"So who IS he?" Lainie wanted to know. Briar Rose looked down into her coffee mug and tried not to let herself smile.
"Oh . . . just someone I met a few months ago," she murmured.
"Un huh," Lainie snickered. "Look, I know it's none of my business but, no wait, it's precisely my business. Come on, he's got a name, right? At least give me that much?"
"Francis," Briar Rose responded, tongue in cheek. They were in Lainie's kitchen and through the kitchen window she could see across 85th street to her own house.
Lainie brayed. "No six foot plus guy is called 'Francis' except maybe by his mother. So Frank then. What is he; construction engineer? Maybe a longshoreman? He's got that look ya know."
Briar Rose glanced up at her friend. "Fish all you want; I'm not biting, Lainie."
Lainie tried to look hurt but her eyes twinkled. "Fine thing. Here I've been trying to set you up for Iyears/I and you go around behind my fat ass and land someone who looks like a shaved bear-"
"He is NOT a shaved bear!" Briar Rose bristled, "and I haven't 'landed' anything! Frank is my Ifriend/I."
"Hey, hey, you forgot to add that my ass isn't fat, either," Lainie pointed out, grinning as she moved to refill Briar Rose's mug.
"It's not. It's the muscled workhorse of your queenly form," Briar Rose replied, smiling. "Feel better?"
"Loads," Lainie replied, coming to sit opposite from her and pushing a plate of cookies forward. "Okay, so Mr. Large is your friend. But is he a potential?"
That was a harder question to deal with, and Briar Rose drew in a deep breath. Potential was a loaded adjective, even more so when applied to the man who'd begun showing up at her porch every other Saturday to take her to the Farmer's Market.
"I've had to referee fights at the table before," Frank had told her when he'd handed back the crock pot the first Saturday. "But never over who was going to get the last serving of something. Two grown men threatening each other over a side dish is a first. Consider the succotash a success."
"So who DID get the last . . ." she stopped when she saw those dimples around his mustache and laughed. "IReally/I?"
"Potatoes are still my go-to," he told her. "But it was a tasty and expedient solution."
And damn it, his smile . . .
She looked at Lainie, who had one arm propped on the table, her chin resting on it. "I don't know."
"Ah," Lainie nodded, her gaze sympathetic. "Gotcha. Well you could do worse, that's for sure. He's single, right? Not looking for something on the side?"
Briar Rose bit her lips and nodded. She'd discreetly checked and found the records, noted the diagnosis with a sad pang. Fifty was far too young, despite everything the oncology team at Maimonides Medical had done for the late Mrs. Reagan. "He's widowed."
"Oh," Lainie's expression softened. "Okay, that's a different kettle of fish. Some guys, they don't remarry though—you know that, right?"
"I'm not Ilooking/I to get married, for the seven millionth time, Lainie Esther Goldstein," Briar Rose grumbled. "It's not for me. I'm happy as I am with my own hours and own schedule and own-"
"—vibrator," Lainie snickered. "Fine. So Mr. Frank Large is a," she made air quotes with her fingers, "Ifriend/I, and you're happy, I get it. Just don't come running to me when the paradigm shifts, baby because I think it's gonna."
Briar Rose shot her best friend a weary glance. "Noted. Now what's up with the weird couple on the corner? Have they done any more nude sunbathing?"
-oo00oo—
For a month after that they kept missing each other; Briar Rose got paged for an emergency C-section one Friday night that lasted until well into Saturday noon, and two weeks later, she'd gotten a brief text from Frank cancelling. The local news stations were covering a story about a police standoff with some armed cult holed up in Green Point so Briar Rose understood.
Still, it was worrying. And frustrating. She liked Saturdays with Frank. They'd gotten into the habit of bringing George with them to the Farmer's Market, and then taking him to the Dyker Beach Dog Run where he joyously dashed around in a streak of smoke-colored speed, happy fetch the battered tennis balls that Frank was more than willing to throw.
They spent the time in comfortable silence, and quiet conversation about nearly everything but their jobs, and Briar Rose liked that too, even though she couldn't help being a doctor and he couldn't help being a policeman. When she'd given him a tour of her place THAT had come up unexpectedly.
"That's . . ." he'd glared down at the two tall plants on the back porch, those brows drawing together in disapproval.
"Decriminalized," Briar Rose had pointed out firmly. "And in my case, prescribed."
He'd given her an appraising look that held a degree of disappointment, but Briar Rose had lifted her chin and held it. "Don't you dare cut eye with Ime/I, Frank Reagan, not when I'm sure you've got a few prescriptions of your own along with whatever you drink on a regular basis. I'd rather manage my pain without opioids or alcohol, thank you."
They'd stared at each other for a few beats longer and finally he cocked his head, ever so slightly. "Pain."
Briar Rose had dropped her gaze. "Pain. I was in a car accident in '86. A pretty bad one. I've got . . . scars." She didn't want to say more, but he stood there, watching her with those dark eyes and the words just tumbled out as she leaned against the frame of the back door. "I was on the passenger side when a plumbing van ran a red light and hit us. The door crumpled, gashed into my left side."
"Briar Rose . . ." he'd murmured, moving closer. She'd held out a hand, splaying it on his chest, feeling the buttons of his cardigan against her palm.
"Partial hysterectomy," She'd told him, closing her eyes. "Some muscle re-sectioning but nothing debilitating. Just residual nerve damage that flares up every now and then. Most of the time the over the counter stuff works, but when it doesn't . . . I blaze up."
After a long moment she'd felt his hand cover hers on his chest, warm and wide.
"Okay." He had murmured, and when Briar Rose had opened her eyes again, Frank had given her fingers a squeeze.
So strange. She hadn't told anyone about the accident in years; even Lucas didn't really know the details. But here she'd just spilled it out to a man she hadn't even known for a year.
"I . . . understand pain," Frank had told her gently. "Just . . . having them out here is risky. Even in Dyker Heights."
"Oh I bring Mick and Bianca inside at night."
At the names he'd given her a pained shake of his head, and the mood lightened considerably as she grinned.
-oo00oo-
The text was short but welcome. /Saturday?/
/Yes. Wait, no. Have a 5k to run. / she texted back, annoyed that the hospital's charity event was cutting into her time.
Their time.
/Where?/
/Owl's Head. For the hospital. Neonatal unit. U can sponsor me./ Briar Rose added cheekily. It was a worthy cause and while she knew she wouldn't come in first, any money raised would help.
/Time?/
/8. /
She didn't get a response immediately, and wondered if Frank had second thoughts, but after a few minutes her phone pinged.
/Done./
Saturday was overcast with a threat of rain. Most of the trees were turning and the chill off of the harbor was almost enough for Briar Rose to have second thoughts about running, but her department didn't have anyone else entered and she didn't want to let them down. She stretched and looked around at the clusters of people already there setting up tables, mounting banners, and staking out spots along the course, not admitting to herself she was looking for Frank.
She wore leggings with cartoon storks on them, and pink shorts along with a sweatshirt that bore the the NYU Langone Hospital logo across the front, a little snugger than Briar Rose wanted but it was for a good cause. As she flexed, she saw a few of the techs from Radiology warming up as well, giving her a few nods. After a quick couple of jumping jacks she turned and started: Frank was there, flashing a grin before settling into his usual stoic expression, baseball cap and round sunglasses obscuring his face. "Boo."
"I'll boo Iyou/I," she muttered, but grinned. "You made it."
"Wanted to check that my investment pays off," he replied, and she noticed he was scanning the park as he spoke. "It's like visiting the racehorse before the event."
"I'm so flattered," Briar Rose rolled her eyes. "How much did you lay out?"
He murmured a number, and she sucked in a breath, nearly hyperventilating. "No! Frank!"
"Too late," he shrugged those big shoulders of his. "I saw that event sponsors match the donations of the first three place winners so . . . no pressure."
She bounced, feeling a new tension in her stomach, exasperated and at the same time touched. "Right, no pressure. You don't know I can do this!"
"You run three times a week," he countered patiently. "With a dog whose average speed is about thirty to thirty five miles an hour."
"Not consistently," Briar Rose gulped. "Okay, okay. I'll do my best. No promises."
"Your best is all I want," Frank assured her, peeking over the top of his sunglasses. The warmth of his gaze helped, and she nodded.
Briar Rose reached up before she could talk herself out of it, cupping his cheek, letting her thumb rest along the dimple there at the edge of his mustache. "Fine. Good," she repeated softly. "Just for the record this is a Ivery/I underhanded thing to do."
"I get accused of that a lot," Frank nodded gazing down at her. "Sometimes, it's even true."
She ran. About sixty people had signed up, and Briar Rose found herself in the front ten, settling into a comfortable pace, trying to keep her concentration on the path and not on the thoughts tumbling through her head. It was hard to push aside the jumble but she worked at it, letting herself concentrate on breathing, on keeping a steady pace through the first circuit around the park. One of the radiologists was right at her shoulder, blocking her view of the spectators. She picked up the pace and risked a glance when they passed the starting point, noting that Frank was standing under a big maple.
The second circuit went faster, and she felt her stride smooth out, braid trailing behind her as she pounded along. Four of the front pack dropped back; the radiologist was still with her. By the time she passed Frank a second time, Briar Rose felt giddy. She sped up, putting her focus on the run, keeping her stride, pushing a little more as she came around one last time.
Not first; the radiologist zoomed past on younger stronger legs, but Briar Rose sailed into second place, flying past the final marker and slowing a little in the stretch beyond, dropping speed and feeling her breath go ragged as she circled back amid cheering and people coming towards her. The organizer took her number and handed her a bottle of water while other runners came flying past. She slowly walked towards the big maple, accepting a few congratulations from other hospital personnel before reaching him, her breath nearly normal when she did.
He turned from gazing out over the park and smiled at her. A full, real smile, all the sweeter for being so rare. "Congratulations. Looks like I backed the right surgeon."
"You did. Thank you for the tremendous contribution to the neo-natal unit," Briar Rose murmured. "But Iyou/I didn't get anything out of it, and I'm going to rectify that, Commissioner."
"Oh?"
"Yep. I'm going to bake you a pie."
