“This!” she cries. “Being all charming and cute and touchy. You’re acting like I’m your… your… girlfriend!” She spits out the last word like it’s sour on her tongue, but I don’t let it get to me.
My Frankie is used to going it alone. She’s protective and timid and guarded. She’s worried I’ll slam through her defenses like a wrecking ball, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
I’m not going to break down her walls. I’m going to bide my time, patient if not a little pushy, until she invites me in. And mark my words, she will invite me in.
“Maybe because I want you to be.”
She forces a laugh and turns away from me. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not laughing,” I say, and her shoulders tense.
“Orion—”
“Mama!” Maverick comes hurtling into the room. “Look at my picture! Do you think O—Orion! You’re here!” He turns on a dime and barrels into me, knocking me into the fridge with the force of his hug. “I missed you!”
Contentment like I’ve never known before swims through me as I return his embrace. “Missed you, too, bud. Did you have a good day at school?”
“We painted rocks. I made mine look like Spiderman!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah!” He bounces on his toes twice and then shoves the paper he’s holding into my hands. “I made you this. Do you like it?”
I take the drawing from him and study it closely. It takes a minute for the shapes to make sense, but I quickly gather the three brown ovals are the three of us, bear-family style.
“Like it?” I ask, my throat thick. “I love it.” But only because he drew it. Any other kid, and I’d have tossed it. But from Mav, I want to frame it.
Frankie walks over to inspect his artwork. “Oh…um.”
“It’s us, Mama, see!” He points at the biggest bear-blob. “That’s O.” Then to the smaller one. “That’s you.” Last, he points to the smallest one, in the center. “And that’s me! Papa, Mama, and big-boy-baby bear!”
“Mav.” Frankie’s voice breaks, and her eyes swim with tears. “This is…”
He looks up at his mom with wide, hopeful eyes, but she can’t seem to gather her words. That’s okay, though, I’ve got it.
“It’s perfect. We love it.”
“Both of you?” He whips his head back and forth, between us. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Frankie nods, still reeling. “Both of us.”
“Can we put it on the fridge?”
“Damn straight we can.” I turn and grab a magnet, placing his paper high up on the door.
“Swear word, O.”
“My bad,” I say, but I’m smiling big, on cloud nine. Because my dude drew a family portrait and included me in it. If that’s not winning, I don’t know what is.
“Wash your hands, Mav.” Frankie gives him her mom look, and he scampers over to the sink, stepping up onto the stool.
“Anything you need me to do?” I ask again as she grabs a bag of tortillas from the pantry, hoping this time she gives me a task.
Her shoulders tense, and a soft sigh escapes her. “Grab the cheese and sour cream?”
“Can do.” I swing open the fridge door and grab our taco toppings. “Anything else?”
Her fingers are still around the plastic bag and she sucks in a deep breath before looking my way. “Napkins. We need napkins.”
“You’re not used to having help, are you?” There is no her giving an inch for me to take a mile. I’m fighting for millimeters when it comes to Frankie Townsend.
She slowly releases her hold on the tortilla bag. “That obvious?”
“It’s okay to let people in.” I take a step closer to her and our eyes lock. “To let me in.”
She blinks and turns away to fix their plates, effectively breaking our connection. “Oh, and the taco sauce, please.”
Her guard is up. But that’s okay. Trust takes time, and I’m more than willing to put in the work.
I make my plate and then grab the taco sauce and napkins before joining them at the table.
Maverick carries the conversation for most of the meal—he’s right, his mama’s tacos are the best—and before I know it, our plates are clean and our bellies are full.
“Thank you for dinner.” I push my chair back from the table and stand, gathering all of our dishes.
“What are you doing?” Frankie asks, reaching her hand out to stop me.
“Clearing the table.” Thought it was pretty obvious, but…
“I can do them after Maverick’s bath.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
Don’t look at her tits. Do. Not. Look. At. Her. Tits.
“Or, I could do them now, and after his bath you can relax.”
“We could read a book, Mama!” Maverick rubs his hands together. “O does real good with the voices.”
She looks torn, and I hate it. I hate that she’s struggling with something as simple as asking for help with the dishes. A woman like Frankie deserves to be taken care of… pampered. And I’m damn sure the man to do it.