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She was. It was freezing, and she hadn’t stopped to grab a coat when she was chasing after him. “You can come in with me. We can still talk everything over.”
“I’m sorry. I just… I can’t do this right now.”
“But—”
He turned his back on her. “I’ll see you later.”
And then, without even glancing over his shoulder again to see where he left her on her porch, Franklin crossed the space between his cabin and hers before letting himself inside. When the door closed softly behind him, she heard the click carry on the still December night as if she was standing right there.
She didn’t go in straight away. Instead, hugging herself, she watched as the lights inside of Franklin’s cabin came on before the curtains were drawn.
“Well,” Gloria mused out loud, her voice thick with an emotion she refused to acknowledge, “that could’ve gone a lot better.”
She gave him one night to cool off. One night where she sat in the quiet of her cabin alone, obsessing over how bad she had messed things up with Franklin. When that got annoying, Gloria went into the kitchen and tried to come up with a new recipe.
Impossible. She was totally blocked. None of her flavor combinations sounded even a little appealing, and she threw out two batches of an over-churned peppermint and cherry mess before she reached for the cinnamon.
Two hours later, she had enough of Franklin’s creation to fill up his freezer. It was a start. At least, when she finally got him to forgive her for snooping, she’d have an ‘I’m sorry’ present at the ready.
Because, she thought stubbornly, she would get him to forgive her.
Marching over at the crack of dawn, while it held some allure after her sleepless night, would probably only throw more fuel on the fire.
Instead, Gloria paced around the bottom floor of the cabin, peeking out of the drawn curtain anytime she thought she heard someone moving around outside.
Her plan was to confront Franklin on his way to work. If she got him before he climbed into his truck, then she would make him listen to her reasoning—and her apology. For hours, she waited for him to leave his house. Gloria got antsier and antsier, nibbling nervously on her thumbnail as she got up, sat down, rearranged some of the ornaments on her glittering Christmas tree.
Then she remembered who gave her the ornaments—and how she learned about his bad feelings toward the holiday—and she felt the bottom of her stomach sinking down to her toes.
When it was almost noon and she still hadn’t heard any movement outside, Gloria decided she couldn’t wait any longer. Pulling on her scarf, her boots, her coat, and her white winter hat with the pom pom on top, she took a deep breath, practiced her apology in her head, then went outside.
It wasn’t snowing today, but that was probably because it was way too freaking cold for it to snow. Gloria was wishing she’d grabbed gloves halfway between her cabin and Franklin’s. Rubbing her hands together, gritting her teeth against the angry wind, she pushed forward, grateful for the protection the overhang of his roof provided when she made it to his cabin.
After blowing on her hands in a bid to warm them up, she folded her right hand into a fist and knocked. When he didn’t answer straight away, she cupped her left hand around her mouth and shouted.
“Franklin? It’s me. Let me in.”
He was home. She knew he was. His truck was outside. Franklin wouldn’t go anywhere without his truck. She banged again, louder this time, determined to get him to open up.
But, as she learned during the whole sprained wrist affair, Franklin could be stubborn, too. Even though there was no way he couldn’t hear her out on his porch, the door remained closed.
Gloria huffed, stamping her boot against the porch. Was he really that mad? She understood that he was probably still ticked off that she was prying information out of his sister. But shouldn’t Bailey have kept the story of their mom to herself? Even if Gloria did promise not to say anything…
Yeah. It was still entirely her fault, wasn’t it?
Then again, Bailey probably shouldn’t have said anything about Franklin’s feelings for her, either. If it was true—and Gloria still hadn’t decided whether she wanted it to be or not—then Franklin had his own reasons to keep them to himself. He’d be even angrier at his little sister.
Gloria wouldn’t let that happen. She already goofed once, letting it slip about Franklin’s mom. She wasn’t about to tell him about Bailey’s other confessions.
Didn’t mean she was going to let him get away with keeping a closed door between them.
She thought of her sprained wrist again. Dr. De Angelis was right when he said the injury should heal up in a couple of days if she didn’t reaggravate it. Even though she might’ve eked it out a little to spend some more time Franklin, her wrist was fine. Of course, that didn’t stop Franklin from checking on it constantly.
Hmm.
In case he could see her, she purposely banged on his front door with her left wrist. After the third loud thump, she let out a sharp, “Ow! My wrist!”
That did the trick.
