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"Sophie, why don't we stop by the ice cream place?" Francesca asks at exactly 2:30pm on the dot, one winter morning. Today, Sophie is flicking through a book Penelope had recommended to her. It is exceptionally smutty and not entirely to her tastes, but— not a bad read otherwise. "I hear they have a new flavour. Um, I believe it is something to do with blueberries."
Sophie knows better than anyone else that Francesca could care less about blueberries. "Are you quite sure? It's cold out, and this will be the third time this week."
It is Wednesday.
Francesca, twiddling her thumbs from her awkward stance by the door, nods fervently. "Yes. It would mean a great deal to me. If, you, er. Accompanied me."
The book is slowly placed down, and Sophie considers her options.
See, here was the thing: she had been preparing herself for this day. If there was one thing about Francesca Bridgerton, it was that any habit of hers was always borne from reason. Francesca did not suddenly do anything just for the fun of it, which meant there was some deep-rooted reason that she had a sudden intense interest in frozen delicacies.
In the weeks preceding this very moment, Francesca had asked every single one of her siblings to accompany her at least once, with the notable exception of Hyacinth, which Sophie found particularly strange. That gave her the suspicion that whatever her reason, it was a secret— her other siblings could be, for lack of a better term, quite oblivious, and would not be able to figure it out from a simple trip. But Hyacinth, despite being the youngest, could be very perceptive.
Interesting.
She had not as of yet asked Sophie until this minute though, which either meant that Francesca did not think she would be able to figure it out, or that she had no other option. Sophie was leaning towards the latter; everyone else was either out, busy, or in Hyacinth's case, too prone to observation.
Benedict could not figure it out, either, and had confided in Sophie some nights ago. "She just orders the same thing every time, sits in the corner, and leaves when she's finished," he'd said, head in his hands from a particularly fierce brainfreeze. "I do not understand. It's really just average ice cream. I don't know how much mint chocolate chip that girl can take, but it's certainly more than me."
She loves him, she really does, but Sophie was not surprised. Benedict would be too caught up in mint chocolate chip to notice anything out of the ordinary.
Which meant it was up to her.
"Very well, Francesca," Sophie says with a warm smile. "Give me a minute to get ready, and we'll leave."
Sophie had developed a hunch, almost immediately after they entered the ice cream shop, and it was to do with a number of things:
One: Francesca ordered mint chocolate chip and not whatever new blueberry flavour she had used as a flimsy excuse earlier.
Two: The person who took her order was a pretty woman around Francesca's age, with a name tag that read Michaela.
And, finally and most importantly, three: Francesca Bridgerton, famous in her family for her quiet and calm composure, was blushing and stuttering.
"It's always a pleasure, Miss Bridgerton," Michaela says, bowing slightly as she takes the bill Francesca had placed on the counter, filing it away, before taking the cup of mint chocolate chip and holding it out. "You must like mint choc a great deal to have it so often. It's quite cold, have you been taking care of yourself?"
"I— well— yes," Francesca stammers, glancing at the ice cream. She seems to be mentally battling with the fact that she would have to touch Michaela's hand to take it. "It is, uh, enjoyable. And the cold is no issue. I barely feel it at all."
She is shivering quite violently, having forgone a jacket in the brisk walk to the shop. Michaela benevolently pretends not to notice.
It was absolutely beyond Sophie as to how every single other Bridgerton had missed it, but being here in this moment, it was more obvious than anything. Francesca, who never did anything halfway, had a crush.
"Enjoy it," winks the girl behind the counter, and Sophie was fully expecting Francesca to faint on the spot.
Now this, this makes sense. Sophie, in the amount of time that she'd known Francesca, had never witnessed her in any sort of relationship past the strange lavender relationship she and John had briefly been in, before breaking it off and remaining best friends. It was safe to say none of the siblings had either, which meant none of them would at all be able to see it.
But it was all Sophie could see. Francesca ducking her head every time Michaela glanced towards them, sitting at the table in the far corner. Francesca watching her out of the corner of her eye. Francesca's cheeks blazing red like Sophie had never seen them before.
It was actually rather cute.
"So," Sophie starts, poking idly at her quickly-melting chocolate scoop. "This is a nice place."
Francesca startles, seemingly having forgotten that Sophie was there. "Uh—! Yes, it is, isn't it? It's, um. Very good."
"The ice cream? Or…anything else?"
Ah, there it is. She's struck at gold. Francesca freezes, spoon stuck in her mouth.
"I…haven't a clue as to what you are talking about," she says faintly.
Sophie laughs. "Fran," she says fondly, "you have been ogling the girl behind the counter for the past five minutes, and not subtly, either. You've no reason to be coy."
Francesca's shoulders fall. "I should have known," she says glumly. Drops her spoon into her empty cup. "You are a great deal smarter than Benedict is. I was so very hoping you mightn't notice."
"It's quite hard not to notice, Francesca, there is nobody else here and it is the middle of winter. What other reason could there be?"
"Perhaps the ice cream is of particularly high value?"
"It is rather average, I'm afraid."
"You are right again," Francesca sighs. She sneaks a glance at the counter again, where Michaela is whistling and polishing the glass. "I came here a few weeks ago to visit John at work, this is his part time job. And…she was working too." There's a long pause. "She's pretty. And she's kind, and she's funny too."
"Have you…told John about it?"
"He knows," she scowls, "and he has been pushing me to talk to her. Ask for her number, or something equally silly. He does not understand it is impossible."
Sophie frowns. "Impossible? How?"
Francesca buries her face in her hands. "I've never done this before. And I do not want to ask anyone to help me, I don't trust my brothers, and my sisters will grill me about it before I could even think to ask her out. It is a lose-lose situation. And…" Francesca sighs, resting her chin on her hands. "I am admittedly afraid. She is so…bright. People come here to talk to her all the time, I've seen them. She makes everyone smile, makes them laugh as well— would she even like someone as quiet as me? My mundanity?"
"Oh, Fran," Sophie says soothingly. "To be honest— you won't know until you ask her. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. But if you ask me, she certainly will if she knows what's good for her." Francesca laughs at this. "You're lovely and a right catch for anybody. I think it would not hurt to try."
Francesca seems to deliberate on her words for a minute, gears turning in her head. Sophie finishes her ice cream as she waits patiently, walking beside her in silence. She knows, as well as anyone, not to disturb Francesca while she is thinking.
She is proven right soon after.
"Alright," she says shakily. Stands a little taller. "I'm going to do it. I'll ask her out." A pause. "Er, some time in the next week."
Francesca does not go back to the ice cream shop for a number of days. Sophie almost worries, wondering whether she's accidentally caused Francesca to run away from this, but she is proven wrong when she is suddenly cornered by the quietest Bridgerton some time past 3pm.
"I am doing it," Francesca says, before taking a deep breath. "Right now. I would appreciate if you could come too."
Sophie is barely able to agree before Francesca has already blown past her and out the door, marching briskly in the crispt winter air. So she is very serious then. Sophie wishes she'd maybe had another bowl of warm soup when she'd had the chance, but there was clearly no time to dwell on what could've been.
"So— Fran— is there, perhaps, a plan of some sort?" Sophie huffs, jogging to catch up to her. Francesca is quite tall, and quite fast. Sophie is neither of these things.
"I am going to ask for her number. And perhaps a date when she is free."
Francesca is still walking so fast. Sophie's beginning to tire, but when she realises she's not getting much more out of her, she gives up and focuses her remaining energy on keeping up with her.
This is it. Francesca is going to do it. She is going to ask Michaela to go out with her.
Maybe. Hopefully. It would be the best-case scenario, anyway.
She asks Sophie to wait outside. "Just in case," says Francesca, "I might need— backup or anything else."
Sophie, bless her heart, only smiles and pats her on the arm. "You've got this, Fran."
She is too kind, sometimes. Francesca thinks Benedict had very much lucked out with her.
But there was plenty of time to deliberate on exactly how lucky her siblings had been with their respective partners, at many other brunches and dinners and the like in the future. Right now, there was only one thing to focus on.
As usual on a Monday afternoon, Michaela is tending to the store alone. And as usual on a winter's afternoon, absolutely nobody in their right mind was at the ice cream bar. Who would, anyway? Who was as crazy as her?
Michaela glances up as the bell rings, and she smiles somewhat nervously. "Oh, Miss Bridgerton. Hello. I didn't see you the past few days."
"I apologise," Francesca says, knowing fully well she had spent the last couple of days pacing back and forth in her room, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. "I, well. Have been preoccupied."
"Ah." Michaela nods. "Of course, of course. Shall I get you your favourite, then?" She playfully points at the mint chocolate chip with the scoop.
Right. Francesca takes a breath. Now or never.
Outside, she catches a glance of Sophie peeking through the window and giving her a thumbs-up. Supportive as ever. She can do this.
"Actually," she says shakily, "I mean to ask you about something. Whether you, er…may be free. Some time in the near future."
That stops Michaela right in her tracks, and she frowns. Cutely. God, everything she does is so incredibly attractive. "Free? Like, as in a date?"
"It could be," Francesca squeaks. Braces herself for an inevitable rejection, even though her mouth continues to run. "You are very beautiful. And I like how you laugh, and how you don't seem to question that I've been coming for ice cream every day just to see you even though it is really, really cold outside. And I was hoping, if you are not bothered with my continued visits, perhaps we could interact in a, um, non-ice cream-related environment."
There is a silence so long that Francesca is too afraid to look up. Afraid she is about to be cursed for the next several lifetimes by the prettiest girl she has ever known. Until—
"You know," Michaela laughs, "I really thought I was going to drum up the courage before you. Seems I was mistaken."
"S— Sorry?"
Michaela grins. "I've noticed you, of course I have. I like that you come at the same time every day. I'd convinced myself it might be because it's when I'm on shift, but I also have a habit of daydreaming, so maybe I thought I was a little deluded."
Oh. Francesca can barely breathe.
"And then John told me he thinks I might have a chance—"
Francesca frowns. "John has been talking to you about me?"
"John's my cousin," laughs Michaela, "he's been trying to get me to say something to you for some time now."
"Oh," Francesca gapes. And then, "oh, he has been playing us both." She still sounds somewhat dazed, but there's a bit of a playful frown quirking her eyebrows. John is going to get a stern talking to when she sees him next. Of course he would do something like this.
"It seems like he has," Michaela says, reaching out to correct Francesca's collar, which has flipped upwards. "And for the record, I think you're pretty too. And I want to go out with you. In fact—" she glances at the clock on the wall, which reads some minutes past 3:30, "—I am off shift in about ten minutes. If you'd be so inclined to wait for me. There's a lovely cafe down the street, and my lovelier apartment across from it."
Francesca blinks. And blinks. And finally she smiles. "I would love that," she says.
Michaela's smile softens, and she squeezes Francesca's hand. It feels like a promise.
Sophie goes home some fifteen minutes later, when she realises that neither of them are going to leave anytime soon. It's fine, because it's for the sake of Francesca's love life, even if she was stranded outside in the cold for longer than strictly necessary.
It's even more fine when Francesca introduces Michaela to the rest of the family a week later, smile wider than any of them had ever seen it before. Sophie gets the satisfaction of being the first person to be in-the-know, but when Francesca outright thanks her she gets the burden of bearing the brunt of every Bridgerton's incessant badgering about it.
It's not Sophie's fault they could all be a little clueless. Nothing will take away the fact that she figured it out first. Just took a couple of cups of ice cream to get there.