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Despite hashing things out between Ben & Jerry and Buster on her couch, Frankie was no closer to understanding where things had gone wrong.
She had always hated feeling awkward or unsure of herself, so she was falling back on old habits. She was avoiding him. If she didn’t see him, he couldn’t hurt her further. If she did have to spend time with him, she snapped at him with snarky sarcasm to keep him at a safe distance. She was terrified of what he would say in the ten minutes she'd granted him.
Once she figured out these feelings and got them wrangled back into submission, things would be better. Maybe some time alone in a quiet space would help her sort things out. Frankie heard Trina come in the back door, talking to Jake on her walkie-talkie, and she winced. The last thing she wanted right now was a camera in her face. Especially not while she was still processing how Jake’s silent judgment had made her feel.
Was that what she was afraid of? Opening up and being found not good enough? Taking the risk and not succeeding? This fear on all fronts paralyzed her, but she wasn’t going to let it slow her down today. She was going to take her win into her cave and protect it.
“Could you let someone on the production crew know to keep an eye out for those other racks? I’m going to go down and start drilling in anchors and assembling the two we have,” she asked Seth.
“Sure, but then I’ve got to run.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it from here. Thanks again, cuz.” Frankie wrapped her arms around his waist for a tight hug. “You really are the best.”
“Aw, come here, kiddo.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders in return. “This place is going to be great.”
“I know.”
He chucked a knuckle under her chin. “You’re already great.”
“Tell that to Dad and Jake.”
“You’ll show them yourself when this project is complete. Just maybe stop adding things to the plan…”
Frankie faux-punched him in the stomach. “Tell that to Enzo and Fi.”
“You can always say no,” Seth prodded.
“Sure I can. It’s so easy to tell your brother and sister that you’re going to spoil their perfect weddings. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Okay, smart-ass. Just don’t lose sight of the bigger goal. You’re making this place for your mom, not them, and you need to succeed.”
“I know. I do,” she protested at his raised eyebrows, and grabbed the impact drill then tucked the concrete drill bits into her tool belt. “I’m working on it. I’ll catch you later, cuz.”
“Bye, Frankie.”
She walked down the stairs and pulled the countertop back into place above her. She didn’t want to telegraph her location to anyone with a camera.
She flicked on the utility light hanging from the ceiling. The mini chandelier was still in its box in the corner, but they wouldn’t install it until they were done assembling the bulky racks. The yellow bulb glowed through the orange metal cage, swaying back and forth from the J-hook in the ceiling, illuminating the small ten-by-eight-foot space. Caged in and off-balance. Boy, could she relate. Something was going to have to give soon. She couldn’t keep swinging from extreme to extreme trying to make everyone happy.
Pulling a pencil and tape measure from her tool belt, Frankie efficiently measured and marked up the walls, noting the length of the wine racks and where the anchoring holes would need to be drilled into the reinforced concrete.
This whole wine cellar felt like a microcosm of this project—it was crazy, a pretty, shiny idea that had taken longer and more money to complete than she’d expected. When it came down to the nuts and bolts, Frankie was confident and capable, but with so many delays, she was beginning to wonder if Dom was right. Maybe she wasn’t ready to take the lead. Maybe her project management skills were too rough around the edges. She had a really hard time saying no.
She hated when doubts crept past her confident veneer because they were hard to chase back out, especially when she was struggling. They ran on a loop through her head, beating down her conviction that she could handle things. When a build went bad, a few late nights with a hammer could usually make things right. But when her thoughts spiraled, she struggled to pull out of the tailspin. Maybe it was the combination of the stress, the show, the added workload… Whatever it was, she needed to find a way out of this hole she'd dug herself into.
Pulling out her phone to call Sofia to share the good news and hopefully get a boost, Frankie realized the downside to putting a wine cellar in a concrete box. Great for earthquakes, terrible for cell service or Wi-Fi. She heard steps up above in the kitchen, and decided her alone time was more important than risking discovery to make a call upstairs. She could muddle through this crisis of faith on her own.
The sound of the counter sliding back pulled her attention up the stairs, box-cutter in hand, only to see a most unwelcome pair of polished Italian leather shoes descending. Those shoes could only mean one man. Damn him and his ten minutes. If he thought anything he could say would erase walking out on her in the tasting room and witnessing her humiliation this morning, he was crazier than she’d thought.
Jake clicked the cabinet shut and slid the counter flush, closing them both in the small space, while giving her an excellent view of his ass.
If only he wasn’t an actual ass ninety percent of the time…
She deliberately turned her attention back to the wall.
“Frankie…”
She cut him off with a blast from the impact drill as she drilled the hole for the first anchor. If he continued to speak over the loud, percussive blasts, she couldn’t hear it. When she’d drilled far enough, she reluctantly let go of the trigger and pulled the bit out of the wall. She didn't want to have this conversation while she was fragile.
