isla-jean:
Isla Jean regarded Cyrus as he spoke, glancing away once he’d said ‘I wasn’t that lucky’. Maybe there’d be a time, some moment, some window of opportunity. And while she felt she needed Cyrus, that the ways in which he contributed to hers and Frankie’s lives was integral and irreplaceable, she sometimes couldn’t help but wonder. It was all too easy, like puzzle pieces. So maybe that was why. She’d needed a friend back then, she’d needed a friend more than anything else. And at the rate that Frankie Mae had grown attached to Cyrus, there’d only been one logical course forward. That had been that. The book had been shut, and never lifted from the night stand again. Before Isla Jean could chime in, Frankie was speaking. ‘It beats sitting at the bed and breakfast all day!’ A content smile on her face, which was festooned with smeared ice cream as she happily dug into her sundae.
“We’re the lucky ones.” Isla Jean fit in, a hand gliding over to pat Cyrus on the back. “Thanks again for your help, it was so lovely of you.” With goodbyes made, it was just the three of them at the table, Frankie nearly face-first into her ice cream, and Isla Jean looking at Cyrus with a soft glint in her eyes. “I never hazard a guess at what my life would look like without you in it, all I know is that it wouldn’t be half as sweet.” Of all the things that Cyrus Nilsen brought to the table, Isla Jean liked to think his heart was the best of them. Knowing that Isla Jean and Frankie were at a standstill, he’d volunteered himself to wade in, to try and mend fences where Isla Jean couldn’t. No man had loved them even half as much, not since Cal. “I don’t know what I’d do without you most days.”
-
His eyes met Isla Jean’s for a fraction of a second and it near about knocked him off his feet. For a moment, there was something there, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but damn had it felt like something. So much of something that now looking away he was overwhelmed at the feeling of nothing. He had always been an overthinking, the trait ingrained him as eldest sibling, always wondering what could go wrong before it did, so he could stop it, keep the helm of the ship steady. That trait had only gotten worse with age, and he was eternally grateful that Frankie was the type of little girl who demanded all of your attention, keeping his mind from going down the rabbit hole, trying to identify what in the fuck had just happened.
Although, Isla Jean’s hand on his back didn’t help matters. With a bit of a shock, he realized he didn’t think anyone but his mother had ever done that to him. He and Giorgia had been too young for those types of mature romantic gestures, preferring holding hands and making out (and more, obviously, hello, teen dad) in cramped spots, fooling around under blankets while watching movies. But this felt different than both of those. It certainly wasn’t a motherly touch, and it wasn’t the immature actions of affection from teens. He wasn’t sure what it was, but with a shock, he realized he didn’t mind it.
“Where’d you get that, the back of a conversation hearts box?” He asked while clearing his throat, regaining his wits. “But I think we both know you’d be exactly where you are right now. Kicking--” he mouthed the next word “ass and taking names. I just provide the pizza.”









