Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

When I glance up, Frankie’s watching me curiously, a small smile tugging at
her mouth until it morphs into a reluctant yawn.
“Come on, Francesca. Let’s get you and Pazza tucked in.”
I WAKE UP TO FAINT SUNLIGHT, EARLY, LIKE ALWAYS. THE HOUSE IS QUIET. NO
clatter of dog paws, no soft noises I might expect if Frankie was awake.
Throwing on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt, I walk by the guest bedroom I
set up for her. The door’s closed.
In the kitchen, I notice my Nespresso machine was used, and a solitary spoon
sits by the sink in a small caramel puddle. Milk with coffee. Exactly how
Frankie likes it. Cream, if it’s available, one sugar.
I sound like a creeper knowing that. But having unrequited feelings for a
woman for over three years, with no appropriate opportunity to socialize outside
of work without raising suspicion, you soak up every little detail you can when
you’re together.
The faint noise of a dog barking comes from the shore. I follow the sound,
opening the sliding doors onto the deck, and I’m greeted by a sight I wish I’d
had the wherewithal to prepare for.
Frankie in yoga pants and another oversized sweatshirt. She stands barefoot
down on the shore, tossing a ball for Pazza who bolts along the packed sand,
then scoops it nimbly away from foamy waves curling toward her. Wind sweeps
Frankie’s dark hair into inky ribbons that glow against the sunrise. The sun
creeps over the water’s edge, bouncing off her cheekbones, the soft upturn of her
nose.
Her smile is small, her thoughts seemingly far away.
There’s rarely a smile warming Frankie’s face. Most times her mouth is set
in a hard line. The guys joke about it—Frank the Crank, they call her. But I’ve
never seen her that way. She’s serious. No bullshit. But often women feel they
have to be like that to be respected in their work, to ensure men don’t get ideas
and cross boundaries.
Also, she has arthritis. She doesn’t always seem to be uncomfortable, but I
can tell when she’s in pain, and it’s not infrequent. I wouldn’t exactly walk
around smiling constantly if my body hurt like that.
Not that you’d believe inflammation riddles Frankie’s joints as she whips the
ball through the air in a fastball pitch. An involuntary whistle of appreciation
leaves me, and her head whips my way, the portrait of surprised.