“You’re welcome!” I shouted back, skipping the final few steps and jumping down to the landing. As I hurried back to my office, her words stuck in my head. I’ll see you at home tonight.

I liked them.

Mack

That night when I got home, we ordered pizza and Frannie stayed to watch a movie with us. We sat next to each other on the couch and copped a few PG-13 feels beneath the blanket, but that was about it. I couldn’t even kiss her goodbye because I felt like the kids were watching us so closely. Maybe it was in my head, but Millie especially seemed to be looking at us a lot that night.

On Saturday, I didn’t see her at all, and I hardly heard from her—just a short text in the morning saying they were swamped at the inn and wishing me a good day, accompanied by a little red heart. And it was a pretty good day—I got Millie to ballet on time for once, grocery shopped, cleaned the house, caught up on some work, and washed everyone’s sheets and towels. But I thought of her non-stop, and I realized as the day went on how much I missed her. Like physically missed her. I had Monday off, and knowing that I wouldn’t see her until Tuesday put a dull ache in my chest.

That night, I took the kids out for dinner. We had just been seated at the table when Felicity said out of nowhere, “I miss Frannie.”

“Me too,” said Winnie. “I wish she was here.”

“Can we call her, Dad?” Millie asked.

I cleared my throat. “No, she’s working tonight. We’ll see her next week.”

“Maybe she could come over tomorrow and do braids again,” Winnie said.

“And help me with my shirts,” added Millie, reaching into her coat pocket for her phone. “I’ll text her.”

“No, don’t do that.” I put a hand on Millie’s arm to stop her, as if I wasn’t dying to see Frannie myself. “Let’s let her have the weekend to herself, okay? She’s probably tired of us.”

I didn’t really think she was, but even if she wasn’t busy tomorrow, it was getting too hard to keep our feelings a secret from the girls when we were together. I couldn’t fucking keep my hands to myself. And I just wasn’t ready to tell them yet—it was too soon. Plus, it was making me kind of uneasy that I missed her this way. I didn’t want to miss her. The whole point of this thing was to have some fun, to feel like my old self again, at least for a little while. Right?

But later, as I lay in bed that night, I couldn’t resist calling her. She didn’t answer, and I didn’t leave a message.

A few minutes later, she called me back. “Hi. Sorry I missed you. Chloe needed help tonight, so I’m pouring wine at this stupid corporate thing in the tasting room.”

“Guess that means you’re not going to talk dirty to me.”

She laughed. “Probably not. Might be awkward. How was your day?”

“Good. Nothing too exciting.” I filled her in on the details. “The girls missed you at dinner. They wanted to call you.”

“Awww. I’m sorry. This weekend is crazy here.”

“I know. I told them you had to work.” I hesitated, torn between admitting I missed her too and not wanting to say the words out loud, as if leaving them unsaid would make them less true. “I should let you go.”

“Okay. Give me a call tomorrow if you can?”

“I will,” I said.

But I didn’t.

My mother called on Sunday night. Felicity answered the kitchen phone, and from where I was standing at the dining room table folding laundry, I heard her excitedly retelling the story of Winnie’s tumble down Aunt Jodie’s basement stairs last weekend. This infuriated Winnie, who could hear her sister from where she sat at the counter having a snack.

Eventually, each granddaughter took her turn talking to Grandma, and I managed to finish folding their laundry, put it away upstairs, and get the dishwasher started. Millie was the last to chat, and I heard her telling my mom about the fashion show.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be mother-daughter, but they said Daddy can participate.” Then she laughed. “We have to make our own outfits. Frannie is helping me.”

Inwardly groaning at the thought of having to wear that fucking glittery T-shirt in public, I wiped off the counters and swept the kitchen floor.

“Okay. I love you too. Bye.” Millie handed the phone to me. “Can I have a little screen time?” she asked.

“Shower first.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

I tugged one of her braids and put the phone to my ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. How are you?”

“Good. Busy. You?”

“Great. We’re excited for our visit.”

“We are too.” It wasn’t a total lie, although my mother could be a bit overbearing at times. And there was no situation where she didn’t feel compelled to voice her opinion. I leaned back against the counter. “You arrive tomorrow?”

“Yes. We’ll stay at Jodie’s for two nights, then we’ll drive down to you for three. Does that still work?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect. The wedding isn’t until Saturday, but I have the rehearsal Friday, and I’m supposed to spend some time with Woods on Thursday night.”

“And who’s the bride? Do I know her?”

“She’s Ruth Gardner’s granddaughter. Lives in Detroit.”

My mother clucked her tongue. “Oh, I just love Ruthie Gardner. How is she?”

“She’s fine.”

“And what about you? The girls told me it was quite a week. Poor Winnie!”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“They all talked a lot about Frannie.”

At the mention of her name, my stomach flipped over. “Yes. She’s been helping out a lot. She’s great with them.”

“Sounds like they adore her.”

“They do.”

“And it seems like she spends a lot of time with them.”

Was I imagining it, or was there a note of suspicion in my mother’s tone? It made me feel a little defensive. “Well, Miriam Ingersoll broke her leg a couple weeks ago, so Frannie had to fill in. They saw a little more of her than usual.”

My mother gasped. “Oh, no! Poor Miriam. Thank goodness you had extra help.” Her voice grew curious again. “I hear Frannie is doing more than just babysitting at your house.”

I almost choked. “What? Who said that?”

“Felicity said she’s been cooking dinner.”

“Oh.” I relaxed a little. “Yeah. Sometimes, if I work late.”

“That’s awfully nice of her.”

“She likes to cook for people,” I said, feeling defensive again. “And she lives alone, so she doesn’t get to do it very often.”

“How old is Frannie now? Last time I saw her, she was probably close to Millie’s age.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“And you said she lives alone?”

“Yes.” Suddenly I knew where this was going.

“Is she attractive?”

“Mom.”

“What? I’m just trying to picture her,” she said innocently.