“You look like you’ve had a rough night,” she said as Kinsley sat down.
“Yeah,” she replied, rubbing her forehead. “It was difficult. I don’t know why,” she fibbed. “Normally, I sleep really well on Friday and Saturday nights. They are the only two nights I don’t have to stress about anything.”
“What do you normally stress about?” Frankie asked.
Besides silver-eyed, dragon-men who make my heart speed up in inappropriate ways? “My job can be a bit stressful,” she said. “But before you ask, I can’t talk about it.”
Frankie smiled. “I understand. I have to maintain client confidentiality in my line of work,” she said, but then grinned. “But I swear to you, one day, I’m going to write a memoir, changing the names, of course. If the world knew some of the things that I’ve been hired to find or do, it would make people…well, laugh and cry and,” she grinned, “probably call the police.”
“Really?” Kinsley asked, laughing despite herself. Frankie was just that kind of woman. She made people feel good just by being around her. “Can you tell me some of the stories? Without revealing anyone’s identity?”
Frankie leaned forward, her green eyes sparkling with what could only be described as mischief. “Well, there are the normal cases. Such as the guy who wanted to find his high school sweetheart. He was recently divorced, but was convinced that the woman he’d been in love with back in high school was the love of his life. But when I finally located her, he had to accept that she was madly in love with her husband and was happily raising two kids.”
“Oh, how tragic.”
Frankie shrugged. “Not really. When they finally connected, he asked if she would have lunch with him. When they finally sat down and started talking, he remembered why they’d broken up. She wasn’t the woman he’d created in his mind and, when he figured that out, he went to therapy. Wanting to find this other woman was more about the poor guy trying to get over his divorce than it was about trying to reconnect with a past love.”
Kinsley smiled with understanding. “I remember my high school boyfriend.”
Frankie laughed, her mouth twisting with the memories. “Me too. But I also remember why it didn’t work out.”
Kinsley wrinkled her nose and nodded. “Me too. Never go back,” she muttered, taking a long, delicious sip of her coffee. For the next hour, the two of them chatted about anything and everything. And for a long time, Kinsley forgot that Frankie was one of the most stunning women she’d ever met. Frankie was down to earth and friendly. Plus, despite some of the more outrageous things that people had tried to hire her to do over the years, she still maintained that humanity was basically good and wonderful. Such optimism was delightful.
As Kinsley drove away later, she remembered that Frankie had asked Kinsley if she could set up a meeting with Lincoln to discuss his father. And that reminded her that Lincoln owed her a story about that same father.
Kinsley sat in her car for a long moment, wondering what she might do next. It was still Saturday morning and she didn’t really want to crochet anymore. Her apartment was clean, her laundry done, and she didn’t feel like cooking, so that was out.
She could swing by work and finish that report on expenses, she thought. And maybe Lincoln would be there. She could talk to him and …!
Kinsley blinked, paused at a red light as the realization for why she was in such a bad mood hit her.
Oh good grief! She missed him! Kinsley looked around, stunned that the reason she was so melancholy this morning was because she hadn’t seen Lincoln! She missed the man and…she hadn’t thought about Carl all day.
What did that say about her? What did that mean?
But she loved Carl. Didn’t she?
If she loved Carl so much, why was she constantly thinking about Lincoln? Why was she dreaming about doing naughty things with Lincoln and not Carl? She’d never had a sexual fantasy about Carl. And yet, she’d dreamed about Lincoln almost every night since she’d started this job!
Kinsley wasn’t even aware of where she was going until she pulled up to the gate outside the work area.
Stepping out of her car, she walked into the building and, instead of going to her office, she pushed through the door that separated Lincoln’s work space. Sure enough, he was at one of his worktables, tinkering away.
But as soon as she stepped through the door, he turned and smiled at her. “What are you doing here on a Saturday?”
Kinsley shrugged. “I’m not sure.” She paused and looked at him. He appeared just as tired as she felt. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”
He shrugged and picked up a screwdriver, putting it back on the shelf. “Not really. Just…thinking about things.”
“Dinner last night was nice,” she lied.
Lincoln laughed. “No, it wasn’t. Your boyfriend was pissed at me. And rightly so.”
“Why was he right to be upset?”
Lincoln didn’t answer. Instead, he sighed and turned to face her, a stubborn look in his silver-and-yellow eyes. “Why are you here?’ he asked again.
Kinsley wasn’t sure, other than she really wanted to see him today. He was…addictive. Their conversations were always so interesting and challenging and…and she loved talking with him! But there was no way she could tell him that! Instead, she changed the subject. “You owe me a story.”
“I do?” he asked, picking though several different sized pliers. “What story?”
“The story about your father.”
He turned back to his worktable, but he didn’t start tinkering again. Instead, he simply placed the tools on the wooden table and looked up at her. “There isn’t much to tell. My mother never really talked about my father. She used to tell
