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“I can’t believe this.”
Lee heard the edge in Francine’s voice and watched as she slammed the car door and stood ankle deep in the blowing snow, her expression dark. His chest tightened with irritation and he sucked in a deep breath, trying to tamp it down.
“It’s not ideal, but we don’t have a lot of choices.”
They both stood silent for a moment, studying the front entrance of the hotel. It was a place that would never have been a first choice for either of them, not in a million years. The kind of place people stopped because they had to — business traveler or someone passing through on a road trip.
Lee heaved a sigh and crossed the snowy parking lot to the front doors. The lobby was clean and brightly lit. A good sign, he supposed, though the club chairs in the corner looked hard and uninviting. He cast a look back over his shoulder and saw Francine sullenly stamping snow from her feet.
The manager was a lanky fellow in his late thirties named Early. He was wearing a paisley shirt that he’d probably owned since high school and a big, easy smile. He saw Lee looking at his nametag and answered the unasked question.
“Yep, I’m Early,” he said, tapping his name tag. “I know. Early check in, early check out. I get an earful every time I’m a few minutes late. It’s a real cross to bear, I tell ya.”
“Well, I’m obviously not looking for an early check in, uh, Early,” Lee said. “We just need a room.”
“I dunno, man. We’ve been filling up all day, especially now the highway’s closed.” Early waved a hand at the window and the snow blowing outside.
“We’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
Early scanned the rows of hooks behind his desk. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve got one room left, looks like.” He held out the key. “Two twins. Sorry, you and your wife’ll have to get creative with your New Year’s celebrating.” Early laughed at his own joke.
“She’s not my —“ Lee stopped himself. “We’ll take it. Thanks.”
He took the key and gave Early his card. Francine migrated to the club chair by the door, her hands stuffed deep in the pockets of her long blue winter coat. She didn’t move when Lee pushed the doors open and stepped into the snowy night to get their bags. He didn’t expect her to. But she was standing near the door with a cart when he came back in.
Upstairs the hallway was less fresh. The brown patterned carpet was worn, lined with dark-brown rubber baseboard, and the walls were covered in vinyl wallpaper that was full of scuff marks. The air smelled of cigarettes, cleaner, and bleached linens. They strode down the hall to their room in silence, listening to snippets of muffled conversation or the tinny sounds of a television as they passed the closed doorways.
Lee slipped the key into the second last door in the hallway. He popped open the door and ushered Francine ahead of him.
She took a step inside, flipped the switch, and stopped short. He came up behind her with the bags, peering over her shoulder at the room. It was as brown as the hallway and a single double bed sat right in the middle. He could barely suppress the groan that bubbled up.
“Well, great.” She scowled. “I thought he said two beds?”
“He did say two beds.” Lee frowned. “Look, I’ll go back downstairs and find out what the deal is. Maybe he made a mistake.”
“There was only one key left on the hook,” Francine said. “I think the only mistake that guy made was mixing his plaids and florals.”
He couldn’t help chuckling at that. “I’ll see if they have a cot.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Whatever. It’s not like we haven't slept in the same bed before.”
He knew better than to acknowledge that comment. After all, that was their problem, wasn’t it? They’d crossed a line and then tried to cross back, and it was still tripping them up.
Lee glanced at his watch. They had to find something to get them out of that room for a few hours, at least. And he was tired, but not tired enough to go to bed at seven o’clock.
“Want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Where?”
“Downstairs?” He’d seen a restaurant off to one side of the lobby, the same place they’d have to hit for rubbery scrambled eggs and cold toast in twelve hours.
She wrinkled her nose, then sighed. “New Year’s Eve at the Chez Bon. And me without my evening gown.”
“Look, I’m not that excited about it either.” He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice and failed. “But we haven’t eaten since this morning and I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t have room service.”
“Let’s go, just let me comb my hair and —“ She made a vague gesture he interpreted as fixing her makeup, and as little as he wanted to wait, he slumped on the edge of the bed while she disappeared into the bathroom.
What a week. He hadn’t anticipated the case going sideways, or Francine having to cancel vacation to help him out. Every agent on the roster had been assigned or out sick. Billy had tried everyone and, on the twenty-ninth, sent Francine with a promise she’d be back in time. Lee had begged him not to, things had been so tense between them, but Billy had been unsympathetic. “You two made this bed,” he’d said, in the only acknowledgement of the office gossip Lee had ever heard, “time to lie in it.”
No one had expected things to take such a literal turn.
“This place is….”
Francine let her voice trail off as she stood in the vestibule of the hotel restaurant. Cheap? Garish? Exactly what she’d expected?
All those things and more.
The room was half full of tired-looking travelers, men and women in their holiday sweaters and even winter boots, all of whom looked like they’d been on the road all day and had pulled in out of desperation or necessity, just as she and Lee had. A sorry-looking tree stood in the corner, behind a man in a burgundy suit who was crooning into a microphone. The sign beside her led her to believe this was Tony, frontman for Tony and the Two-Tones, who were there to help ring in 1983.
Early had mentioned something about a New Year’s party as she’d waited for Lee to bring in the luggage, but she hadn’t really registered what he’d meant. She suspected, as she scanned the room, that it would more than live down to her expectations.
Francine couldn’t help the deep disappointment gnawing at her. It was there, fresh and bitter as the coffee in this terrible restaurant was going to be tomorrow morning.
She smoothed her wrinkled blouse, brushed invisible lint from her designer jeans, and tried not to think of the dress she’d bought for tonight. Blue silk, with a perfectly fitted bodice and beautiful pleats in the skirt. She hadn’t even needed to have it altered. It had fit like it was made for her.
It was wasted now. She’d had to call her date that morning and give him the bad news. He’d sounded annoyed, but not as upset as she’d hoped. She suspected Creighton Cranston had a list of women to call and his heavy sigh had been more about having to flip through his Rolodex than anything else.
They wandered across the room to a free table and sat down in two astonishingly uncomfortable club chairs. She heard Lee sigh and tried to keep her own irritation off her face. It wasn’t his fault, but she wanted to blame him.
It was never really his fault, and that was the thing that drove her crazy. Even the failure of their little… experiment… hadn’t been entirely his fault, though the embarrassing aftermath was definitely the result of his own poor behavior.
The thing was, she had never believed it would work. They were too much the same even as they were too different. For instance, she was a responsible adult, and he had nursed too many of his frat boy tendencies for far too long. They were both hyperfocused on their careers, which left almost no time for anything else. She had no interest in becoming someone’s wife, but she had this sneaking suspicion that, for all his protests, he’d like a family someday.
Imagine that poor woman, digging his socks out of the couch cushions at the end of every day. She wasn’t sure his brilliant smile or his generosity in bed could make up for that.
They did laugh a lot when they were together, though. Usually. He was one of the only people she knew who could jostle her out of a bad mood. And that night she was in an epically bad mood.
“I am not staying here for midnight.” Francine sat rigidly in her chair, watching Tony croon a half-hearted rendition of Silent Night.
“That makes two of us,” Lee agreed. He slouched beside her, clearly uncomfortable in the gray upholstered club chair. “I need a drink.”
“ That makes two of us.”
He sprung up from his seat and headed for the bar. She wondered what he’d come back with — some kind of terrible cocktail or cheap wine. Punishment for them both.
A cocktail, it turned out. Something ruby-red with a sprig of green perched on the rim of the glass. She took a cautious sip. Somehow they’d managed to put cheap wine and a terrible cocktail together all in one glass. The corner of her mouth twitched.
“This is awful,” she said. “Thanks.”
“The bartender called it a ‘cup of kindness.’ It’s their signature cocktail tonight. I think that means it’s their only cocktail tonight.” He held out his beer. “Trade?”
She shook her head. Though she seriously considered making him drink it as penance for ruining her New Year’s Eve plans.
“The wine was terrible, too, which is why I have this,” he admitted, looking at his beer, which looked pale and watery.
“Oh well.” She lifted her glass. “Cheers, I guess. Maybe the dinner will be better.”
The potatoes were cold and the roast beef was tough as shoe leather — in fact, Lee suspected his nice italian wingtips would have been easier to chew, and tastier, too. The green beans were cooked to perfection, somehow. His least favorite part. He couldn’t help thinking it was symbolic of the entire situation.
Francine clutched her utensils in her hands as she chewed and chewed and looked as if she’d like to light him on fire. She’d looked at him like that for weeks, and he’d marveled at her ability to keep it up. Billy often commended her for her dedication and Lee had to agree with him on this one.
He had to do something. They couldn’t exist like this. He’d been an idiot and it was time to own up to it, whether it got him anywhere or not. New Year, new leaf, all that jazz. He’d been selfish and unfair and she’d made it clear she thought he was an immature brat.
He’d thought buying her a couple of drinks and trying to make her laugh would have done the trick. It had worked in the past. But that night he was not firing on all cylinders, it seemed. She was immune to everything. She’d coated herself in an impermeable shell of pure ice.
But he knew if he kept trying she’d crack. He couldn’t nibble her earlobe anymore but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try something new and unexpected. Platonic. Heartfelt.
The band was starting another set. Francine turned to look, shifting her body away from him. He wondered if she was giving Tony the same look she’d been giving him.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Lee said. She turned to face him, surprised. “I know this is terrible. I know you had plans for a nice dinner and the party with Clayton —“
“Creighton, but yes.” She picked up her fork again then set it down.
“And I know this place is terrible and I’m the last person you want to be around —“
“Also correct.”
“But Francine, come on. You deserved so much better. Deserve.”
“Creighton is a gentleman,” she said, and even though he wanted to scoff, he didn’t.
“I don’t mean Creighton. I mean me. You deserve better than me. You always did.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you admitting you blew it?”
“I know I did.”
“You’re admitting that, maybe, asking Sheila from Steno out the week after we called it off looked terrible? For you, but also for me.”
His face flooded with heat. He wanted to explain The Sheila Situation and how it hadn’t been what it looked like, but it didn’t really matter. It looked how it looked, and he’d promised himself no excuses. “Yeah, I am.”
She nodded, her hands folded on the table in front of her. He could see she was considering what to do.
He leaned forward, jostling the rickety table, desperate now. “I want my friend back.”
Francine chewed her lip, thoughtful. She really did know how to draw things out. In bed and out, he thought, before he could stop himself.
“Why?”
“ Why?” He thought that would be obvious. Wasn’t it obvious?
“I want reasons. Or else I’m just going to think you’re buttering me up to make things easier for yourself.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, and laughed. “I get it. Okay. Reasons.” This was easy. “You have an unfailing fashion sense. I’m a better dresser because of you.”
She raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.
“You’re fun on stakeouts.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re smart. You pay attention to things I don’t and you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count.”
She leaned back in her seat.
“I can swear in seven languages instead of four because of you.”
He could see she was trying not to laugh, and he muttered a curse in italian purely for her benefit. The corner of her mouth lifted before she trained it back into place.
“Come on,” he said, finally. “My life isn’t the same without you in it, and I’m sorry we didn’t work out as — whatever we were. But I like having you as my friend and I’m terrified of having you as my enemy.”
That seemed to do it. He wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t going to question. She began to thaw.
“I guess it wasn’t all bad,” she allowed. “I mean, the sex was pretty good.”
“Oh?”
“And you’re mostly a gentleman. Mostly.”
“Do those two things go together?”
“And it wasn’t all your fault.”
Lee straightened in his seat, bumping the table again. Beer sloshed out of his glass. “What?”
“It wasn’t.” She waved a hand. “Oh, look, I’ve wanted to say something for a while, I just didn’t know how. But….”
He gave a high-pitched, incredulous laugh. “What? Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
“I’ve been in the deep freeze for weeks. I thought you hated me.”
“I was angry,” she confessed. “And — and I felt awkward. And it was kind of fun watching you squirm a little.”
“Francine.”
“You bought me three drinks. They were terrible drinks and I’m probably going to throw up later but —” She pushed her plate away. “We can be friends again.”
He grinned at her, relieved.
On stage, one of the Two-Tones broke a guitar string.
Someone bought them each another drink. Another terrible cup of kindness, another cheap beer. When the waiter brought it over, he gestured to a table halfway across the room, where an older couple were watching expectantly.
“They said to say Happy New Year. They’re glad you made up.”
Francine paused mid-sip. Had it been that obvious? Probably. She lifted the glass in their direction and Lee did the same.
“They thought we were lovers on the outs,” she said. “How embarrassing.”
“We were lovers on the outs,” Lee said, laughing into his beer.
She wanted to kick him under the table but she didn’t. He wasn’t wrong, anyway.
Francine sipped the cocktail and assessed the situation. She was pleasantly drunk now, and strangely full considering she hadn’t eaten much besides green beans. The roast beef had been so bad she was thinking about making cooking lessons one of her resolutions for the next year — just so she could say that even she could do better.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost ten. In another life, she’d have finished an impeccably prepared four-course meal and been swaying on the dancefloor with Creighton and a thousand other partygoers, all dressed in gowns and tuxedos, probably talking about their net worth or the latest society gossip.
Instead, she was sitting at a wobbly table listening to the conversation beside her — two men in plaid jackets talking about the best way to use a winch.
“What would you be doing if we’d made it home?” she asked.
Lee took a moment to swim back through a beer-filled haze to answer her question. “Ah, nothing much. I didn’t have plans this year.”
“So this is an improvement?”
He shrugged, laughing. “I’m out , I guess.”
“This is the second year in a row we’ve spent together. Working.”
“We aren’t technically working now,” he pointed out. The year before they’d been on a stakeout, hunched together in a vacant building, eating soggy pizza and peering through binoculars at an apartment two lots over. They’d caught their man in the wee hours, ending a months-long operation, and the team had celebrated with drinks in the bullpen.
Francine had put herself on the admin track right after that, and become Billy’s supposed right hand. She still had to choke down soggy pizza occasionally, but it was usually in the confines of Billy’s office.
“We’re holding to our tradition of terrible food, at least,” she said.
“True. I haven’t seen a rat yet, though.”
“Don’t even —” She shuddered. “A woman can only take so much. And that would be my limit.”
“Dance before midnight?” Lee asked, as they watched a few couples take turns around the makeshift dance floor.
“I guess I do need to make sure I don’t lose my land legs,” Francine admitted.
He stood and offered her his hand, and they moved to the center of the floor. “We could probably show these people a thing or two.”
“Hmm, all those Agency-mandated lessons,” she said, nodding. “Let’s not, though. I think I’ve had too many cups of kindness, if you know what I mean.”
He chuckled and settled his hand at her waist. This wasn’t so bad, dancing with the person who was probably your best friend on New Year’s Eve. His alternative plans had been to finish up his reports and sleep New Year’s Day away. Not the kind of thing a single guy with a carefully cultivated image usually admitted. Though if he was thinking about his carefully cultivated image, she was the perfect date — witty, gorgeous, and even in her travelling clothes, impeccably dressed.
“We’re creeping up on the danger zone,” Francine said as they danced. Tony hit a flat note and her eyes widened slightly.
“What, midnight?”
“The countdown. Mmhm.”
“Well, we’re friends. What do friends do at midnight? Shake hands?”
She drew back to look at him. “You really do have a remedial understanding of human interaction sometimes, you know?”
“I do not.” He grinned. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”
“Boyish innocence.”
“There’s nothing about you that’s boyish or innocent, Scarecrow.”
“So we’ll toast each other. Clink glasses and take a drink. No kissing required.” He glanced at the singer on stage. “Besides, I’m sure Tony would make a move if he could.”
She shuddered. “Maybe we should kiss.”
A waiter hovered beside them with a tray. “Champagne?”
“We get champagne?” Lee asked, as they both stopped moving, surprised.
“It’s part of the dinner. It’s not very good,” the waiter warned. “It has a screw top.”
They each reached for a plastic flute. “This place is nothing if not consistent,” Francine murmured.
Tony began counting down. The couples on the dance floor all stopped moving and turned to face him, glasses held aloft. The patrons sitting at tables spun their club chairs around with a series of squeaks.
“…Three, two, one! Happy New Year!” Tony crowed, and the band struck up a raggedy version of Auld Lang Syne.
Lee and Francine clinked glasses and took a sip of champagne, and both grimaced. “He wasn’t kidding,” Lee muttered when he swallowed.
Francine laughed. “Nope.”
“Happy New Year.” He felt a sudden burst of affection for her and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
He thought she’d rebuff him but instead her smile softened. “Happy New Year.”
“This wasn’t perfect, but it was better than it could have been.”
“That’s a ringing endorsement.” She took another sip of champagne, then sneezed.
He handed her a cocktail napkin. “What I mean is… if I have to be stranded in a cut-rate hotel on the worst night of the year, at least I’m with someone who gets it.”
She took the napkin from him, gratefully. “I guess that’s true.” She wiped her nose, daintily, and stuffed the napkin into the pocket of her jeans. “Creighton wouldn’t have gotten it.”
“No?”
Francine shook her head. “Probably not. He’s very particular. This would have horrified him, from Early on.”
Lee laughed. “Well, Creighton’s loss is my gain.” He set down his empty glass on a nearby table and held out his arms as if asking her to dance again. The band had slid right into another song. “So what do you say? Same time next year? You, me, Chez Bon?”
Francine laughed. She set down her empty glass and stepped toward him, slipping one arm around his neck, her other hand in his. She brought her face close to his, and her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Not on your life.”