A/N: Hey everyone! Very sorry it took me a while to post this chapter, it's been floating around waiting to be reviewed and edited and I finally got around to doing it. I promise to have more posted, if not tomorrow, then in the next few days. I'm not gonna be one of those writers who demands reviews in return for more updates. I want to finish this story because I love writing about Fran and Max. I know this fandom isn't the most frequently viewed but for those of you who are reading and enjoying my story I'd love to know what you think - good or bad. Ok, enough demanding and on with more Fran and the Sheffield gang!

Chapter 4

Fran played with ends of her napkin while she waited for John to arrive. They agreed to meet for lunch at a little Italian restaurant in Manhattan. It was one of her and John's favorite places to eat. Small, reasonably quiet, and the best Italian food she'd ever eaten.

Fran looked up as she heard a bell ring when the door opened. John walked through in one of his navy blue suits. He was even wearing the striped tie she got him for his birthday. He found her table and greeted her with a quick kiss then sat down across from her. A waiter appeared and offered them their wine special. Both declined, since they had to go back to work later, and settled on water. The waiter nodded and left.

John smiled at Fran and reached across to take one of her hands in his. "When's the last time we went to lunch together?" he said. "It just feels like forever since we've done this."

Fran smiled as she thought back to a memory. "Not since our . . . fourth date, I believe. You took me to that Thai place down the street from your apartment and didn't warn me about how spicy the food was."

"But you were a good sport. You toughed it out." He ran his thumb back and forth over her engagement ring and smiled. "And since then you've never once let me pick the restaurant."

"Well, you want your fiancée to make it to the wedding alive don't you?" They both laughed. Their waiter reappeared, bringing two glasses of water, and took their lunch orders.

While they waited for their meal to arrive John talked about the bank he worked at - just a few blocks south from the restaurant. Fran listened to him tell his stories and joke over his colleagues' antics. She was looking for the right moment to slip her involvement with the Sheffields into the conversation. She took her mother's advice but couldn't go through with telling him the previous night. She wasn't afraid he'd get mad. She was more afraid that he'd get the wrong idea. Just tell him, Fran, she thought to herself. Otherwise it will just eat away at you.

"Honey, is something wrong?" John had noticed her brow crease in frustration.

"What? Oh, no, nothing's wrong. It's just work. An idea just came to me about Toddy's new fall line. Skirts and dresses, nothing you'd be interested in." Fran gave him a coy smile, hoping he wouldn't press her for details and silently cursed herself for changing the subject.

"Oh. Yeah, when it comes to fashion, I'm . . . Well, not you." He gestured to her tailored black suit and chuckled in that nervous, confused way that she found absolutely adorable.

"With or without a fashion sense, I'll always love you." Fran reached up and fingered the hair above his ear. He looked down at the table for a second, still in awe with how much love he felt for her. He truly was lucky to have her.

They lapsed back into casual conversation and before they knew it their lunch arrived and both dug in.

"Don't work too hard, sweetie," Fran told John as they embraced on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. "I need you to have your strength for this evening."

"Oh?" He gave her an inviting smile. "What did you have in mind?" She whispered something in his ear and he could hardly contain himself. Now how was he supposed to get through the rest of the workday?

Fran pressed her mouth to his one last time, making sure to put as much passion as she could into her kiss. When they broke apart, breathless, John just shook his head in amazement. He looked down at his watch.

"Fran, I wish we could finish this elsewhere but I really have to get back to the bank." He looked around, as if someone might be eavesdropping on them. "I'll be thinking of my own ideas for tonight as well," he said just above a whisper.

"Then you best head back before they keep you there for overtime." She gave him a playful shove down the sidewalk and he turned and blew her a kiss. She waved goodbye until he was out of sight then went the opposite direction to her cousin's studio. Throughout her entire walk Fran didn't think once about the Sheffields. Yes, they were apart of her life, but her life with John was her first priority.


"Wow, you certainly kept your promise," Fran huffed, her heart pounding, and her body still luxuriating in the last ounces of pleasure from their lovemaking.

John rolled off Fran and onto his back beside her, his chest rapidly rising and falling. "It's been too long," he said, trying to catch his breath, "since we've done that.

Fran rolled over on her side to face him. She ran a hand over his damp chest, clawing through the thin wisps of hair, and following the contours of his muscles. "You can say that again. But it was worth the wait, wasn't it?" She rested her chin on the back of her hand, and stared into his dark eyes, which were still dilated from their physical activities.

"Definitely worth the wait," John said, smiling and pushing a few strands of her hair behind her ear.

Fran laid her head down against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it returned to normal, and reveling in the feel of his fingers combing through her unruly hair. "Mmm, I could stay like this forever."

"Then why don't we? We'll both quit our jobs and we can sail down to the Caribbean and spend everyday like this. Just you and me."

Fran raised her head so she was at eye level with him. "What? Your joking, Stevenson. You can't sail a boat."

John laughed, and it made Fran giggle as she felt the vibrations in his chest. "Then I'll take lessons."

Fran leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. "I wish it was that simple, sweetie."

They kissed again. "I know, me too." He folded her against him more tightly, lazily running his hands down her hair and bare back. They laid together like that in silence for a while, relishing in their closeness. Fran started to fall asleep but John gently maneuvered himself out of their embrace and slipped on his boxer shorts and his Mets t-shirt, which was hidden under Fran's skirt on the floor. "I think dinner might be a little cold."

Fran yawned. "Well if you hadn't distracted me with those hands of yours . . ." she said in a low tone.

"I just can't help myself when the most beautiful woman in the world is standing in my kitchen wearing the most enticing outfit imaginable."

"Oh, so it's your kitchen now?" Fran's eyes turned playful and she let out a squeal when he picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bathroom. John deposited her in the shower and started the warm water.

"You go ahead and start. I just want to check and see if there's any messages from the bank. I'll be back in a minute."

"I'll be lonely," Fran mock pouted. He gave her a lingering kiss then pulled the shower curtain between them, chuckling to himself as he headed to the small living room, which connected to an even smaller kitchen.

John pushed a button on the answering machine and Sylvia Fine's voice echoed throughout the apartment. He listened to Fran's mother talk about her day and the misunderstanding at the seafood market while he cleaned up the kitchen. When the message ended a male voice sounded next, accompanied by an English accent.

John stilled his movements as he recognized the voice. Maxwell Sheffield.

"Hello, Fran, it's me . . . Maxwell . . . Sheffield," the machine played. "Uh, I'm sorry to call you so late, but I just wanted to make sure that our plans to tour museums next week are still on. I'm really looking forward to it. If you could call me back and confirm next week, that would be great. Um, I guess I'll talk to you later, bye."

John dropped the pan he was holding in the sink. It let out a metal clang and he struggled to contain the loud noise, hoping that Fran hadn't heard. He curled his hands around the edge of the countertop as Maxwell Sheffield's voice faded away to white noise. What the hell was that about? he wondered. She'd made plans to see him? He gripped the countertop even tighter until his knuckles turned white. He wasn't the jealous type but the idea of his fiancée parading around New York City with a man she'd only met a few times made his blood start to boil. He suspected there was some chemistry between Fran and Max. He saw the way they held hands briefly at the opening of Sheffield's play, the way he stared at Fran. He'd let his worries disappear though, knowing that he and Fran loved each other deeply - that they were meant to be together - and that he trusted her. But that message? What was he supposed to do now?

He let his finger hover over the button that would delete the messages, but thought better of it. He'd let her handle the situation. But at the back of his mind there was a nagging worry that Fran was keeping something from him.

He finished cleaning the kitchen and headed back to the bedroom. Fran was sitting at her vanity, dressed in one of her trademark bath robes and a towel wrapped around her hair on top of her head. In his moment of fear he forgot Fran was in the shower.

"You were taking so long out there I decided to shower without you - sorry." She turned to face him, pulling the towel away from her long hair. "Sweetie, is something wrong?" Fran asked, concerned at the faraway look in John's eyes as he stared at some unknown spot on the wall.

His head snapped toward her voice. "Huh? Oh, uh, no." Then, remembering the messages on the answering machine, "Your mother called." He paused, unsure if he wanted to bring up the message that Maxwell Sheffield left. "Maxwell Sheffield called as well. Said you were going to tour museums next week?"

Fran paused in brushing her hair and carefully put her brush down, not wanting John to see the slight tremble of her hand. "Yes. It-I was . . ."

John couldn't take the suspense anymore. "When were you going to tell me you planned on seeing him?" he blurted out. "When I was glued to the baseball game? How could you keep this from me, Fran!"

Fran remained calm. She'd forgotten that she and Max arranged to visit a couple of New York City museums with the kids. She planned on telling him about the Sheffield kids before they went to bed. Talk about bad timing. "John, I was going to tell you tonight. We just-"

"No!" John held a hand up to stall her defense. "I don't want any excuses! I want the truth!" He realized he was shouting and lowered his voice to an angry hiss. "Is this what all those weekly trips to the park have been about? Are you seeing him behind my back?" Fran opened her mouth to protest but he ignored her. "Was tonight just a way to distract me so it would lessen the blow once you told me about him?" It came out in almost a growl as his face tightened in anger.

Fran jumped up from her vanity, resisting the urge to slap him. "You don't know a thing, John!" she rallied back at him with just as much vehemence. "It's not about him! I knew you'd get the wrong idea if you found out!" She moved towards him cautiously and softened her voice. "I was going to tell you when you came back to bed. I didn't know he would call."

"You didn't answer my question." She didn't say anything so he clarified, "Are you seeing Maxwell Sheffield behind my back?"

Fran noticed the tightness in his jaw. They'd had such few fights during their years together, but this was the worst of them she could remember. "Yes - but not in the way you think. I've been spending time with his kids."

"Why? I've seen the way he looks at you. At the play opening I saw the two of you together."

Fran reached for his hand and he reluctantly let her take it. "Those kids are so broken - emotionally. They need an influence. Their mother passed away. I feel connected with them - I feel like I've helped them. And it's the most wonderful feeling in the world, John." She squeezed his hand, looking deep into his eyes, willing him to understand. "And I promise you. There is nothing going on between me and Maxwell Sheffield. We're just friends - nothing more."

John glanced away for a moment, trying to grasp everything she said. When he did look back to her, he kept his voice flat but serious. "So the museum thing? It's about - for the kids, right?"

Fran finally relaxed for the first time since their argument began. "Yes. I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you. I promise I will never keep anything like this from you ever again." When she saw his face soften she threw herself into his arms, hugging him to her, wanting to feel his forgiveness. After a few seconds his arms went around her but that was it. He didn't pull her against him or bury his face in her hair. He felt lifeless against her.

Later, lying in bed, Fran shifted from her left side to her right side, facing John. He was on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She touched his arm and without a word he turned away from her. Looking at the back of his t-shirt, Fran willed her eyes to hold back her tears. "John?" she whispered. Her voice quivered, and when he didn't respond, she squeezed her eyes shut and the tears finally fell.

Note: Sorry to end this section on a slightly sad note. There will be more Fran/Max closeness up next, I promise, just be patient and stick with me. I won't keep you waiting for five years like in the show - haha! The Max in this AU is more bold with his feelings I can assure you but still very much in character.