Broad Detective Enthusiast @sin-djarin - Tumblr Blog

Second Chances

PART THREE

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday! I'm not even going to waste time going on about how long it's been. I'm just gonna say that we are so back, baby. If you've been waiting for this update then please know that I appreciate your patience and the fact that you're sticking with me means the whole world. This chapter is still a little bit of a setup chapter, but I can promise that things really get moving in the next one. Hope you enjoy!

Series Info/Warnings: AU that takes place after the events of TF, wherein Frankie owns a dog rescue. F!Reader, no physical descriptions, no age but written to be roughly the same age as Frankie give or take a few years in either direction. Mentions of drug use, addiction, recovery, infidelity, divorce, co-parenting. Animal abuse (offscreen). Reader doesn't have the best relationship with her parents. Check individual chapters for updated/added warnings, and please, if I've missed something feel free to let me know!

Word Count: 6,325

Chapter Summary: Frankie puts his foot in his mouth on purpose. Reader makes progress in her post-breakup life, no thanks to her mom. Both of them have the best friends in the world.

PART TWO

As soon as you were inside the office, Frankie wheeled on Benny.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Benjamin?”

Benny’s eyebrows rose high enough to disappear into his hairline, an amused smirk giving way to a snort of laughter. “Hey man,” he held both hands up in a gesture of innocence. “I’m just trying to make sure all the needs around here are being met. You can’t look me in the eye and say we don’t need more volunteers, and she clearly loves dogs, so…” He trailed off as Frankie let out an exasperated sigh. “And who knows?” He shrugged as they started heading towards the door to the kennels. “Maybe the two of you hit it off and-”

“That.” Frankie gingerly adjusted his hold on the scrawny dog in his arms, shooting well-sharpened daggers over his shoulder at his friend. “That’s what I meant by ‘what the fuck’.” He paused as Benny opened the door for him, the ever-present chorus of canine song greeting them as they entered the building. He shook his head. “After what happened with Nat? I’m not trying to make a habit out of hooking up with people I meet here. In fact-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Benny rolled his eyes. “You’re not looking for a relationship or whatever.”

“Exactly.” The door closed behind them, the automatic lock clicking as though to punctuate Frankie’s point.

“Well, as my sister would say, that's precisely when you’ll find one.”

It was Frankie’s turn to roll his eyes, a scoff accompanying the expression. “Oh yeah? What’s your excuse then?”

Benny grinned so wide that Frankie swore he saw a cartoonish little sparkle of mischief in the younger man’s eye before he winked. “I enjoy the lookin’ part.”

Before Frankie could respond, Benny peeled off, making the excuse that he had to go talk to one of the kennel employees about something that happened the previous week. He waved one hand, smirking over his shoulder as he strode away, leaving Frankie standing there in the midst of the howls and whines, carefully adjusting his hold on Cookie.

“He’s such a shit,” he muttered to the dog in his arms, who answered by stuffing her nose further into the crook of his elbow. “Yeah. I don’t wanna listen to his garbage either.”

“I can fucking hear you, Fish,” Benny called from across the room, despite being engaged in conversation.

“Good,” he called back. “Maybe it’ll sink in.”

He shook his head and continued on towards the back of the kennel, where there was a separate room for dogs that needed extra care, like the newest resident would. One of her hind legs was still bandaged in a stiff purple cast, and would be for a few weeks. And though they had already started to heal nicely, she still had a few visible stitches around her face that meant she would need to wear an E-collar when she wasn’t being watched so that she couldn’t scratch or lick at the sutures. Once the cast came off she would likely need some physical therapy, and on top of that, she’d have to learn how to be around other dogs and people again.

But since she was young - the vet had put her at no older than two years - Frankie was hopeful that she would make a relatively quick and complete recovery, which he knew increased her chances of getting adopted. “You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he told her for the tenth time as he set her on the soft purple bed in the large crate, sinking down to the floor beside it. “We’re gonna get you through this.”

Though the “we” he meant was him and Benny and the staff at Flying Fish, the “we” that popped into his head - and he blamed Benny for this - included you.

He would be lying to himself if he were to say that he didn’t find you attractive. He found you gorgeous, actually, and completely his type. Even though the interaction he had with you was brief, he could tell that you had a genuine smile, kind eyes, and a realness to you that he found endearing. Like you only knew how to be yourself so you did it on purpose, even when it would be easier not to. It wasn’t lost on him that part of the attraction came from the way you went above and beyond to help a helpless animal, and despite his protests to Benny’s suggestion that the two of you might hit it off, Frankie found himself wanting to know more about you.

Which was dangerous. High hopes had a long way to fall, and his record wasn’t exactly crash-free. It was safer to ignore the attraction. To make himself believe that he didn’t want and couldn’t have and shouldn’t need. To convince himself that you couldn’t be as genuine as you seemed, that you had no real intention of coming back to help out, that you made promises without meaning to keep them.

It wasn’t fair, and he knew it. It was a coping mechanism, a bad one. He knew that, too. But with his plate full of things he couldn’t afford to fuck up - Maisy, the rescue, his newly reinstated pilot’s license - the truth was that Frankie was afraid to add anything else. I can’t.

Especially not until after the weekend. There was simply no way he would be able to juggle orientation for a new volunteer on top of his normal rescue responsibilities, finalizing plans for the upcoming fundraiser, and spending time with his daughter. Benny would tell him he was making excuses, and offer to take you through orientation himself just to get you on board sooner. So he bypassed Benny.

Reaching for the radio that was clipped to his belt, Frankie turned the dial to the preset for the front desk, lifted it towards his mouth, and pressed the call button. “Hey, Leon?”

He released the button, static crackling through for a few seconds before the other man responded. “Go ahead, boss.”

“Gonna need you to deny any new volunteer forms that come through until next weekend.” Frankie closed his eyes and used the radio antenna to prod at his forehead, pushing up the brim of his hat. Absently petting the dog beside him, he wondered if making you wait a week would be enough of a deterrent that you wouldn’t want to come back. That’s a shitty thought. He sighed at the self-admonishment.

This time, the static break was much shorter, Leon clicking back almost immediately to ask if that included you.

“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed, bringing the walkie level with his chin and opening his eyes. He nodded, as though the motion would help convince himself that he was making the right call. “Her too. I don’t want any new faces around here until next Saturday. Too much goin’ on right now.”

It sounded abrasive, and Leon seemed to read it that way as well, answering somewhat hesitantly. “O-okay. Copy that.”

Frankie leaned his head back against the wall behind him, letting out a huff through his nose. “Thanks Leon.”

He responded with a “You got it, boss,” and then the channel went silent.

Something like guilt twisted through Frankie’s belly at the thought that he was somehow putting his own problems ahead of the needs of the rescue. If I had my shit more together, this wouldn’t be a problem. I’d be able to handle everything I need to without worrying that-

He cut that line of thinking off with a soft thunk of his head against the wall. “Stop.”

He muttered the word aloud, an exercise that he picked up from Darrick, the therapist he had gone to following the job that got Tom killed, when things had been at their hardest for him. “If shit-talking yourself to success worked it would have worked by now,” the man had said. “And if someone was talking about one of your buddies like that, you wouldn’t stand for it, would you? So don’t take it from yourself, either. It’s not helpful.”

He was blunt, but that was what Frankie liked about him. And though he could probably still benefit from periodic maintenance sessions with Darrick, Frankie had learned a lot about himself - and how best to help himself - from the man, and he employed those tactics whenever he could. “Stop shit-talking, Morales,” he muttered to himself, clipping the radio back in place. He looked over at Cookie, at his left hand still idly petting the back of her neck and the bulls-eye inked between his thumb and forefinger. “Stop shit-talking and focus.”

It was focus that would get him to a more stable place. Focus and forgiveness and the support of the people who cared about him. Cookie abruptly shook her head, ears flapping, and then just as abruptly began lapping at Frankie’s knuckles. A smile tugged at his lips. And dogs.

“Alright.” He groaned and then stood, Cookie’s head lifting to keep him in her sight as he crossed the small room. “Let’s finish getting you set up, sweetheart, hmm? What’dyou say?”

The far wall was lined with shelves full of various first aid items, braces, pillows, collars and anything else that a dog in the extra care room might need, as well as water and food bowls, soft toys and pill pocket treats. Frankie busied himself with curating the things that Cookie would need and selecting the appropriate sized E-collar.

“Okay,” he said, once he’d settled on one that he thought would fit her neck and be long enough to cover her snout, “You might not like this, but it’s for your own good.” He knelt down next to her crate again, holding the funnel-shaped collar out for her to see and sniff. Her ears folded back and she shrunk away from the device, but Frankie didn’t back down. “I know. But you gotta wear it,” he told her in a soothing tone. Opening his fist, he revealed a handful of the pill pocket treats, the dog’s sense of smell and food drive overcoming her unease about everything else. Her eyes grew wider, nostrils flaring with interest and drawing a low chuckle from Frankie. “Yeah, you can have these. These are all for you, princesa,” he murmured, giving her one of the treats as a peace offering.

Wet nose nuzzling against his palm, she made the split decision that yes, this was food, and gobbled it down, jaws chomping cartoonishly to make him laugh again. Good. Glad you like these, ‘cause they’re gonna come in handy with all the medicines you have to take. He held another between his thumb and forefinger that she eagerly plucked and devoured, then covered the rest up by closing his fist. “You can have the rest after we get this pretty collar on, deal?”

He could practically hear Benny giving him shit about how it was hypocritical of him to hide in his comfort zone while coaxing scared, abandoned, injured animals out of theirs. But despite recognizing the hypocrisy, Frankie shoved it down and concentrated on the task at hand. It took a few tries, a lot of patience and some more treat bribery, but eventually he got the collar situated, and Cookie curled up and against the side of her crate.

“See?” He said to the dog as he stood. “Not so bad, right?” He crossed back over to the supply wall and grabbed another handful of treats. “And now you get more of these.”

As he made his way over to the crate, two things happened. First, a blur of calico fur came streaking into the room via the small cut-out in the bottom of the door, and second, the phone in his pocket started to vibrate. “Lucky you,” he said to the dog as he groaned, sinking down next to her and reaching for his phone. “First day here and you already get a visit from Miss Frizzle.”

At the mention of her name, the cat chirped and rubbed her body against Frankie’s knee, headbutting his calf. She had been a stray that showed up inside the kennel building, and from day one of her arrival she had acted more like a staff member than an animal in need of rescue, taking it upon herself to become the chief greeter of newcomers and the principal comfort cat for all those in need of a friend to show them that they were in a safe place. Maisy had been there with him the morning the cat had been discovered, so Frankie had let her do the honors of giving the creature a name. Since she had just been introduced to The Magic School Bus that same weekend, the over-the-top redheaded teacher was her inspiration. Given the cat’s friendly demeanor and curiosity, the name fit perfectly. She chirped again as Cookie lifted her head, and though it was clear that the dog was unsure about this visitor, Miss Frizzle was determined to make a new friend.

“S’okay, princesa,” Frankie soothingly told the nervous dog. “Frizz won’t hurt you.”

Palming the cat’s fuzzy head with one hand, he looked down at the phone in his other hand and smiled at the screen. Though it said Zoe’s name, it was a photo of Maisy that was displayed on the caller ID, which meant that it was a FaceTime call from his daughter, not a phone call from his ex-wife. He swiped it open, his smile spreading at the sight of the little girl on the other end.

“Hi mija,” he said, Maisy’s whole face lighting up as she responded with an enthusiastic “Hi Daddy!”

After quickly making sure that everything was alright and that she was just calling to say hi, Frankie adjusted his hat and tilted the phone so that she could see Miss Frizzle. “You called me at the perfect time. Look who’s with me.” He laughed as she squealed the cat’s name, Frizzle nudging the corner of his phone with her head. “And we have a new pup staying with us, too, but she’s got some bad ouchies so you’re gonna have to help me take good care of her when you come this weekend, okay?”

He turned the phone towards Cookie’s crate, his heart warming at the empathetic “Awww!” that came from his daughter. She murmured a few words of comfort to the dog as she’d heard him and Benny do, the imitation only making Frankie’s heart glow more. When she was done speaking to Cookie, he turned the phone back towards himself. “So, tell me how school was today, mija.”

For the next twenty minutes, Frankie listened to his daughter recount nearly every moment of her day at pre-school before switching gears and telling him everything she wanted to do during her weekend with him. The list was basically comprised of a mixture of waffles, games, coloring books and helping Magpie with her stick collection, all things that Frankie could easily make happen, even with how busy he was. But he knew, and he hoped that one day Maisy would know it, too, that even if her list involved flying to the moon he would do everything he could to make that a reality.

As he was wrapping up his call with Maisy, Frankie’s attention went to a knock on the glass door separating the extra care room from the rest of the kennel. He looked up to see Benny standing on the other side of the door, a look on his face that said “we need to talk”, and Frankie knew that Leon must have told him about denying volunteer requests. Sighing, he nodded and motioned for Benny to come inside.

Yup, knew this was coming.

Before the younger man could start in on him, though, Frankie turned the phone in his direction. “Say hi to Uncle Benny, Mais,” he said, smirking as Benny’s stern look melted into the fun uncle smile he reserved for the little girl.

The two spoke for a minute, and then Frankie took back over to end the call, telling Maisy that he couldn’t wait to see her. When it was done, he shoved the phone into his pocket and looked up at Benny. “You can save the lecture, Miller, I did what I did.”

Benny crossed his arms over his chest and frowned as Frankie stood. “I wasn’t gonna lecture you, Fish.” He clicked his tongue. “Shit, it’s not like you’d listen anyway.” Frankie huffed out a laugh through his nose. “Nah, I just…” He sighed, arms dropping to his sides. “I know you gotta do what’s right for you.” He gestured to the phone in Frankie’s pocket. “Especially with Maisy and everything. And if this is what you think you have to do, then fine. But for what it’s worth? I think you’re doin’ a lot better than you give yourself credit for, and I hope you can cut yourself some slack and stop expecting the worst from yourself soon.”

Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his own boots as he let Benny’s words sink in. Is he right? If anyone had a reliable outside perspective on how well Frankie was handling things, it would be Benny. Even more than the other guys. He spent the most time with Frankie, he saw him under stress and saw what didn’t make him break.

Raising his chin, Frankie met Benny’s blue eyes and found them full of sincerity. “Thanks, Ben.” He sighed. “You think she’ll come back? Even though I pretty much chased her off?”

That fucking twinkle was back in Benny’s eye as he answered. “I fuckin’ knew she was your type.” He laughed at the smack of Frankie’s knuckles against his bicep. “Yeah, I think she’ll be back. Now how is this one doin’?”

He gestured to Cookie’s crate, and Frankie caught him up on what had been done and what was still needed, the two of them seamlessly transitioning from one topic to the next.

The rest of the afternoon passed as it always did. Things at the rescue were as scheduled and regimented as possible from feedings and medications to playtime and cleanup. But as he went about the rest of his duties, Frankie’s thoughts ranged back to you more than a few times, and he found himself thinking the same thing over and over again.

I hope Benny’s right.

– – –

You were in the kitchen, taking advantage of having the house to yourself for a few hours and using that time to prepare meals for the week ahead, when Becca called. The music that had been playing from your phone paused, and you set the knife you were using down on the cutting board to answer it. Pressing the button for speaker, you resumed chopping bell peppers and onions as you greeted your friend. “Hey, Becs.”

“Hey,” her cheery voice spilled into your parents’ kitchen. “Sorry I missed your call earlier, I was talking to Toby and-”

“Oh my god, don’t apologize,” you insisted, waving the knife towards the phone even though it wasn’t a video call. You knew that Toby hadn’t been able to call her for days due to the remote nature of his current assignment and the lack of adequate cell service where he was working, so you were glad that your friend was finally able to talk to her husband again. “How’s he doing? How’s the job?”

“Cold.” Becca laughed and you did, too. I bet. “But he loves it so it’s fine. He said Denali is gorgeous and he’s getting really great shots. He sent me a few that he took on his phone that aren’t for the doc, I’ll show you, hang on.”

You finished off the orange pepper, sliding the cut pieces into a neat pile in the corner of the board, and grabbed an onion while you waited for the notification to come through on your phone. It dinged before you could peel off the papery skin, so you set the onion back down and opened Becca’s message.

“Oh, wow,” came your immediate response as soon as you saw the first of Toby’s pictures, the Alaskan landscape taking your breath away. The next few all featured animals - a caribou, a pair of wolves and a large flock of white birds - and they were all just as stunning as the mountainscape of the first one. “These are incredible,” you agreed. “I can’t wait to see what he got with his actual equipment if this is how good the ones on his pho-”

A snort ended the rest of your sentence as you reached the last photo that she sent over. It was a selfie, Toby’s fur-lined hood pulled so tightly around his face that only his scrunched nose and pursed lips were visible. He held up one hand, encased in gloves so thick that his fingers all touched even as he spread them out and waved at the camera. Oh, he’s such a goober.

“Yup, that’s my husband, the goofball,” Becca confirmed, her grin apparent in the tone of her voice.

You knew that his sense of humor and the fact that he was unafraid of silliness now and then was one of the things that made her fall in love with Toby in the first place. It was one of the things you liked most about him, too. “Wouldn’t have him any other way, would you?”

“No ma’am,” she answered. “Sweet, smart, talented and he makes me laugh? I hit the goddamn jackpot with that one.”

“You did.” Setting your phone back down, you got back to work on your vegetables, asking a few more questions about Toby.

Becca answered them all before changing the subject. “Wait, you were calling to let me know how it went at the rescue, weren’t you? You dropped the dog off today, right?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, shoulders dropping. “I did.” The onion skin crinkled as you peeled it, pieces of it crumbling between your fingers. You wiggled them to dispatch the bits that stuck, then swept the pile to the side and started the second one. “It uh…” You rolled your eyes to yourself as you replayed the morning’s events. “It went-”

"Uh, oh, that’s not a promising opening. Did something happen? Were they still able to take the dog?”

“No.” Hooking your right foot around the small kitchen wastebasket that you’d pulled out from under the sink, you tugged it a few inches closer, lining it up beneath the counter so you could push the onion peels into it. Most of them went straight in, but a few flurried down to the floor like culinary snowflakes.Whatever, I’ll sweep when I’m done cooking. “They were still able to take her,” you clarified as you sliced the top of the onion off and plopped the flat part down on the cutting board. “Everything with the dog went fine.” Slicing thin slivers, you smiled. “She even has a name now. Cookie.”

“Ugh! Cookie! I love it!” Becca exclaimed. “It’s perfect for her sweet lil face.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning the onion to a different angle and continuing your slices. “It fits. And Flying Fish definitely seems like a good fit, too.” The vapors began to sting your eyes as you finished with the first and grabbed the second onion, but you sniffed and powered through. “You were right about that guy, Francisco. It was really clear how much he loves dogs.”

You told her about how he’d climbed into the backseat of your car and waited for Cookie to get comfortable with him before trying to move her, but left out the tidbit about how his calm, warm, borderline smoky tone when he’d said “c’mere baby” had made your stomach flip. You told her about how he emerged, carefully cradling the bony creature in his arms, but left out the fact that you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about being held in those arms. She didn’t need to know that you’d be thinking of both those things as you laid in bed that night.

You figured there was no point in feeding into her insistence that you had a chance with this guy. Yes, she had also been right about the fact that he was completely your type, handsome and rugged with an obvious softness underneath. And yeah, you would admit - to yourself, anyway - that despite having been adamant about the fact that you still weren’t ready to get back into dating, you would absolutely accept if Frankie were to ask you out for coffee or dinner or anything at all.

That’s not going to happen, though. You frowned to yourself as you continued slicing.

“Okayyyyy…” Becca elongated the word as an invitation for you to get to the but of your story. “So what went wrong?”

You sniffed, using the back of one hand to wipe under your eyes. The second of the two onions was even sharper than the first, and you felt the first involuntary tear slip down your cheek. “Nothing went wrong, Becca,” you clarified, sniffing again. “By the way, I’m doing food prep for the week and these onions are brutal, so if you hear me sniffling that’s why.”

“Nice! Whatcha making?”

“The usual,” you answered, knowing that Becca would know what that meant. Veggie egg bites, shredded chicken, salads, rice… and more importantly, a return to normalcy after your breakup with Hunter. Or at least a step in the right direction.

“Yum,” she responded. “Your egg bites are the best. Now tell me what you’re not telling me about Francisco.”

Looking up at the ceiling, you shook your head, laughing to yourself. “Well, first of all, he introduced himself to me as Frankie, so I guess Francisco is just the name he gives to illustrious journalists doing special interest pieces for The Sunrise.”

“Oh fuck off,” Becca laughed. “Spill the goddamn beans already. Was he rude? Was he a jerk? You catch him staring at your ass or something?”

You scoffed, using the blade of your knife to scrape the diced onions into a neat pile in the corner of the cutting board. “No, nothing like that. I just-” You sighed, reevaluating your onions and deciding that you needed another. Grabbing one, you started peeling it. “I don’t know, Becs, I just got the feeling that he wasn’t interested.”

“What do you mean? Why do you think that? Did you flirt? Like, were you being flirty and he missed the cue or just ignored it or…” She trailed off questioningly.

Clicking your tongue, you rolled your eyes again. “I was there to drop off a dog, not flirt.”

The third onion was more potent than the two before it, the vapors stinging your tear ducts before you even cut into it. You sniffed, thinking back to the events of the morning, letting them replay quickly in your mind. Maybe you were wrong about the interaction. First impressions weren’t always the best or most truthful depictions of a person, you knew that.

Still, though…

After you’d said goodbye to Cookie and officially completed the handoff, you’d gone into the office, where Ben had told you to speak with a man named Leon about signing on as a volunteer at the rescue. Leon had been friendly, greeting you with a bright smile that widened his cheeks and crinkled his nose. When you told him why you were there, he responded with the same enthusiasm that Ben had, echoing the blonde man’s statement that the place was always in need of more hands. He’d taken your information, explaining that he would email you a link to the calendar so that you could sign up for whichever available shifts worked best for you.

“I don’t know what your work schedule is like, but we usually have more availability on weekdays. Lots of people looking to put in a few hours here on the weekends, but-”

“Actually,” you’d said, thinking that this was working out even better than you’d hoped, “I do most of my work on the weekends, so weekdays are perfect for my schedule.”

“Oh yeah?” Leon tilted his head, the smile he wore widening with his interest. “What do you do for work if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m an event photographer,” you told him, testing out the new title for the first time. Not bad.

In the past you would have said that you were a wedding photographer.

But thanks to a non-compete clause you’d signed when you’d agreed to work for Hunter’s wedding photography business - you know, back when you still saw it all through rose- colored, heart-shaped glasses, when your relationship felt like it was written in the stars or whatever, when the thought of Hunter breaking your heart and asking you to move out, and letting you go from your job all in the same day seemed like an absurd impossibility - you couldn’t work the wedding circuit for two years if you stayed in Central Florida. After a week or two of spiraling about what you were going to do, you’d pivoted away from the wedding industry and focused on other types of events. Charity golf outings, local fundraisers, corporate retreats, company picnics. It was slow-going, but you were starting to take on some clients, and though you were still bitter about not being able to work weddings - and about the irony of Hunter being a fucking cheater but photographing people as they made vows of commitment and loyalty to each other - you found that you enjoyed that type of work just as much.

“Oh, cool! You know, we’re having a fundraiser in a few weeks and I don’t know if Fish booked a photographer yet, or if he’s even planning to, but I’ll be sure to tell him that’s what you do so-”

Before you could double down on thinking that all of this seemed to be falling too perfectly into place, the radio on Leon’s desk beeped. He apologized for the interruption, but you waved him off and told him it was no problem. Insisting that he’d just be a few seconds, he answered the call and you heard Frankie’s voice coming through the static.

And that was when the ‘true’ part of ‘too good to be true’ came crashing down.

“He said he didn’t want any new faces around the rescue for a while,” you told Becca, onion induced tears rolling freely down your cheeks as you recounted the interaction for her. “And when Leon asked if that applied to me, too, since he and Benny had literally just sent me in there to sign up, he was like ‘yeah, her too.’ So…” You shrugged.

“Ew, he said ‘her too’? Like that?”

In the distance, you were vaguely aware of the sound of the garage door opening, and you swore under your breath. Shit, they’re back earlier than I thought. You had been hoping to be much further along in your cooking, or better yet, done, by the time your parents came home. There was simply less friction between you when you weren’t in the same room. Or on the same floor. There was nothing to be done about it, though, and since you already had the chicken in the oven and your vegetables mostly chopped, you were too far in to put things away and finish up later.

“Yeah,” you answered Becca. “I mean, he also said there was a lot going on this week so maybe it’s just not the best time.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced of Frankie’s excuse, and if you were being honest, you weren’t, either. “ Are you still signing up?”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I want to stay updated on Cookie, but I also do really want to help out with the other dogs. Nothing else has to come of it.”

The door connecting the garage to the kitchen opened, your mother coming inside as you furiously wiped away your onion tears. The last thing in the world you needed was for her to see you crying and assume it was somehow related to the breakup. Unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough, and she walked in while you were halfway through a sniffle. To make matters worse, Becca’s next comment fed directly into your mother’s fixation on the idea that you and Hunter might reconcile.

“Sure, nothing has to come of it. But you could give him another chance. Maybe it was just a bad day.”

Your mom pounced on what she’d overheard before you could even mutter a “fuck me”.

“I hope you’re talking about Hunter. He deserves a second chance. You two spent all those years together, it’s a terrible shame to throw it all away without even trying.”

You could hear Becca scoff incredulously over the phone as you let out a measured breath and turned to face your mother. “Hi, mom. Thought you and Dad were going to the movies after lunch, did-”

She started searching the countertop of the island that stood in the center of the kitchen. “Your father forgot his glasses and you know he can’t see the screen without them. He’s waiting in the car, I just ran in to grab them.”

Shaking your head, you furrowed your brow. “He forgot his glasses? Wasn’t he driving?”

She clicked her tongue and waved you off. “Oh he sees fine when he drives, it’s just in the dark he needs them.”

“He does not see fine when he drives,” you muttered as you turned back around, Becca snorting from her end of the conversation.

“So are you seeing Hunter again?” She finished searching the island - unsuccessfully - and started scouring the rest of the countertops, moving canisters and appliances as she went.

“Oh hell no!” Becca shouted in answer, drawing your mother’s glare towards the phone speaker. You bit the inside of your cheek, wishing that Becca could see the disapproving look the woman was wearing.

“Well hello to you, too, Rebecca,” your mother said in a falsely sweet tone before snapping her eyes up to meet yours. “If you’re not talking about seeing Hunter again, then who-”

“Mom?” You shook your head. “It’s not really your business. Now do you need help finding Dad’s glasses? Because I think I saw them in the living room this morning, and-”

“Not my business, hmm? You’re living in my house and-” she pointed out the single piece of onion skin that had fallen to the floor. “Making a mess in my kitchen and crying because you broke up with Hunter, but sure. It’s none of my business.” She stalked out of the kitchen and into the living room to pluck your dad’s glasses from the coffee table. “Make sure this is cleaned up by the time we’re back,” she snipped, heading back out without another word and closing the door a little more harshly than necessary.

“Well, she is just as pleasant as always, I see,” Becca chimed in after the slam. “I’ll never understand why she thinks so highly of Hunter, but I’ll really never understand why she can’t just take your side in things.”

You blew air through your lips. “You and me both.”

“Reminder that the offer to stay with me for a while still stands.”

You sighed, picking up the cutting board full of diced onions and tipping them into the sauté pan. “Thanks, Becs. We’ll see how the next week or so goes. I just have to get a few events under my belt and then hopefully I’ll be able to start looking for a place.”

With that, the conversation shifted to the two upcoming gigs you’d booked - an art gallery opening on Friday night in Tampa, and a small boat show in St. Pete Beach on Saturday afternoon. You were a little nervous about how your first weekend of solo shoots would go. But you were also cautiously excited about stretching your legs in ways you never had before with your professional photography.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Becca assured you after you filled her in on the details. “Can’t wait to hear how they go.”

You thanked her for the vote of confidence and then wrapped up the call, citing the need to finish and vacate the kitchen ASAP so as not to have a repeat encounter with your parents.

“Alright,” your friend said. “I’ll let you go. But I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you. Corny, I know, but you’re doing a better job of picking yourself up than you think you are, so I wanted to make sure you knew that I can see it. Now go finish your meal prep before Laurel has a conniption.”

You grinned at the phone as you listened to her words. “I needed to hear that, Becs. You’re the best.”

“You’re goddamn right I am,” she responded without missing a beat.

With that you ended the call, the two of you making plans to get lunch on Monday so that you could tell her how your weekend gigs went. You finished cooking and prepping, cleaning the kitchen and then heading up to your room to fire off a few emails to potential clients.

But for the rest of the afternoon - and into the night, as you figured would be the case - you felt your thoughts straying to Frankie, unable to stop yourself from wondering if maybe, just maybe, there might be something to Becca’s gut instinct about the two of you being a good match. Finishing with your emails, you opened the one that Leon had sent, clicking the link to the volunteer calendar. The days that Frankie had mentioned to Leon over the radio were all blocked off, but you didn’t hesitate to click the next available day, committing yourself to a six hour shift, one thought floating through your mind as you hit the submit button.

I hope Becca was right.

-- -- --

It's been 500,000 years since the last time I updated my tag list so please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed! Starting with people who have expressed interest in this story recently:

@bergamote-catsandbooks @purplerain04 @undutchable @sunnytuliptime @oonajaeadira @sawymredfox @realmamabear79 @insomniamamma @crazysouthernlady @mrsparknuts

Falling back on my old Frankie taglist:

@littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11 @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @noisynightmarepoetry @Vickie5446 @jessthebaker

Thank you for reading! :)

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