How to love

twenty-seven: Who Jason?

Frankie's point of view:

"He's four years younger, but that doesn't matter; does it?" Jenny sighs, rotating herself in my office chair and spinning in a circle. "He's so much more mature than what Brian was and he was six years older! And, I mean, who doesn't want a man who cooks for a living?"

Her new interest was in the twenty-five year old chef that her friend Rochelle introduced her too over the Christmas break. He was Rochelle's partner's very good looking cousin who, for the past forty-five minutes, she hadn't shut up about. I roll my eyes, grabbing the red pencil from the holder and coloring in the sketch of the new layout of the new hotel's master bedrooms.

"Age only matters if it's illegal." I tell her. "If you want to go for it, then do it. Get to know each other, find out if he's as good of a chef as he says he is, you never know; he might be boring."

She snorts. "I doubt it. We spoke for four hours and it felt like ten minutes." She lets out a sigh. "Enough about my situation, I think I've been the only one talking the past hour. How did your Christmas go? Don't think I've forgotten about you and Mr Moody spending it together. So - how was it?"

She leans her chin on my knuckles, grinning widely at me in anticipation. I could feel my lips twitch into a disappointment frown as the light colouring began to get heavier at the mere mention of our Christmas break. We returned back to the city yesterday afternoon after a very long and very silent car journey through the heavy snow and fog then, this morning, we rode together to work but parted ways as soon as we entered the foyer.

Again, in silence.

"It was fine." I replied simply. "Christmas is Christmas. So, are you going to ring this new Gordon Ramsey?"

She rolls her eyes, taking the final sip from her coffee and chucking the empty cup into the trash can by her feet. "Like I'll believe that. Something happened, what was it?"

I feel the lines aside of my lips deepening and it causes a crease of concern to wriggle across Jenny's forehead. Clearing my throat, I try to regain my trembling composure and continue with my sketch which had now turned into a messy child's homework. The color trailing outside the lines, a replacement color trying to cover up the mistake I made. Jenny rises up to her feet, brows knitting together.

"Frankie?" She speaks softly. "Did something happen?"

I shake my head, forcing myself to pull a smile. "Nothing I didn't already know. Hey, I don't mean to sound rude but I really need to get these sketches done and put on David's desk before lunch and I've already got sidetracked with your tea and muffins."

Unconvinced, she nods. "Fine, but you know you can talk to me, right?" I nod with the same forced and weary smile. "I'll come back later, good luck."

As the door clicks shut, I breathe a sigh and slump my shoulders. Staring down at the sketch, I huff a breath and crumple the paper and toss it towards the trashcan, only to bounce off the rim and onto the floor. I huff, lifting my pencil to restart but my hand doesn't move. My mind not focusing, but instead drifting towards the man only a door away. Like a rope around my waist, I was tugged in his direction but my stubbornness held its ground.

The lingering memory of Christmas night was still fresh in my mind and it was taking its toll on me and evidently, my work. I was stressed, beyond stressed in fact but I couldn't show it. Showing it would bring questions, questions that I didn't want to answer so I needed to focus, I needed to get my mind zoned back into the way of working; forgetting about Jason.

"Knock knock."

Easier said than done.

My head snaps up in the direction of his voice and he stands with a sheepish smile hanging on the corner of his lips. That dimple. With a ragged breath, I smile tightly. "Morning, Mr Hayes."