiny and bright, but it’s real. And it’s mine. And I feel like I’m home.”

  Pressley’s smile came slowly. She nodded and picked up her pen again. “You’re single?”

  “Yes.”

  “Involved?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will he be part of the children’s lives?”

  “He already is. Carter does jobs around Ryan’s house. He’s been coaching Carter’s baseball team. He gets along great with Travis and Miles adores him.”

  “How long have you been together with…Ryan?” She scribbled something down.

  “Yes, Ryan. About two months in total,” Frankie said, her voice lowering.

  Pressley’s eyebrow arched ever so subtly, but on a woman who barely moved her facial muscles, it had the effect of a cartoon character’s eyes widening dramatically. “Two months. It’s very…new.”

  “Yes. It is. I realize a lot of what I’m saying doesn’t sound good on paper. I didn’t call in when I should have, I have a new boyfriend, I do freelance work. But, I love those boys. I’m in a committed relationship. I want the boys with me and I know it’s a crowded system that doesn’t need three more kids. Brothers who don’t want to be separated. They matter to me and to Ryan and we want to do what’s best for them. Will any of that count? Does it count at all that I miss them terribly and wonder how they’re doing? That when I went to see them it hurt to leave?”

  Frankie looked down, willing herself not to cry. The carpet felt rough under her feet as she gently slid her toes side to side. When she looked up, all the hard lines and angles of Pressley’s face had softened. Her lips were pursed slightly, thoughtfully, like somewhere under the staid-blue blazer was a heart that felt actual, real-person emotions.

  “Yes. It counts. On paper, you really aren’t ideal, Frankie. But you’re also not wrong about the system. It’s overcrowded and underfunded. Kids fall through the cracks, even when we intend to catch
them. The application is a piece of it, but so is my interview with you. I have reservations, I won’t lie. But I also have good instincts. I think you’d give those boys a solid home. A good foundation.”

  Frankie leaned forward on the chair, resting her elbows on her knees. She let the words settle in her mind a moment, trying to find the balance between excited hopefulness and careful optimism. “I will.”

  “Ryan will have to be interviewed. I can take a bit of information if you have it, put it into the computer, but when I come back for my next visit, I’ll need to speak with him as well,” Pressley said, her pen poised once again. “What’s his last name?”

  “Walker.” Pressley jotted it down, making an ‘hmm’ sound. “There’s a baseball player named Ryan Walker,” Pressley said absently.

  “Yes. And this would be him. He moved next door a few months ago. He owns the house right there,” Frankie said, somewhat shyly, pointing in the direction of Ryan’s house, as though it could be seen through her living room wall.

  “You’re dating Ryan Walker? Former Angels’ player and future baseball hall of famer?

  “You know your baseball. Um. Yes,” Frankie answered quietly.

  “Well.” Pressley gave a weary-sounding sigh. She stood, but Frankie took a moment, wondering if Ryan weighed positively in her favor.

  “Is that a problem?” Frankie asked, standing up.

  “Let’s hope not. Thank you for letting me come into your home, Frankie. I’ll file all of this right away so we can get to our next interview. Ryan will need to be present.”

  “Of course. That’ll be soon?”

  “I’ll do my best.” She gave a tight smile, her lips barely curving. She shrugged on the long winter coat hanging on a hook by the door and picked up the purse that she’d left on the entry table upon arriving.

  “Pressley?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If things go well, say best case scenario, how long until the boys come back home?”

  Pressley’s features morphed back into hard lines. “About a month. I need to interview Ryan. I’ll set up a time to meet with the boys, gauge their feelings. They’ve been entered into the system now, which is a plus. They can’t stay with the Welch family much longer because they’re licensed as an emergency care home. We’ll be working quickly to iron this out. Best case, you’ll have them back in a month, licensing for foster care in place with a commitment to training through the child welfare system.”

  Frankie took it all in and tried not to feel overwhelmed at the sheer number of things that had to be done to make any of it move forward. And that was the best outcome. Frankie didn’t like being in the dark, even if the outcome wasn’t so bright.

  “What’s worst case?” Frankie pulled at the fabric of her skirt.

  Pressley huffed out a sigh. “Worst case, the process takes too long, they go into temporary care at another home while you continue getting licensed. Two or three months. By then, it’s likely at least the youngest one will attach to a new family and moving again may no longer be in their best interests.”

  Frankie’s heart cracked like a sheet of ice under a heavy boot; one tiny break and then the hurt spread in all directions.

  “There’s also the possibility you won’t receive a license. It’s unlikely. But it’s there.”

  Regret hung on Pressley’s words and Frankie held onto it, needing to believe that since it was in the best interest of everyone involved, things would work out. She thanked Pressley, shook the woman’s hand, and did her best to smile brightly as she said goodbye.

  She released the pent-up sigh locked in her chest, not expecting tears to come with it. She wiped them as she walked to her bedroom to change into something cozier. She didn’t allow “what ifs” to pop into her mind. Once they started, they’d weigh her down like bags of sand. She swatted them away and kept her mind focused on the mundane: Hang up the skirt so it doesn’t wrinkle. Yoga pants. She could do some yoga. Pale blue tank top. Blue was soothing. Jersey knit sweater overtop to keep warm. Fuzzy socks. One step at a time. Left foot. Right foot. She wanted to stay positive. She needed to, but doubt curled up inside of her and pushed optimism away, stifling it. Could she have said anything different? Should she have not mentioned Ryan? Was her relationship a bad thing?

  She folded her body forward, releasing her breath as she did. Feeling the stretch through her back, she counted in her head. Tried to see and hear only the numbers. One. Two. Three. Was she pushing for too much too fast? She’d only known Ryan for a couple of months, yet her heart burst every time she saw him. Same thing with the boys. Frankie believed things happened for a reason. Yes, she had to make her own destiny but she also had to see what was right in front of her. She’d come to this place. She’d found the boys and Ryan. They’d found each other. It meant something. Pulling herself up, she stretched her arms as high as she could, held her breath and released it. One. Two.

  Her phone buzzed. She gave up the pretense of relaxing and grabbed it from her dresser. Just Ryan’s name on the screen did more for her than the yoga.

  Are you testing me?

  She smiled and typed back a row of question marks.

  Home with Max and Dan. Greeted by Amazon woman lounging on my couch. She’s beautiful but I only want you. Did you get a gift receipt?

  She laughed out loud, her heart rate picking up the pace with the excitement of seeing him, talking to him, touching him, and introducing each other to important people in their lives. Frankie typed a response.

  No. She’s non-refundable. I’m glad you can’t be tempted but we might be stuck with her.

  Ellipses showed he was typing, and she smiled in anticipation of his words. The message came through.

  I can be tempted plenty, by you. Dan likes the idea of being stuck with her. Get over here, Frankie. I need to kiss you and see your face.

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest, fueled by happiness.

  On my way.

  She didn’t know if they were headed toward the best case or the worst case but she wasn’t in it alone. She had Ryan and she had Chloe. When she was ready, she knew she’d have her family as well. They would be resistant, reluctant to get behind an idea they didn’t help her generate, but in the end, they loved her. When they saw she was truly happy for the first time in her life, they’d support her choices. She hoped.

  As she pulled on her warm, fluffy collared jacket, she knew she’d never been happier. Whatever happened with the boys, they’d get through it. She wanted them with her, but even if it didn’t work out that way, she could still be in their lives, couldn’t she? Did it work like that? She pulled on her fake Uggs (no way was she paying $300 for boots, even if they did come in pink) and shut the door behind herself. The wind bit at her face so she tucked her chin into her collar, determined, excited, and, cliché or not, head over heels in something that felt a lot like love.

  Chapter 32

  Her hands were in his hair, his were on her ass. She had him pinned against the siding of the house, her lithe body almost climbing his. Her thick jacket prevented him from getting as close as he wanted but it didn’t stop him from trying. The smell of her shampoo was lodged in his senses. Even with his mouth fused to hers, he felt like he couldn’t get enough. He said her name as he nuzzled into her ear, nipping the tender lobe gently and reveling in her gasp. Wanting to hear it again and again. His mouth moved back to hers and he took what he’d missed all day. Tried to satiate himself with Frankie. He worried, in the far reaches of his mind that he’d never get enough. Jesus, how had she hooked him this hard? But as her hands came to his face, when she pulled back and looked at him like she did, he knew. She’d hooked him by being exactly who and what she was. She was Frankie. And she was his.

  “We should probably go in,” she said, her eyes still hazy.

  Ryan kissed her again. “How was the interview?”

  She looked down and bit her lip, and he tipped her chin up with his hand.

  “They want to interview
you. Because we’re involved.”

  “Okay. I figured. I was reading up on the process so I expected that.” The relief on her face made him wonder if she doubted their connection. He didn’t want her to. He wanted her to feel sure about them. She made him feel sure of himself. He’d opened up more of himself to Frankie than he had to anyone. He needed her to believe in him, in them.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Frankie, I want them here too. I want you and I want them. We’ll figure out the rest as we go along,” he said, kissing her again. He pulled back before he could fall too far into her and they went into the house. It had been a long day but he was riding high on having his brother and Daniel at his house.

  “Sorry about Chloe. She showed up right when the social worker did,” Frankie said as they walked toward the laughter coming from the living room.

  “No need to be sorry. In fact, I think Dan might kiss your feet,” Ryan said, his hand on her lower back.

  His friend had been more than a little enamored with Ryan’s unexpected houseguest. When they came into the living room, he was topping off Chloe’s wine while Max flipped through channels. Glancing over, he saw Max’s subtle eyebrow lift right before he stood to meet Frankie. It had only been a couple months since he’d seen Max but it felt good to have him there. Ryan wouldn’t say it out loud, but he missed him. And Daniel. Fuck. Maybe he was a sappy guy. Maybe not playing ball had depleted his testosterone levels. His mind flashed to the night before: Frankie over him, under him. Surrounding him. Nah. He had plenty of testosterone.

  Max skipped the handshake and went straight for a hug. “Well hey there.”

  “Oh. Hi.” Frankie’s voice faltered but she patted Max’s back and leaned into the hug.

  “Smooth, Max.” Ryan shook his head as his brother pulled away, grinning affably.

  “I figure a handshake is too formal for the woman who managed to chip away that stone heart of yours and find a real one underneath,” Max replied. Ryan glared at him but the others laughed, including Frankie.