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By the time Franklin finished the whole bowl, he had perked up a little. He had tossed his coat over the edge of the couch, grabbing the bottom fringe of Gloria’s afghan to cover his lap. And, okay, the blanket was long but it wasn’t that long so it just so happened that she needed to slide a little closer to share it with him.
Despite the circumstances that led him to seek her out that night, Gloria realized she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
11
Later that night, when she was having trouble keeping her eyes open, Franklin finally turned and spoke to her.
“Thanks, Gloria.” His raspy voice was even more raw than usual, as if he hadn’t used it in forever. “That was a good movie. We’ll have to watch the second one sometime.”
Swallowing her yawn, stretching her legs in front of her, she said, “You’ve got an open invitation to come over whenever you want.”
His face shadowed over. “Yeah, until next January maybe.”
She winced. So he was still stewing over that.
“Franklin—”
“No.” Running his hand over his face, he shook his head. “Forget I said that. It’s not my business what you decide to do. I just… it’s been a long day. I’m tired. You’re tired. Maybe I should be heading out. Thanks for the ice cream. I… I needed that.”
Franklin wasn’t wrong when he said he was tired. He sounded it. Drained and tired and sad.
And that’s when Gloria—being Gloria—opened her mouth and stuck her foot right inside of it.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” she blurted out.
Franklin had already pushed the afghan off his lap. As he was preparing to stand, he froze mid-squat. “What was that?” He turned to look at her with a curious expression on his face. “What did you just say?”
Ah, crud.
Well, there was no taking it back. It slipped out, she wasn’t supposed to say anything, but she did, and there was no taking it back.
“Franklin, I—”
“You talked to Bailey.”
She couldn’t take it back, and she couldn’t lie, either.
“... Maybe.”
That was all it took. As if what she had said a few seconds ago—plus the truth that it was his sister who had told her—was sinking in, Franklin stood up from his side of the couch. He grabbed his coat, angrily yanked it on, then started to walk toward the door.
Gloria hadn’t expected such a response and she was slow to react. By the time she realized he was actually leaving, Franklin had already opened the front door. It was snowing out again, the pretty white flakes shining against the black sky, with Franklin’s big body silhouetted by the night.
Then he stepped out of the doorway and onto the porch and it hit her that he was really going.
Gloria hopped up from the couch, shoving her afghan to the floor as she hurried after him. She nearly tripped, saved herself in time, and made it to her front door before Franklin had stepped onto the walkway.
“Frank, wait—”
He turned to look at her, an unreadable expression on his face. “Goodnight, Gloria.”
Over the last few weeks, though, Gloria had gotten to know this man pretty well. What Bailey told her was just the final piece of the puzzle. The fact that his handsome face was so unreadable made it easy for Gloria to know exactly what he was feeling.
Anger. Betrayal. Humiliation.
And it was all her fault.
Whoops.
