Beef Cake

by Smartypants Romance

  “Frankie.”

  “What?” I ask, looking back up and meeting his sea-glass eyes and wishing I hadn’t, because now I want to drown in them.

  He smiles again, reclaiming my hand. “I’m sorry for prying on Saturday—”

  “No, don’t be sorry.” Shaking my head, I glance down at our joined hands and marvel at the way mine feels so safe and secure in his. How does a handhold feel so . . . intimate? “I shouldn’t have been so . . .”

  “Guarded?” Gunnar offers, squeezing my hand a little and drawing my attention back up to him. “It’s okay. You can be guarded. That’s your right. You can be whatever you want to be and I’m here for it. For you. That’s the only thing I wanted to tell you. I’m here for you.”

  His words and tone are so genuine and sincere and it makes my chest crack, not in pain or sadness, but in relief and desire. He has no clue, but him giving me that out and the time to do things at my own pace makes me want to climb into his lap and lose myself in his warmth and protectiveness.

  I don’t even know where the thought comes from, but, yet again, all I can think about is how it would feel to have Gunnar’s arms wrapped around me.

  “Okay,” I tell him, knowing he’s expecting some sort of response. That’s as good as I can do right now. Trusting people isn’t my strong suit, but Gunnar is making it awfully easy. “How about that coffee?”

  His eyes search my face and must find whatever they’re looking for because a wide, soft smile forms and he brings both hands up to cup my face, reverently. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me again—I hope he’s going to kiss me again—but instead, he presses his forehead to mine, and then his lips, before giving me what I really want.

  Gunnar wraps his strong arms around my shoulders and embraces me.

  It’s different from any hug I’ve ever received before. It’s different from the one I shared with Lisa, which was her taking what she needed and me giving in to it. It’s different from the ones my mother gives me on occasion. She’s my mother; it’s almost a requirement. But this one . . . it’s warm and strong and protective. I feel myself sinking into it.

  Like the kiss, it’s the best damn hug I’ve ever had—strong, reassuring, and warm. Just like Gunnar. His chest expands as he breathes deeply and it feels like he takes a part of me with him when he does. Closing my eyes, I imagine being encased in Gunnar and my insides melt.

  “Let’s go get that coffee,” he says, standing but still holding me close. “Do you need to tell someone?”

  Shaking my head, I clear the fog his presence brings and swallow. “Yeah. Meet me in the hall, okay?”

  Nodding, he places another kiss on my forehead.

  After waiting a few seconds for him to leave, I gather the covering off the bed while I try to do the same with myself. When I walk out, I briskly make my way to the bin where we put soiled bedding, which is basically any bedding touched by someone, and tell Marie, “I’m going for a coffee. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

  “She’s going to meet Beefcake,” Marie mutters under her breath. I pretend I don’t hear her and keep walking. She was the one who coined the term I’ve been using for Gunnar, but I don’t like her using it. Now that I know Gunnar, I don’t want her calling him that or thinking about him in that way. But again, I don’t stop or say anything. I just keep walking, out the door and down the hall to where Gunnar is waiting for me.

  His tall, beefy body is leaning against the wall, arms folded, putting his muscles on display. Even through his shirt and jeans, his physique is no mystery. Everything about him screams athlete. Since my talk with Helen last week, I’ve been trying to see Gunnar as just that—an athlete—and leave the fighting part out of it.

  It’s helped.

  Getting to know the person behind the body helps too.

  “Coffee is this way,” I tell him as I approach, nodding down the opposite hallway. “It’s not as good as Daisy’s, but it gets the job done.”

  Gunnar pushes off the wall and falls in step beside me. “What time do you get off work?”

  “Eight. I’m on the day shift right now, so I work eight to eight.”

  “Twelve-hour shift?” he asks, disbelievingly.

  I nod, shoving my hands down into the pockets of my scrubs, needing to put them somewhere before I do something crazy like reach over and link my fingers through his. “Three twelve-hour shifts. And I get off at eight, as long as there’s not an emergency or I don’t have a patient I’m tending to. There’s a bit of a grey area, but it all works out. And since I only work three days a week, I don’t mind the long hours.”

  “But you don’t just work three days a week,” Gunnar comments. “You work three here and two at the shelter. Then you work the farmer’s market on Saturdays and take care of your mom on Thursdays. When do you do something just for you?”

  Giving a tight smile to a passing employee, a nurse from ICU, I scoot a little closer to Gunnar to allow her to pass and immediately regret that decision. The second our bodies brush, that electric current is back, making me feel things.

  Desire.

  Attraction.

  “All of that is for me,” I tell him as we approach the doors to the cafeteria. “Helping people makes me feel good. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  It also keeps my mind busy and leaves less time to overthink things and dwell on my past. I leave that part out, because even though I’m suddenly a wealth of information, I’m still not ready to completely expose myself.

  Those flashes of memory that came surging back out of nowhere when I was with the Iron Wraiths last week haven’t left. Sometimes, I hear the screaming in my sleep and wake up in a sweat, but nothing else has come to me. No images to go with the screams. Only the screams.

  And I know they’re mine.

  Well, mine, but from when I was younger. They’re like glimpses into my childhood.

  But why?

  What would make me scream like that? And be so bad I’d block it all out?

  That’s the question I plan on asking my mother when I visit her this week. I need answers, and she owes them to me. I’ve been patient long enough.

  Holding the door open for me, Gunnar looks down, meeting my eyes with his. “You’re okay, right?” With the way he poses the question, I’m not sure if it’s meant for me or him. Like maybe he allowed his inner thoughts to slip right out of those perfect lips. “Because if you need to tell me anything or . . .”

  He hesitates and I know it’s because of the way I shut him down at the farmer’s market. He doesn’t want to push and I’m thankful for that. There are unspoken words laced in his statement and it makes me wonder if he knows something.

  What if he had his own run-in with the Iron Wraiths?

  After they saw the two of us together, it’s possible. I wouldn’t put anything past them. Or above them, and definitely not under them. I realize now that by not telling him a little about them, I could very well be putting him in the danger I’m trying to protect him from.

  Telling Gunnar about the Iron Wraiths will have to be another item on my list of things to do, right after I talk to my mother. If there’s a way for me to put this all to bed before I tell Gunnar anything, that would be even better.

  Besides, I don’t want to talk about them right now.

  They’d just ruin our third date.

  “On Wednesday, after you volunteer at the shelter, I would really like to take you on that date we talked about. Maybe one that’s not at seven in the morning or at a community farmer’s market. And longer than fifteen minutes,” Gunnar says, following me up to the counter. “Because Frankie, I’d really like to have some alone time.” His words are close to my ear and pour over me like warm honey.

  Yes, I think I’d like that.

  Very much.

  “Two coffees, please,” I blurt out, needing a distraction.

  Trisha, the cashier, gives me a shy smile, her gaze roaming over to Gunnar and getting stuck there. I don’t blame her
, but I don’t like it.

  Eyes over here, Trisha.

  “You can put it on my account,” I tell her, more to get her attention than anything. She already knows. I come down here every day I’m at work and order a coffee. But today, I have a side of beef and it’s obviously so distracting that Trisha has forgotten her job. “No cream, no sugar.”

  That last line comes out a little more demanding, but it was either that or, “roll your tongue back in and wipe the drool.”

  Chapter 13

  Frankie

  “Have you seen Allie?” Lisa asks as she makes her way down the hall with a basket of laundry tucked under her arm. “She was supposed to be coloring at one of the tables in the dining room, but she’s not there.”

  I recognize the panic on her face and immediately begin to explain, assuaging her obvious fear. “Oh, Helen found some sidewalk chalk and asked Amanda to take her and a few other kids out to the playground.”

  Lisa swallows and exhales, her shoulders relaxing a little. “Okay, yeah . . . that’s okay.”

  “You okay?” I ask, taking a moment to evaluate, putting my nurse’s hat on. Her color looks pretty good, but the dark circles under her eyes tell me she’s not resting well. Maybe a talk with Helen or Pastor Davis would do her some good. The bruises have faded, and the cuts are healing. She’ll probably have a scar or two, but nothing too noticeable.

  Nothing like mine.

  “Are you getting quality sleep? I could pick you up some melatonin, if you think that’d help.”

  I’m always a proponent of natural remedies when I know they’ll work. My mother is a hippie, for lack of a better term—except for the hallucinogenic drugs, which I don’t think she uses—and believes everything we need in life can and does come from the earth. I think it’s another reason she’s more at peace in the woods. According to her, she communes with the earth, and I tend to believe her. There have been days where I’d shown up to check on her and had found her in the greenhouse having full-blown conversations with a tomato plant.

  I mean, who needs people when you have plants and trees and bushes that don’t talk back?

  “I’m sleeping okay,” she says. “Well, better than I have in a long time.”

  But not great. I can see it on her face. The tired eyes and weary expression. She reminds me of my own mother; I’ve thought that since the first day I met her and Allie.

  Part of me wonders if their presence isn’t part of the reason tiny pieces of my memory have been creeping in. It’s as if the combination of seeing them, the guy from the Dragon who had all the lacerations, and my own mental probing have all mixed together to dig up old bones.

  And now that I’m getting a small taste, I wonder if I want them dug up at all.

  Maybe they should stay buried.

  But then I’d never know the truth, and something in me says I have to know.

  My mother always says curiosity is my both gift and my downfall.

  I think she’s right. My need to know is what carried me through college and nursing school. And my desire to know more is what made me continue on to become a physician assistant.

  That same desire is also what set my life on its current course, carrying me right into the lion’s den . . . or rather, the Dragon Bar. And it’s kept me going back, time and time again.

  “Remember that Pastor Davis is available if you need someone to talk to. And Helen and I are always available, too.”

  She exhales loudly and turns her attention toward the playground.

  “And you’re safe,” I remind her. “So is Allie.” Sometimes women who come to stay here need to be reminded over and over this is a place of refuge and we take every precaution to keep them and their children out of harm’s way. Some never truly feel safe and end up leaving, unable to stay in one place very long in fear of being caught up to.

  Now that I’m older and have been around women like Lisa, I realize the reason my mother moved us from place to place when I was younger was because she was scared and never felt safe either.

  “Thank you, Frankie,” Lisa says, turning her attention back to me. “For everything. I mean it.”

  I smile. “You’re welcome. And I mean it.” Reaching out, I gently squeeze her arm, reinforcing my words—you’re safe, I’m here for you.

  Sounds kind of familiar.

  Someone’s been trying to convey the very same thing to me, but I’ve been too stubborn to accept it. Funny how life teaches us lessons in the most unexpected ways.

  Lisa finally returns my smile and holds up her laundry basket. “I should go put this away while Allie is preoccupied.”

  “See you later,” I tell her, walking into my office. I need to finish up some paperwork before I leave, and Gunnar is supposed to be back to pick me up in a couple of hours.

  When I pulled into Daisy’s this morning, he was there. But somehow, I wasn’t surprised. It was like I knew he would be. Or maybe I’d hoped? Regardless, he was, and after a quick coffee and donut, he informed me he was driving me to Maryville.

  He had some errands to run for the benefit and wanted us to be able to drive back to Green Valley together tonight, after our date.

  A real date.

  Sure, we’ve had a few, but this one is different. He’s picking me up and we’re going to a restaurant together—one I picked out. There are jitters in the pit of my stomach, partially because I realize there’s no backing out. When Gunnar drove me to Maryville, he took out that option. He might’ve done it on purpose, but all the nerves in the world couldn’t keep me away from this date. He’s making me want things I’ve never wanted before, and as much as it scares me, it also piques that curiosity I was talking about.

  What if?

  What if I let myself feel all the things?

  What if I let myself trust Gunnar?

  What would happen if I let down my walls and allowed him in?

  Chapter 14

  Gunnar

  I’m being fucking ridiculous. It’s just a date. I’ve been on tons of them and have never been this nervous before, so what the fuck?

  I mean, yeah, this will be my first real date with Frankie—meaning I’m actually picking her up and taking her to a nice restaurant—but it’s not like I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. We’ve been seeing each other a lot recently and she seems to be warming up to me, which is great, of course. But there’s still something holding her back. I’m trying not to push her; it’s just hard to know where I stand.

  Maybe that’s why I’m so anxious. I feel like I’m being very open with my attraction to her and although I’m pretty sure she’s into me, I’m afraid she might still walk away and never look back.

  Me, on the other hand . . .

  Regardless, I just want to spend time with her and show her a good time, whatever that means. No pressure, just fun. She says the time she spends helping others, whether on the job or off, is what she does for herself, but surely there has to be something she enjoys just for her. I’d love to see her throw some caution to the wind—grocery shop on a Friday and eat donuts on a Saturday. Shake things up a bit.

  Do I think I’m the guy to show her how to do that? Hell yeah, I do.

  When I pull up to the shelter, Frankie is already outside waiting for me. She seems even more nervous than I am and I hate seeing her like that.

  “Hey.” I greet her with a smile and a small bouquet of wildflowers I picked up on my way here, hoping they ease some of her tension. “You look beautiful.” She’s always beautiful in a natural way—no fuss—but tonight I can tell she’s made an effort to highlight some of her features, and she’s absolutely breathtaking.

  “You, too,” is her reply and it’s kind of awkward but only endears her to me more.

  “I look beautiful?” I tease.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, have you looked in the mirror lately? You know what your face looks like. Plus, you have your hair pulled back, putting it on display. It’s not fair, if you ask me.”

  �
�What’s not fair?” I try to keep the amused tone out of my voice but I can’t help it.

  “You and your face. It’s not right to show off like that and make everyone feel inadequate.”

  Now, I can’t tell if she’s joking or not.

  “Alright, enough of that.” I grab her hand and pull it to my lips, waiting for her eyes to find mine. “This,” pointing to my face, “is just a face. It’s not perfect. I mean, there’s a scar and everything.” I give her a wink. “Yours, on the other hand, makes my heart skip a beat every time I see it. I don’t give two shits about what anyone else thinks.”

  I place her palm against my chest, right where my heart is, and hold it there. I want her to feel the beats, the stutters, the pounding because she needs to know what she does to me. Her eyes grow wide and when she turns them back to me, I nod my head. “That’s all you.”

  Frankie lets out a deep, shuddering breath and her body visibly relaxes. “I’m sorry I’m being so weird and anxious and insecure. This is my first really real date and you show up with flowers, all sweet and gorgeous and—”

  “Frankie.” When she stops rambling and looks up at me, I continue. “Stop talking.”

  A look of surprise covers her face but my tactic works. I don’t need her explanations, I just want her. Just to make sure, though, I lean down and gently place my lips against hers. She’s so fucking soft and sweet and it takes all of my power not to deepen the kiss. When I pull back, she seems a little disappointed but calm, which is what I was going for.

  “Come on, we have a reservation.” I pull on her hand, leading her to my truck and helping her into the passenger seat.

  It’s not until I’ve pulled onto the highway that she speaks again. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What made you choose wildflowers?”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure what your favorite flower is and I didn’t want to get you something typical or cliché. These, though . . . I don’t know, they reminded me of you. Beautiful, colorful, and full of life.”