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“She’s out back with Joe.”
“Thanks.”
The store bustled around me as I made my way to the back. The loading bay doors were open, the heat of summer rolling into the air conditioned store.
“Hey, Joe,” I said, spying the older man directing a lorry back into the bay. He raised a hand in greeting before continuing with his task.
I glanced around, looking for Frankie. I walked around to the back, sidestepping the smaller boxes near the wall.
“There you are.”
Frankie jumped a little, whirling around and almost dropping the case of fresh tomatoes in her arms. “Oh, uhm, hi,” she said awkwardly. She adjusted her hold on the case.
“Can I talk to you?”
She nodded and set the case down on the trolley, brushing her hands off on her jeans.
“Should we talk in the staff room?” she asked.
I studied her appearance; the purple bruises hanging below her tired eyes, the downward curve of her lips and the hunch in her shoulders.
“Yeah.”
We walked back inside in silence, and I followed two paces behind her. The store turned to a blur, my focus intent on the back of her head.
I ran through the how’s and why’s, and what I’d ask her. It wouldn’t be a fun conversation. I was shoved back to reality by the snick of the staff room door behind me.
Frankie and I stood alone in the room, looking at each other, a hundred emotions hanging between us.
I cleared my throat. “So,” I began, walking over to the table and leaning against it. “You work at a music store, too.”
Not a question.
Her eyes went wide for a split second before she schooled her face into a neutral expression.
“What gives you that idea?” she asked defensively.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “We both know you’re far too intelligent to play dumb,” I told her, watching the color flood her cheeks.
“And you didn’t actually answer my question,” she argued.
My brows raised at the blatant defiance, an entirely different heat sizzling in my lower abdomen. “I have my ways,” I said, dodging.
“Right, of course.” She scoffed. “Money gets you just about everything.”
My jaw clenched tight around the retort aching to leap off my tongue. “Usually,” I drawled. “But sometimes, good old charm is enough to get what I want.”
She rolled her eyes. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you do,” I said calmly. “I know you’ve been pulling shifts at the music store down the street.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. “What I do in my personal time has nothing to do with you.”
Her words stung but I refused to let it show. “No, but your health has everything to do with me,” I said, regretting the words the second they were out.
Frankie stared at me, her lips parted slightly. The confusion was clear as day on her face, and I hated myself for saying it.
“My health isnoneof your business,” she said quietly.
