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604to647 · 1 month ago

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Brandy by the Fireplace

7.8K / Frankie Morales x City Girl!reader

Summary: When your best friend's boyfriend invites her up to the cabin he owns with his Delta Force buddies, she asks you to come along.

Warnings: None! Fluff! Insecurity and anxiety on reader's part, but Frankie makes it better (anxiety/comfort. My anxious girlies (gn) who think everyone hates them when they definitely don't? This one's for you 🥹). Nicknames because it's me. Oh, and Tom's alive?

A/N 1: Written and very late for @auteurdelabre's Trope Off Challenge - the trope here is Fish out of water because, well you know🤭🤭 Can be considered a Triple Frontier AU, or set before the events of the movie. Though I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with this and the word count got away from me, I still think it's cute and very seasonal - I hope others do too!

A/N 2: As I understand it, the cottage v. cabin lexiconic difference is a Canadian thing. When people think of cottage country, it's primarily the luxury getaway experience in the Muskokas. Super fancy! Celebrities cottage there (the Beckhams, Cindy Crawford) and the properties are huge lakefront estates. While in Western Canada, people primarily have cabins - they're more rugged, remote. In no way am I saying that cottages are better than cabins! They are just different - both enjoyable and picturesque in their own way. But you gotta know what you're in for, cause of packing and stuff... 😅😅

Trailer / CABIN dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘😘

This was such an effing mistake.

You sniffle as you sit cross-legged on the simple threadbare sheets covering the thin mattress that you’ve called bed for the last two nights. You’re holding your favourite fleece sweater in your hands, looking at the scorch marks where flareups from tonight’s bonfire had jumped from the pit and burned multiple holes - the black charred spots on the fabric blurring as your tears finally spill over.

I shouldn’t have come.

A ruined sweater in and of itself wasn’t the end of world. But a ruined sweater here? Tonight? It’s just the freaking cherry on top of the already disastrous sundae that was this weeklong vacation so far.

And you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.

When your best friend Jenny begged you to come with her to her boyfriend’s cabin for a week, you had readily agreed. You love Benny and he and Jenny are so adorable, if not a bit too overly mushy and cheesy (“We’re the better Bennifer! Woo - Benny and Jenny!!”). He and his old army buddies had gone in together on a cabin on a lake about seven hours out of the city at the suggestion of their Veterans Affairs therapist – something about working the land and finding serenity in nature to help them overcome some of the harder things they’ve seen over their time in service.

It apparently did wonders for them. Both Benny and his older brother, Will, who you had met a few times, were easy going and kind men - maybe a little rough and tumble with each other sometimes, but you didn’t see it as anything more than filial comradery and brotherly love. Jenny assured you that Benny’s other friends, Santi, Tom and Frankie were all cut from the same cloth.

Benny had invited Jenny up to the cabin for the boys’ annual Autumn weeklong trip – taking advantage of any remaining mild weather from the end of summer to clean and close up the cabin for the Fall and Winter. All the boys would be there and Tom’s sisters had been invited as well – Jenny begged you to come for support and of course you had said yes.

Sure, you’re a city girl through and through, but this wouldn’t be your first cottaging experience. You fondly recall the summers and Thanksgivings you had been invited to your college roommate’s family cottage in the Muskokas: crystalline waters and lush greenery bordered the beautifully landscaped acreage upon which your still close friend’s family’s 9 bedroom-9 bath modern estate resided. Summer days were wiled away on the built-in dock lounging and reading, and the cooler temperature evenings were spent inside by one of the several contemporary fireplaces, sipping on cocktails and nibbling on charcuterie. It was always such a treat to go - you haven’t visited in ages, but a similar getaway right now sounds like heaven.

Your first clue that perhaps this might not be the Muskoka cottage country experience you imagined, is when the last leg of your seven-hour journey in Benny’s truck was over a 30-minute dirt road so twisty and uneven that you started to feel a little nauseous.

When you got out of the truck, you realized the true folly of your assumptions about where you were going to be staying this week. The property could best be described as rustic and very "nature forward", the only evidence of landscaping being the dirt worn paths that led to the different cabins. Instead of one main house, there is a Main Cabin – consisting of a living room area, place to eat, kitchen and the compound’s one bathroom. All guests stay in individual cabins, isolated and spaced out at various points on the large property. Each so far apart and separated by the lush, dense forest, you don't even know where they all are: Upper Cabin (Benny and Jenny), Delta Cabin (Santi), Bunk Cabin (Frankie), Screened-In Veranda Cabin (You), New Cabin (Tom’s Sisters), Outhouse Cabin (no one), Grizzly Cabin (Will and Tom).

You’re not opposed to roughing it a little, but by the error of your own expectations, you’ve come thoroughly unprepared for your week’s stay. For one thing, your cabin (as the name would suggest), along with all the others, has no windows - only screens. Perfect for the hot summers, but with Fall coming early this year, the clothes you packed aren’t warm enough to shield you against the chill that blows over your bed each night. For another, you find yourself sharing space with more critters that you were expecting, and not the adorable furry types either.

The frog that came out of the one toilet made you almost consider using the outhouse up by the parking lot (almost). And when you were washing your face that first night, the realization that the running tap was the only thing that was keeping the cricket from jumping out of the sink, forced you to stifle a scream that left your throat hoarse. There are all together more bugs indoors than you had expected (since you had expected windows).

It's definitely more rustic that you’re used to, but you really do try to make the best of it. The last thing you want is to appear rude or snobbish about the decidedly non-luxurious state of your accommodations. Sure, it isn’t the glamourous cottage experience you had expected, but it’s still incredibly beautiful and serene here. Moreover, you know that every cabin and amenity on the property was built by Benny and his friends and has served incredible therapeutic purpose for each of them. You would never want to diminish that by somehow implying that the cottage isn’t… cottaging; this place serves a much more important purpose than impressing the likes of city girls guests like you.

You also don’t forget that the entire reason you’re here is to support Jenny. Make sure she and Benny have fun. And they are! Inseparable, giddy, googly-eyed fun. No way are you going to ruin her perfectly good time by letting her worry about you, not when this is the first healthy relationship she’s had in years.

And honestly, everyone is so, so nice. Benny and Will’s Delta Force teammates are as good humoured and sweet as they are. There’s Santiago (or Santi), the unofficial leader of the crew – his hooded brown eyes look like they could tell a hundred stories, but he keeps your group entertained with the loudest and most fantastic ones, always framing his stories so that they rib at least one of his buddies. Tom, the eldest of the friends, is more serious – the type who might exude an intimidating gravitas if you were to meet him alone, but next to the verbose energy of Benny and Santi and under the watchful eye of his sisters, he seems to relax, smiling pleasantly and genuinely while in the comforting presence of his friends. Will, who is just as boyishly handsome as his brother, you already know to be as easy going and funny - though maybe a little less goofy than Benny. Despite what Jenny had slyly insinuated to you before you left, you don’t think Will has any interest in you – and with Tom’s gorgeous and outgoing sisters both vying for his attention, the circumstances aren't right to try and see if there’s anything to Jenny's (and possibly Benny’s?) matchmaking.

The last member of the friend group is Frankie, who the guys sometimes inexplicably call ‘Catfish’ – he was noticeably reserved at first, though you soon realize that he’s just as funny and generous as the others. Frankie's steely and calm countenance seems borne out of necessity, likely from the many years of service where his competence and levelheadedness were needed to keep the other four in check, alive. You notice that he often sits a little further back from the group, most likely out of habit, literally watching their backs; he’s quieter and less rowdy, but never fails to join in his friends’ laughter – it’s obvious to you that he loves his brothers in arms. Once or twice, you think you feel Franke's deep, soulful eyes pointed in your direction, but when you try to meet his gaze, those same eyes disappear beneath the brim of his worn Standard Oil cap that never seems to leave his head. You think you probably imagine it.

Everyone is so much fun to be around, super nice and completely welcoming of you.

They just… don’t really need you here. Well, that seems presumptuous! Rather, there doesn’t seem to be a place for you here the same way there is for everyone else.

It was evident from the first day when the boys pulled a small catamaran out of the boathouse and attempted to try (again, from what you’re told) to put it together and get it out on the water. Every person was asked to help pull on the trampoline netting – when it was evident that your limited strength and poor (manicured) grip on the netting wasn’t actually doing anything except making you an extra body in the way, you were relegated to standing on the side, holding a spray can of lubricant and waiting to spray it on the track if someone needed. No one ever did. The trampoline never got installed, and you can’t help but think it was partially because you hadn’t been able to provide the additional muscle needed.

During the day, everyone seems to engage in some type of cabin maintenance work from an unseen to-do list: painting screens, sanding down the canoe, pulling up old raspberry bushes, fixing doors and hinges in various cabins, retiling the one shower and installing a new sliding glass door, replacing the hot water pump’s aging parts, reinforcing the mesh around the young fruit trees to deter deer, repairing the older slats on the dock, removing the beaver dam under the dock, and so on and so forth.

All things you have absolutely no qualifications to help with and would likely hinder someone who did if you tried.

Jenny wasn’t terribly handy either, but she tagged along with Benny on all his chores and he didn’t mind patiently explaining and helping her help him with his tasks - the two of them giggling and in love as they winterized the boat shed.

Everyone else seems to know their daily assignments and go about their hard and dirty labour, leaving you alone to… do nothing? It felt rude to sit out on the lawn and relax while others did work around you. And even inside there's not much you can do; Tom’s sisters had brought up food for the first few meals and when you asked them if you could help, they insisted that they had it in hand and told you to ��go have fun”. You chastise yourself for having not asked more questions about what you and Jenny could have brought and if you and her could have signed up to cook your share of meals.

You hide out in the Main Cabin or in your own for most of the day, reading and feeling guilty - coming down periodically to chat with people but feeling like you’re distracting them from their duties.

Even after dinner when you volunteered to help do the dishes and clean-up, you were cheerfully shooed away by Santi after you couldn’t find where to put back the cutlery, then the glasses, then the lids to the pots (which were inexplicably kept separate from the pots themselves) – you’re sure there’s a system, you just don’t know what it is.

Maybe it would be different if you knew everyone better, but this is the first time you’re meeting everyone except Benny and Will. You don’t know any of the guys particularly well but you do know that this cabin is their special place – you don’t want be a bother or ruin anyone’s good time.

To you, it's clear that you’re not carrying your weight here - the last thing you want to be is a nuisance as well. You don’t fit in and you definitely don’t belong.

Tonight has finally felt a little more comfortable. After a full day of work for everyone (else) and a belly bursting dinner, the boys set up a bonfire and everyone got together to roast marshmallows and make s'mores. In addition to looking forward to the melty treats, you were secretly glad for the warmth of the fire in the chilly evening air. Beers were cracked, marshmallows burnt, and the stories the boys told had your sides aching from so much laughter you’re sure you’ll still feel it in the morning. But as the fire was dying, the conversation turned to what everyone’s up to tomorrow, you once again have nothing to say that's comparable to the tasks and chores listed by the others. When Tom comments that there are still so many things to do in order to properly winterize the cabins and that it’ll be a wonder if it all gets done, you look down at your feet - face burning from the guilt and shame of being unable to contribute when help is indeed needed. You’re sure everyone is thinking that you’re just a freeloader from the city, or worse, lazy and unwilling to put in some work. Suddenly the last few bites of the s'more in your hand don’t look as appetizing anymore.

You excuse yourself from the group and quickly get ready for bed before heading up to your cabin for the night. Once settled in, that’s when you discover that your sweater is full of newly burnt holes and you lose it.

Luckily, the cabins are all fairly far apart so no one can hear your crying, but your gratitude for the isolation and quiet of the cabins is short-lived; as it's been every night, the silence of the woods in the dark is deafening. So used to the ambient noise of the city, you find that every snap of a branch or hoot of an owl slices through the night and rings out as loud as a gunshot. You lay in bed like each night before, unable to get comfortable or calm and falling asleep only when exhaustion overtakes you.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of chirping birds and the brightness of the morning sun punctuated by the shouts and loud chatter from down near the water where people are already starting their daily chores. Another wave of guilt and anxiety sets in as you feel like you’ve had an undeserved lie-in - resting while everyone else got up early to do work.

On your way down to the Main Cabin, you see and wave good morning to Frankie who’s transporting relatively heavy chunks of wood tucked under his beefy arms. You don’t ask if you can help – how could you? Each stump he carries looks like it could topple you over even if you managed to lift one.

When you get down to the lawn, you catch Will and Tom’s sisters as they head up to one of the cabins with paint cans and brushes and Will cheerily calls to you, “Saved you some breakfast!” His completely innocent and kind pronouncement sends your already tightly strung heart into another spiral and you try not to tear up as you call back your thanks.

You eat by yourself from the plates left out for you and feel a little better when you can at least wash them and leave them in the drying rack. Pouring yourself the coffee that’s left in the cannister, you grimace at it’s lukewarmness, but you don’t know where the grounds are kept or even how to operate the ancient stovetop coffee maker to make more, so you make do and drink it sort of sadly as you return to the dining table and open your book.

It's here where Frankie finds you a few hours after you saw him last.

He asks kindly after your book before saying he’s going to make a fresh pot of coffee and offers to top you off; when you get up to help – he tells you he’s got it before disappearing into the kitchen. Slightly discouraged, you sit back down; unless you spy on Frankie, there’s no way for you to learn how to make the coffee here - and you’re just debating if you should do just that when he pokes his head back in, “Do you want me to show you how to make the coffee?”

Eagerly, you nod and hurry to join him in the kitchen, making note of where the fresh coffee grounds are stored and listening attentively as Frankie patiently shows you how to work the vintage contraption that Santi rescued from a yard sale. He smiles at your willing face, wondering why you’re so fascinated by something as mundane as their overly complicated coffee maker, but when you thank him, voice almost quivering with overly emotional gratitude, Frankie’s sure there’s more to it than he’s understanding.

He's been watching you, Benny’s girlfriend pretty friend, over the last two days and can't quite figure you out. It’s clear that you’re not used to roughing it in these types of conditions, but you don’t complain or make fun – though there is a tinge of melancholy and anxiety to the gentleness of your expressions that he does understand all too well. You seem sweet and friendly, and Benny certainly speaks warmly of you – but for some reason, you don’t seem entirely comfortable and Frankie wouldn’t be the Army strategist he is if he didn’t notice. Or a very good host.

“Do you want to go for a row while the coffee drips?”

“A row?” You look up, confused.

“Yeah, in the row boat. Come on – this old thing takes forever. We could probably get a good way to the middle of the lake and head back before it’s done,” nods Frankie, encouragingly.

This is the first time since the disastrous catamaran trampoline that anyone has asked you to do anything with them during the day, and you’re surprised by how touched you are by the simple gesture. Unable to find the words to express how appreciative you feel, you simply nod.

Frankie pushes the old tin boat that you saw him sealing and painting on the beach yesterday partway into the water, helping you in first before pushing the boat all the way in then jumping in himself, two big wooden oars under his arm. He sits across from you, locks the oars into the oarlocks and starts rowing; his powerful arms rotating the paddles with ease, slicing them through the clear, calm water and gently gliding the boat across the lake.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, and you look over the side of the boat in wonder as the sand bed below slowly disappears and the water gets darker and deeper. Sighing, you contently breathe in the fresh, crisp Fall air and enjoy the picturesque view of the far off shores and mountains before settling your gaze on the handsome man in front of you. The ripples and flex of Frankie’s bulging muscles under his shirt as he expertly rows are near mesmerizing, every hypnotic stroke powerful and purposeful.

“You’re not having fun, are you?”

You look up, ashamed. You've been trying so hard to hide that you're not 100% comfortable being here, it's embarrassing to get confirmation that you've failed in this regard. Even if the others could tell you weren’t having fun, you hope you haven’t come off as an ungrateful guest or made any of your hosts feel bad. You’re about to say so and apologize, but something about the way Frankie’s looking at you, kind and soft and not at all judgmental or accusatory, gives you pause. It’s like he’s genuinely extending an opportunity for you to let go of what you’ve been bottling up since you got here – maybe that’s why he brought you out to the middle of the lake? Frankie's sincere eyes bore into your own and his gentle demeanor invites you to let down your guard; deflating, you burst into tears, “I’m not!! I’m so sorry, Frankie!!”

Hurriedly, you try to compensate, “Goodness, please don’t think I’m complaining – it’s so beautiful and peaceful here, and Benny told me how much effort you guys have put into this place! Honestly, your care and hard work really shows – everything is so nice. It’s just really, really different from the one other cottage experience I’ve had – so I didn’t even pack right. And I thought there would be a lot more relaxing and lazing around – I really don't know what to do with myself here.”

“Where did you cottage before?”

“The Muskokas?”

Frankie lets out such a loud, belly-shaking laugh that shakes the whole boat; you actually hold onto the sides afraid you might tip over, but find yourself beaming at having drawn out this melodic sound from the normally stoic man.

“Well, City Girl, no wonder this place was a shock to you! The Muskokas is a very particular cottaging experience – real pretty and real glamourous. But the rest of us? What we have aren’t even cottages. They’re cabins. This is cabin country,” he laughs good naturedly.

“Right - cabins!” you grin.

“Sorry to disappoint you, City Girl.”

“No, no! Please don’t think that - I’m not disappointed at all! I just came in with the wrong expectations, that’s all. That’s all on me, Frankie. Really, the cabin is lovely – I was just expecting a more… cashmere sweaters and brandy snifters around the fireplace kind of a vibe.” You hope Frankie won’t take your joke the wrong way.

Luckily, Frankie gives you another easy smile, one that reveals an adorable dimple in his right cheek you haven’t had a chance to notice before, “Yeah, we’re more of a bats in the ceiling, on-going maintenance kind of vibe.”

At this, your face falls and your own shortcomings to contribute when everyone else is working so hard claws at your chest painfully.

Frankie immediately clocks the change in your demeanor, “Hey, pretty girl, it’s okay.”

You look up at him with tears in your eyes, too distressed to notice the new nickname, “No it’s not, Frankie. You’re right – everyone is chipping in, helping out to keep this place beautiful and running smoothly, except me. I’m not used to this kind work, so I don’t really know what needs to get done… and even if I did… I mean you saw with the catamaran? I’m not strong or skilled enough to do any of it. I thought I could help out with some of the indoor stuff, like cooking and cleaning up, but I don’t know where anything is and everyone is so busy, I feel like such a nuisance bothering them even more in order to show me. So… I don’t know what I’m doing here – it doesn’t feel right to be sitting around and reading like I’m some kind of pampered houseguest while everyone around me is working, but I also don’t think I can add value anywhere. I just don’t think I belong out here with you guys. And I thought I was at least hiding it well, but it's obviously noticeable how much I don’t fit in because you rowed me out here to confront me about it. I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Frankie.”

You take a deep breath after your long speech and look down at your lap, more embarrassed than ever.

Frankie leans over from his seat, causing the boat to rock slightly and tilts your face up to his with two of his thick fingers, “You’re no trouble at all, pretty girl. It’s okay if this place is too rustic for ya. It’s really rustic… and that’s by design.” He smiles reassuringly, keen to comfort you, “I know Benny told you that this cabin is sort of therapy for us guys? We saw some... less-than-ideal things on a lot of our missions. All our missions, actually. The VA counsellors suggested that we try and work through having seen so much that’s been broken, and maybe even having done some of the breaking ourselves, by getting a project where we come together as a team to focus on improving and building. It’s meant to need constant ongoing maintenance and have a never-ending list of chores so we can put our energy into building up instead of what we used to do… tearing down. For the most part, the cabin has been good for us – working with our hands, being responsible for something that isn’t life or death, working towards a common goal where we can be together and enjoy each other’s company in a setting that’s not… exploding.”

Frankie chuckles at his little joke so not to scare you off with the intensity of the topic. He’s relieved to see that your expression is one of sympathy and understanding, your eyes warm and gentle. He thinks your eyes are beautiful, deep, kind – he might easily get lost in them if he didn’t remember that he’s supposed to be comforting you, “It really is meant for the five of us to be putting in the work, but I know what you’re saying, it’s not a great feeling to be left out, even if you know no one’s doing it on purpose. I’m sorry – we should be better hosts. You’re our guest.”

You start to shake your head in protest at this, but Frankie stops you when he picks up the oars and dips them back in the water to start rowing again, “Tell you what, it’s my turn to make lunch today - why don’t you come and help me. I’ll show you where we keep everything so you’ll know in case you ever want to… help out in the kitchen again. I promise you can ask me any questions you want and it won’t bother me at all.”

Perking up at Frankie’s generous offer, you nod happily, “Okay! Thank you, Frankie – that’s really sweet of you.” It’s probably the first truly joyful smile you’ve smiled since you got here and Frankie thinks you look radiant.

The two of you glide slowly across the still lake in comfortable silence, Frankie purposefully not putting too much power into his oar strokes. Trying to discreetly wipe your cheeks, you feel their warmth as you spy on the handsome man across from you through your tear dotted lashes. You feel so safe and cared for - your heart grateful that Frankie noticed you were out of sorts despite having only met you a few days ago and was considerate enough to ask after you.

His teasing voice cuts through your thoughts, “Is there anything else, City Girl?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Is there anything else that's been bothering you while you’re out here?”

You bite your lip and shake your head; Frankie has been so kind, you don’t want to push it and appear to complain.

“Come on, I know there is. Go on, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl – there’s that term of endearment again. This time when you hear it, your heart swells and your face flushes – and maybe your thighs press together a little, too. To try and cover up your reaction, you spill your last embarrassing grievance, “Ummmm… it’s kind of spooky at night.”

Frankie booms another side-splitting, deep rumble of a laugh and you instantly feel better, “It’s just sooooo quiet and everyone is so far from one another. I guess I’m used to background city noises and the feeling of people being around. It's been a bit unsettling laying in the dark in silence, hearing every little twig snap.” You cover your eyes, “Plus I packed so poorly for the trip because I thought it was going to be a… cottage. I definitely didn’t bring warm enough clothes. I brought a TON of self-care stuff though – maybe I should try layering some face masks.” It feels so good to be able to lightheartedly make fun of yourself again.

Frankie laughs with you, then looks thoughtful, “Ok, ok, the chilliness I think I can help you out with. The spookiness… got to circle back to that.”

“Thanks, Frankie.” You mean it sincerely. Even having been able to talk to him about your unease makes you dread the upcoming night a lot less.

Back at the beach, Frankie hops out of the boat and reaches in to help you out - when your fingers touch his, a little spark lingers and your heartbeat picks up a bit. Hand in hand, the two of you walk back to the Main Cabin together, not letting go until you enter the kitchen.

---

After Frankie patiently shows you the pantry, the freezers, and where all the kitchen items are, he makes sure you have a passing familiarity with everything before the two of you make wraps for everyone. You find him to be endearingly funny, terribly sweet, and a wonderful conversationalist – Frankie tells you about his work and adventures as a charter pilot, and listens intently as you answer his questions about your work and life in the city. You almost regret calling everyone in for lunch, but the feeling of being able to offer people something after their morning of hard work has brightened your spirits significantly - it feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

You don’t know that the obvious change in your countenance fills Frankie with pride and joy, nor do you see the way he gazes at you with fondness as you cheerfully hand out the wraps or when you jump up after lunch is over and hurry to clear the table.

The next day, you’re returning from a solo walk along the trail that runs behind the cabins on the bay, when you come upon an unfamiliar noise as you approach the boys’ property.

It sounds like a loud and sharp sudden crack accompanied by a low manly grunt, then followed by a couple of softer thuds. The echoing combination repeats it self at slightly varying intervals and gets progressively louder until you come upon its source.

From behind a large Spruce tree, you see that it’s Frankie chopping wood.

Frankie repeatedly brings his axe down on the log pieces he’s set up on the chopping block with precision and power. His sweat soaked shirt is stretched taut across his broad back, the damp fabric doing nothing but accentuate the thick muscles that flex and contract with every burly movement.

Though Frankie’s breathing is heavy, you can tell he isn’t even close to being winded - his strength and rugged athleticism evident by the way he relentlessly labours on, splitting log after log.

Every subsequent swing of the axe captivates you further; a wetness pools in your mouth that you have to force yourself to swallow, lest it spill over and you get caught drooling.

"Wanna give me a hand, City Girl?"

Shit.

Emerging from behind what you now realize looks like a hiding spot, you give Frankie a sheepish smile, “Oh, ummm… you look like you have it pretty well handled. Not sure if I could even make a dent in one of those logs.”

Frankie takes off his signature cap and uses the back of the same hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead - he chuckles and his eyes twinkle, “Could you help me gather and stack the wood I split onto that rack over there? And bring me new logs to chop from that other pile there?”

You nod enthusiastically. Frankie’s making work for you and you’re so thankful and excited to help.

For the next hour, you run around gathering the firewood that Frankie splinters and set him up with fresh logs. When you apologize that it takes you so long to carry the larger rounds to him, he tells you not to worry – it gives him a chance to catch his breath and take a much-needed rest. You don’t tell Frankie that he doesn’t look like he needs any rest at all – your own quickened breaths have very little to do with physical exertion and more to do with ogling Frankie’s broad and brawny frame, and the way the entirety of his strapping body is thrown into each axe swing, every muscle engaged, tensed. It’s similar to the way he looked when he effortlessly rowed the two of you in the tin boat across the lake, but like… a hundred times more burly.

You try to distract yourself from openly drooling at Frankie’s sweat soaked torso by expertly arranging the firewood on the rack so that it fits perfectly together like a Tetris puzzle. When the last piece has been placed on top, Frankie marvels that the firewood storage has never looked more organized and with one hand still holding on to his axe, he takes your soft hand in his other and leads you down to lunch.

Over the next couple of days, you notice that Frankie goes out of his way to make sure you’re not alone or hiding out in any of the cabins.

He takes you out in Benny’s truck to run in-town errands like picking up additional groceries or getting gas for the boat. These trips are always filled with fun and easy conversation and end with a treat at the ice cream shop on the main road. Frankie teases you on how you always flit from freezer to freezer, determined to try a flavour you’ve never had, and you groan at how he sticks to his tried-and-true mint chocolate chip.

You’re getting bolder at offering to do the indoor, more domestic tasks and chores that you know you have the skills to handle like making meals and cleaning up; more often than not, without you asking, Frankie will join you in the kitchen. Even though you tell him to relax and that he deserves rest after his physical exertions of the day, Frankie stays and hangs out - casually drying dishes, tasting your sauces, leaning his massive figure against the counter and discreetly pointing to various cabinets and drawers when you forget where things go.

Frankie makes you laugh with his quippy jokes and clever little observations, and he makes your cheeks warm with his subtle and sweet flirting. But mostly, he makes you feel so included, relaxed and accepted – his kindness at having taken you under his wing and giving priority to your comfort and enjoyment at the cabin makes your heart positively sing.

Since the day he took you out on the rowboat, Frankie has come to visit you in the Screened-In Veranda cabin every night. The first night, it’s to bring you extra blankets and one of his thick hoodies – all of it you accept gratefully; he also brings a pack of playing cards and the two of you play Big Two until you can barely keep your eyes open. Making sure you're bundled up in his hoodie, Frankie leaves you to sleep under a comically thick stack of blankets and happily swathed in his manly musk.

The next night, he brings you an old worn box of Rummy-O, explaining that he and the boys try to buy old games from garage sales to bring up to the cabin, even ones they’ve never played before. You’ve never played either, and for the next few nights, you and Frankie spread the tiles over your bedspread and become Rummy-O experts, stopping only when you’re too tired to keep playing - then and only then does Frankie leave you before traipsing back to his own cabin.

Embarrassingly, it takes you until tonight to figure out what he's up to.

“I know what you’re doing,” you grin in the dimly lit cabin as Frankie dons a Korean face mask and lets you give him a cuticle oil treatment.

“I’m getting pampered,” Frankie murmurs from where he lays, careful not to move his face lest the sheet mask slips.

“You’ve been keeping me company every night until I get sleepy so I don’t have to lie here in the dark and be scared,” you look at him warmly, in awe of this tender-hearted man’s goodness.

You see one eye open in the eye hole cut-out of the mask and the corners of the one for the mouth tug up a little, “Has it been working?”

“Yes and thank you. And I think your hoodie and the blankets you brought really helped too – the nights feels way cozier now.”

“Good. I’m glad. Now do you have anything that’s going to help with these bags under my eyes?”

You cackle, sure that the sound of your and Frankie’s joint laughter must carry clear across the lake.

It’s the last night at the cabin and the whole group is out tonight for another bonfire. You’re nice and snug in Frankie’s hoodie, giggling with Jenny, who you feel like you’ve barely seen this whole week – she fills you in on all eight hundred of the adorable things Benny has done for her this week and you’re over the moon seeing her so completely in love. The entire group is in great spirits, toasting to another successful season at the cottage, all the shared memories, new and old stories to tell, and the delicious food eaten over this week. Your dinners for the latter half of the week are praised, and when you bury your face in the oversized sleeves of Frankie's hoodie in embarrassment, you feel his strong arm curl proudly around your shoulders and you positively kvell.

The drinks flow liberally tonight with no one needing to wake up early and the only chore on anyone’s list being packing. About halfway through tonight’s bonfire, Frankie slips away from the group; everyone is too caught up in their own conversations to notice it, but you immediately miss having his comforting presence close by. You’re just about to ask Jenny for the tea on why Tom’s sisters seemed to be giving Will the cold shoulder when you hear Frankie’s dulcet baritone low in your ear, “Hey, City Girl, can I show you something?”

Getting up, you leave the others at the bonfire and follow Frankie back into the Main Cabin. He ushers you towards the main living room and when you enter, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks with a gasp. The darkened room is lit bright and warm from the fire that Frankie’s laid in the fireplace, the flames crackling slow and calm – he must have been stoking it for a while. In front of the glowing fire is a little carpeted area with cushions arranged purposefully to create a makeshift sitting area. In the middle sits two brandy snifters filled with an amber gold liquid.

“Frankie, what’s all this?” you exclaim, eyes bright as you turn to look at the handsome, affectionate man who brought you here.

Gesturing for you to sit down in front of the gently roaring fire and handing you one of the glasses as you settle in, Franke shyly explains, “Wasn’t able to swing any cashmere sweaters, but I wanted to give you your brandy by the fireplace cottage experience.”

Rendered speechless by how cute and thoughtful Frankie is - all you can do is give him a doe-eyed look of awe as you sip the liquor he managed to procure. For you.

“Thank you, Frankie. This is perfect. But if I’m being honest, I’ve quite warmed up to the cabin experience,” you tease.

“Good,” the tenor of Frankie’s voice is warm with the undercurrent of what’s not yet been spoken out loud.

As you both enjoy your fireside libations, you joke and flirt, keeping the conversation light - somehow tip-toeing around what’s happening between the two of you. Your bodies, though, pay your shyness no mind, inching closer and closer until you’re practically in Frankie’s lap. The conversation grows quieter as words are replaced by looks of longing and want until all you seem to be doing is studying the dark and rough lines of Frankie’s face, the plushness of his lips, the adorable heart shaped patch in his facial scruff.

With one final sip of brandy, the soothing burn of the liquor down your throat gives you that final push of liquid courage and you drop your gaze from Frankie’s soft chocolate brown eyes down to his waiting mouth. Not so innocently, you lick you lips at the sight.

Then Frankie is on you, crashing his lips to yours – the empty snifters rolling away on the carpet as you pour yourself into his mouth, open wide and inviting. This first kiss is nothing short of sensual and desperate, the feelings that have been simmering over the past week boiling over until you’re both a mess of tongues, moans and clashing teeth.

“Oh Frankie,” your soft whimpers a welcomed song to his ears, Frankie returns your sentiments by licking behind your teeth, exploring and stroking into your receptive mouth with a fiery passion. His hands maneuver you to straddle him so that he can better feel you, roaming your back until one hand comes to a rest at the nape of your neck, the other under one of the pert globes of your ass, using them as leverage to press you flush against his chest.

As your hands go to run through Frankie’s soft waves, you knock his favourite cap onto the ground and you giggle loudly when it lands near the now forgotten brandy snifters with a little thud. Frankie feels himself harden at the melodic sound.

You make out like teenagers, tongues dancing and teeth nibbling until you both run out of air and have no choice to break apart, panting.

“Been wanting to do that since I saw you your first day here, City Girl,” admits Frankie, eyes tender and sincere as he rests his forehead against yours.

Leaning in to lightly peck his lips, you’re surprised but can’t help teasing, “What took you so long, Morales?”

Frankie chuckles, though his eyes flash with a bolt of insecurity, “Wasn’t sure you would want to. Benny said something about how he wanted to try and set you up with Will.”

Your face scrunches up with astonishment - so Jenny wasn’t just being facetious! But you quickly cup Frankie’s face and run your thumbs reassuringly through his adorable scruff, “I don’t know anything about that. But what I do know is that I can’t resist a kind hearted, handsome man who goes out of his way to take care of me, never judges me and makes me feel comfortable without pushing me to be someone I’m not. You, Frankie – I can’t imagine wanting anyone but you to kiss me.”

Taking this as the invitation it is, Frankie slots his mouth over yours once more. This second kiss is slower, deeper, and full of promise. You sigh as Frankie’s tongue slides over yours in a slow and intimate waltz and his lips find yours again and again and again.

“Querida,” he murmurs, “when we get back to the city, can I take you out to dinner?”

Grinning at having earned yourself another nickname, you tuck yourself into the nook under Frankie’s chin and press one, two, three soft kisses to his neck while nodding, “I’d love that, Frankie.”

The next morning you wake up well rested, with a strong arm banded over your body and Frankie’s hard chest pressed up against your back. Slipping slowly back to consciousness, you can’t help but smile as the memories of the previous night come flooding back. Frankie came back up to your cabin with you and stayed to keep you company as he had the previous nights, but instead of games or spa treatments, he kept you awake with the hard and soft kisses of his expert mouth and innocent touches that by the end of the night, didn’t feel quite so innocent anymore. Lips swollen after hours of making out, Frankie had tucked in with you under the covers and held you close, lulling you to sleep with evenness of his breathing and the soothing rise and fall of his chest. Rolling over, you find Frankie already slowly blinking awake, “Good morning, City Girl. Did you sleep okay?”

You nod into his shoulder, “Slept perfect, Frankie. Coziest night here with my own personal furnace.”

Frankie chuckles, “I like waking up with you like this, pretty girl. Like seeing you wearing my clothes, too.”

Shyly, you gaze into Frankie’s eyes, heart beating faster at his look of adoration, “I like it too, Frankie. Waking up with you, wearing your clothes.”

After some tender and sweet kisses under the covers, the two of you manage to get out of bed so you can pack and get ready for the trip home.

Right before he closes the door to the Screened-In Veranda Cabin, Frankie turns around, “Wanna ride with me on the way back, City Girl?”

“Sure! What about Santi and Will?” You can’t help but get excited about the prospect of a long road trip with Frankie.

“They can go with Benny. Or Tom. Well at least Santi can ride with Tom. Don’t think Tom’s sisters will let Will into Tom’s truck,” Frankie looks genuinely amused and you once again spot that cute dimple make an appearance in his right cheek.

“Omigod! I meant to ask Jenny about that – what happened??”

Frankie throws you a heart-stopping wink, one that nearly sends your knees buckling, “Tell you on the way home, querida.”

---

A few hours later, everyone’s packed bags are stowed in their respective cars, the cabins locked, boats put away for the winter, and sheets and laundry stripped to go back to the city to be cleaned.

“Ready to go, City Girl?” grins Frankie, “Bet you can’t wait to get home.”

Buckling your seatbelt and looking fondly at the sweet man who made sure you felt seen and cared for this week, you say, almost wistfully, “It’s not that bad here.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your lips, Frankie nuzzles your nose affectionately with his before putting the car in reverse. Steering the wheel one-handedly with his other big paw cupping the back of your headrest, he winks, “Cottage country ain’t got nothing on cabin country, am I right, querida?”

You giggle as he straightens out the car and take the hand that Frankie’s holds out to you over the centre console, “Only the cashmere sweaters, but other than that, nothing.”

Frankie brings your hand up to his lips, placing a sweet kiss to your knuckles as he starts down the windy dirt road in the direction of the city, “An easy fix for next time, City Girl.”

Biting your lip to keep from smiling too much, you nod happily in agreement. Next time.

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