I hear muffled scrambling. A whisperedshit. Possibly someone falling off a toilet lid.
Finally, her voice again. “Go away.”
“I just wanna talk.”
“Why, so you can ghost me again?”
Oof. Deserved that.
I rest my hand against the doorframe. “Please?”
“Nope. You’ve done enough.”
I can hear more shuffling, a phone being thunked onto the vanity.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know it was you, I didn’t know until just now.”
“Congratulations on catching up,” she snaps.
Okay. So we’re in rage-mode now.Noted.
A second later, the lock rattles, then the door swings open. She’s standing there, flushed and furious and glorious in a way that makes my breath catch.
Red hair dusts her shoulders. Bangs frame pale green eyes that are far too pretty to be glaring at me.
The scattering of freckles across her nose are the icing on the cake. Like the universe tried to soften her and she told it to fuck off.
“I’m really sorry, Red—”
“Don’tcall me that,” she spits. “You lost the right to call me that when you ghosted me like a little coward.”
I flinch. Fair.
“You heard the whole thing?” she asks, nodding toward her phone.
“…Most of it.”
She crosses her arms. “Including the part where I said you were hot?”
“I did.”
“Perfect. That’s justgreat.”
She pushes past me, her chin high and her pride fully reassembled.
“Oh, and for the record,” she tosses over her shoulder, “you may be hot, but you’re still an asshole.”
And then she disappears back down the hallway, leaving me standing in a puddle of guilt and Pinot Noir.
By the time I get back to the dining room, everything’s changed. The table’s reset, the food’s still warm, the wine’s flowing again.
And Frankie’s weird silent mode is well and truly gone. Now, she’ssparkling.
She’s leaning halfway across the table to show Leah something on her phone, talking fast and laughing louder, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
Her bangs are messy, but somehow it makes her look even better—like she’s been lit from the inside out with pure vengefulness. It’s magnetic.
It’s terrifying.
