staring out at the midnight sea

His eyes met Isla Jean’s for a fraction of a second and it near about knocked him off his feet.  For a moment, there was something there, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but damn had it felt like something.  So much of something that now looking away he was overwhelmed at the feeling of nothing.  He had always been an overthinking, the trait ingrained him as eldest sibling, always wondering what could go wrong before it did, so he could stop it, keep the helm of the ship steady.  That trait had only gotten worse with age, and he was eternally grateful that Frankie was the type of little girl who demanded all of your attention, keeping his mind from going down the rabbit hole, trying to identify what in the fuck had just happened.

Although, Isla Jean’s hand on his back didn’t help matters.  With a bit of a shock, he realized he didn’t think anyone but his mother had ever done that to him.  He and Giorgia had been too young for those types of mature romantic gestures, preferring holding hands and making out (and more, obviously, hello, teen dad) in cramped spots, fooling around under blankets while watching movies.  But this felt different than both of those.  It certainly wasn’t a motherly touch, and it wasn’t the immature actions of affection from teens.  He wasn’t sure what it was, but with a shock, he realized he didn’t mind it.

“Where’d you get that, the back of a conversation hearts box?” He asked while clearing his throat, regaining his wits.  “But I think we both know you’d be exactly where you are right now.  Kicking–” he mouthed the next word “ass and taking names.  I just provide the pizza.”

-

Isla Jean’s hand lingered, not minding the display of affection. It hadn’t ever been something she’d overthought — it was Cyrus, after all. They existed on some other plane, some other level of togetherness. It was then that it settled on her, why Frankie had felt so bamboozled. Why the seven year old had felt so convinced that her mother and Cyrus were together, because in many ways their behavior certainly implied it. When Isla Jean glanced at Cyrus again, there was some complexity to her gaze, betraying the thoughts swirling around in her mind. Perhaps a bit of guilt, perhaps something more complicated than that. But now she felt less confused by Frankie’s reaction and more responsible, and so her hand dropped from his back, returning to her lap in an awkward fashion. 

“Ha ha.” Isla Jean rolled her eyes at the man, feigning a smile. Her gaze was analytical — observing him as if to try and crack open his skull, to finally know the very thoughts within his head as they came to him. He’d always been close to the vest, and while she’d never thought about that as a challenge before, suddenly she wanted to know exactly what was on his mind. “Speaking of pizza... Do you want to come back to the house when we’re done here? I could go for a pie and a cold beer.” And perhaps, a few moments alone without the nosy bones of Frankie King.

“I was beginning to question it, that’s for sure,” Weston joked with another chuckle. Truth be told, he hadn’t spent too much time getting to talk to Kevin about his love life since most of his time these days were dedicated to the wedding. Still, Weston didn’t want to use that as an excuse. However, he was happy that he finally had the pleasure of putting a face to the name he had heard, more than that, he was happy to know she seemed like a nice person, too. “Yeah, you’re right, he could definitely use more ego, but then I think he’d lose a bit of his charm and we can’t risk that, right?” Weston had to remind himself that he wasn’t in politician mode at the moment and that this was just a friendly encounter, not a time when he needed to sway anyone. “Thanks, I appreciate that. I know it’s hard to get involved when you’re running your own business but feel free to send us emails too, it doesn’t always gotta be at a meeting,” Even though it was highly encouraged. After all, Weston had his own businesses too and it was safe to say he didn’t always have time for everything on his agenda. 

“Hey, that’s only fair. After all, kids are important,” And Weston was entering the next stage of his life where he was beginning to think of having some of his own with Jade. “I think you should get her the dog. It’ll last longer than an iPhone,” He added with a playful grin. Besides, you say that now but if you end up with a dog I bet that mindset changes on you,” He knew it did with his mother who was as prissy as they came. Since then their childhood dog had passed away but Weston still cherished the memories.

-

Isla Jean could see quite easily why Weston had earned the moniker of Kevin’s best friend. In fact, of the friends she had met, it was all very clear the sort of man that Kevin was based upon the people he surrounded himself with. First impressions were everything, and Weston’s easy warmth was growing on the woman. “I think you might be right.” She grinned, nodding along with Weston’s summation of Kevin. He was so incredibly decent, Isla Jean knew that he was a rare breed. He hadn’t been hard to like, after all. And she considered herself to have a rather discerning taste in people, particularly after all that she’d been through. “Now you might live to regret that, Councilman. I’m just as sharp over email as I can be face-to-face.” Isla Jean teased.

“Lord, I wouldn’t know what to do if she asked for an iPhone. I can’t say I think she’s the sort of personality who’d be all wrapped up in technology, because she hardly watches television as it is, but I just know she’d be running rampant with emojis and selfies, blowing up my phone and whatnot.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You might be right. A dog seems a hell of a lot easier. Frankie’s certainly responsible enough for it.” Somehow, Frankie had turned out to be a bit of an animal whisperer. If she was reading, it was about animals, most assuredly. When she played pretend, it was as a veterinarian. And while Frankie wouldn’t yet know it, she may owe her impending puppy to Weston Jameson of all people. “Kevin tells me you’re engaged,” She added in, slyly attempting to redirect the conversation. “When are y’all planning on getting hitched?”

Kevin could feel the presence of Isla Jean’s attention on him, on Frankie, but distantly; enough so that he knew she was watching, but then again, of course she was. No matter how poorly she felt, her daughter came first. If he’d ever had any question on that front, ( and he hadn’t; he’d had it confirmed so many times already, ) the morning’s rather drastic example would have proved it to him all over again. Still, Kevin didn’t find himself distracted by her attention, offering Frankie a small smile, alongside the thermometer, when she’d finally made her choice. “Sure thing,” he told Frankie, content to let Isla Jean offer the necessary direction. As soon as it beeped, he accepted it back, but not before quickly flashing the number Isla Jean’s way, feeling a smidgeon less worried than he had before.

He gave a soft chuckle at Isla Jean’s offer, telling her, “You’re up next, then.” First, though, he wanted to see Frankie get some fluids back in her, assuming she could stomach them. “I know it’s not the most exciting thing in the world, but you feel up to a few ice chips?” Kevin posed the question purely to Frankie, leaving the choice in her hands, though he knew better than to offer the pedialyte right off the bat, especially if she hadn’t had anything else since she’d been sick. Turning his attention back to Isla Jean, he assured her, “You joke, but this isn’t anywhere near high maintenance. Besides, you get to be a little demanding when you’re sick.”

When Isla Jean had fallen pregnant, she hadn’t been entirely sure how to process the entire ordeal. It wasn’t that she wasn’t thrilled — but she hadn’t been sure what motherhood would make of her, whether the test of her mettle would prove that she could be better than her own mother. But then, the baby was half Cal’s, half to share with him. And in that way, when Cal had left their lives so abruptly, it’d been a nightmare to recover from, to get Frankie to a place where she could be a happy, care-free child once more. Frankie had a hard time trusting new people, particularly men — the list was limited, her baseball coach, Nate, and Cyrus. So it was quite the spectacle, quite the surprise, really, to watch Frankie give Kevin the ability to even try to ingratiate himself, knowing the mental gymnastics that must be going on in her mind. 

Registering the number, Isla Jean’s suspicions were confirmed, which was not something that thrilled her. Frankie was obviously mulling over Kevin’s offer, which though bland still felt more appealing than nothing, so she nodded in a sullen sort of way, maybe playing into her ill feelings because she enjoyed the attention — though she wouldn’t admit it. “Is that so?” Isla Jean rolled her eyes, smile still on her lips. She might have made some quip about how demanding she could be, but Frankie was present. “Since you’re offering... I wouldn’t mind some saltines. And maybe a little chicken broth to go with them.” Isla Jean requested a bat of her lashes.

It wasn’t the most important thing in the moment, that snippet Kevin had overheard, but he knew, just the same, it was likely he and Isla Jean would talk about later. Probably when she was feeling better, but at least when Frankie wasn’t in the room with them. He couldn’t help but wonder what had led to Frankie’s inquiry, but it was a relief, just the same, to know he’d been making some small measure of progress with her. Kevin had half expected to bring up the tray and then go wait in the hall, or maybe downstairs, for the laundry, and anything else they might need. He would rather just be there, though, and it seemed maybe he could be.

He would not laugh. That’s what Kevin told himself, hearing Frankie’s probably purposefully crude descriptor. He had practice enough, after all, not encouraging shocking language with an amused reaction, but still, his lips twitched ever so slightly, before he forced his expression into something more neutral. Gravely, he told Frankie, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that in any case.” Thermometer in hand, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Let’s see if we can get a little more specific. You mind if I take your temp, or you want your mom to do it?” He awaited her reply patiently, fully prepared for her to chose Isla Jean.

-

Isla Jean was relieved that Kevin didn’t react — but then, he was a teacher. He was used to that sort of thing, even if not from Frankie. Still, she observed carefully how things were going over between the pair, how much rope Frankie would give Kevin before the slack ran out. ‘I can do it myself.’ Frankie concluded, but at the least, she did not snatch the thermometer away, instead holding her palm out to accept it from Kevin. “Do it right. Stick it under your tongue.” Isla Jean responded, though she had no objections to her daughter doing it herself, in theory.

“I’ll let you take mine.” Isla Jean offered to Kevin with a wink, as if it was some kind of consolation prize — and to keep the mood light. “I hope you’re ready to answer to our every beck and call, honey. I don’t know if you’ve failed to notice, but we’re a little high maintenance.” She continued to tease, as if to belay she was in better spirits just for having him there to stay. And, more than that, a relief that Frankie was okay with it. 

“I don’t know about this one, Frankie, it looks like a table primed for butt splinters,” Cyrus hemmed and hawed, the two somehow having started a game of finding something wrong with every table the other picked, and the reasons had ranged from reasonable to crazy.  “But I don’t think we have any other choice, it’s now or never, Kid.” he reasoned while motioning to her mother and another woman making their way over to them, arms laden with treats, only to get a dramatic sigh and agreement.  God he loved that kid, her sometimes dry sense of humor knocking him on his ass.  

His appreciation for the little spitfire that reminded him so much of her mother sometimes, was broken by something of a pickle.  He wouldn’t lie, there had been other times while out with Isla Jean and Frankie, that he had been mistaken for father and husband, and he had never really corrected them.  Mostly because he didn’t find it necessary, and it would be time consuming and awkward to do so to a person he’d never see again.  But with Frankie’s insistence of her surname that morning and the difficulties Isla Jean had been having with her, he knew how he answered was incredibly important.  “Ah, nah, unfortunately these two aren’t mine, I wasn’t that lucky.  Though I was lucky enough that these two lovely ladies decided to play hooky and come to the zoo with me, though.”  He looked to Isla Jean, hoping that he had struck a good enough of a balance, making sure that Frankie knew he wasn’t trying to trespass into incredibly delicate spot her father had left, but also letting it be known how much he cared for her and loved spending time with her.  Both of them, really.

-

Isla Jean regarded Cyrus as he spoke, glancing away once he’d said ‘I wasn’t that lucky’. Maybe there’d be a time, some moment, some window of opportunity. And while she felt she needed Cyrus, that the ways in which he contributed to hers and Frankie’s lives was integral and irreplaceable, she sometimes couldn’t help but wonder. It was all too easy, like puzzle pieces. So maybe that was why. She’d needed a friend back then, she’d needed a friend more than anything else. And at the rate that Frankie Mae had grown attached to Cyrus, there’d only been one logical course forward. That had been that. The book had been shut, and never lifted from the night stand again. Before Isla Jean could chime in, Frankie was speaking. ‘It beats sitting at the bed and breakfast all day!’ A content smile on her face, which was festooned with smeared ice cream as she happily dug into her sundae. 

“We’re the lucky ones.” Isla Jean fit in, a hand gliding over to pat Cyrus on the back. “Thanks again for your help, it was so lovely of you.” With goodbyes made, it was just the three of them at the table, Frankie nearly face-first into her ice cream, and Isla Jean looking at Cyrus with a soft glint in her eyes. “I never hazard a guess at what my life would look like without you in it, all I know is that it wouldn’t be half as sweet.” Of all the things that Cyrus Nilsen brought to the table, Isla Jean liked to think his heart was the best of them. Knowing that Isla Jean and Frankie were at a standstill, he’d volunteered himself to wade in, to try and mend fences where Isla Jean couldn’t. No man had loved them even half as much, not since Cal. “I don’t know what I’d do without you most days.”

Kevin took the fact that Isla Jean didn’t try to argue the point any further as a win, and contented himself with silent gratitude that she’d accept his help. He’d certainly never want her to make a big production of it, especially as sick as she had to be. “Noted,” he said of her answer, his lips quirking in what might’ve been a smile if the circumstances had been slightly different. Letting Isla Jean head after Frankie, Kevin took care of the trash can situation first, then headed down to the kitchen, and quickly washed his hands. He wasn’t in the least surprised to find that a tray was as easy to find as everything else on his little list. The pedialyte pop he left in the freezer for the moment, as he could hear the sound of a shower running. It was going to be a little longer than he’d expected before he could grab the laundry, it seemed. He was just grabbing a pair of spoons and some straws when the upstairs went quiet again, and he headed up to collect soiled sheets and pajamas. For good measure, he grabbed the towels too, and, after he’d washed his hands again, set a reminder on his phone to change over the loads.

Then he went to fetch the pedialyte pop, ice chips, and rest of the assembled tray, hopeful that Isla Jean and Frankie would both be settled when he finally made it back. Instead, he could see Isla Jean’s silhouette in the doorway, and he shook his head. Of course she was waiting for him to get back before she let herself rest. He could also hear the soft sound of voices, indistinct until he heard Frankie ask, Is he going to stay? And he had to stop, to take a breath. She was asking about him, she had to be. Kevin took another few breaths, in for four counts, hold for four, out for four, and then hold for four more. Should he be eavesdropping? Probably not, but it was worth it to hear that Good. He took another moment, then continued towards Isla Jean’s door. Gently, he nudged her shoulder with his as he came in. Drawing her attention, her gaze, if only for a moment, a hundred things he couldn’t say just then in his eyes. And then he set the tray down on Isla Jean’s dresser, and turned his attention to Frankie. “Hey Frankie Mae, how’re you feeling?”

-

In the moment she’d been talking to Frankie, Isla Jean had no concept of where Kevin was in the house. As he heard his footsteps creaking ever closer, she wondered just how much he’d overheard, but the look in his eyes as he passed told that perhaps that he’d heard quite a bit of it. She gave Kevin a soft look, remaining by the doorway as he went over to Frankie. Her daughter wasn’t yet dozing, it was far more likely she was sitting, dwelling on her own poor luck for being sick, wallowing in her warranted misery. Frankie was a trooper, had always been from the very first time she’d caught a bug. She was like Isla Jean in that regard — she kept on chugging along. But it was nice, in those moments, to feel so utterly indispensable to Frankie. As she grew up, those moments felt fewer and fewer. And selfishly, Isla Jean relished them. ‘Like dog crap.’ Frankie replied, raised brows and pointed gaze sent in Kevin’s direction. 

“Frankie Mae.” Isla Jean scolded with a knit brow. “I don’t care if that’s how you really feel. Language.” Though, Isla Jean could attest, that was a fairly accurate description. Frankie Mae let out a perfunctory sigh, giving Kevin the sort of knowing look that assumed some sort of commiseration over Isla Jean. “Kevin was nice enough to bring some fixin’s up for you.” Isla Jean added after a beat, finally making her way over to her side of the bed, relinquishing and climbing in beside her daughter. God, it felt nice, to get off of her feet. She hadn’t realized just how exhausting it was to simply stand up straight. 

There was no doubt in Kevin’s mind that if Isla Jean really wanted for him to leave, she’d manage just fine. It wouldn’t be fun, but she’d take care of Frankie, and herself, and it would all turn okay. It wouldn’t be any more fun if he stayed, but he could make it easier. He hoped he could make it easier, at least. He hoped that she’d let him make it easier. For all he understood, and respected, just how self-sufficient Isla Jean could be, he was the kind of person who went the extra mile for the people he cared about. The people he loved. He knew she’d never take advantage of that, that she’d never let him burn himself out to make things easier for her. Still, he wanted to do what he could, and even though he wished that his Saturday morning had started at least a few hours later and involved less vomit, he was almost relieved to hear Isla Jean’s acquiescence. “Alright,” he echoed with a nod. He honestly hadn’t known what to expect as he stood there, awaiting her verdict, but her trust in him was something precious.

He took silent mental notes as Isla Jean ran through her mental checklist, comparing to long ago memories when he’d been a child and sick with a stomach flu. There had been no pedialyte popsicles then; it was one innovation he could say was definitely for the better. “You go help her, but don’t strip the bed. I’ll take care of that,” he corrected her gently. “After I bring up a tray. Ice chips, ginger ale, an orange pedialyte popsicle, thermometer … and do you have a designated sick—” he hesitated, unsure of a delicate way to phrase the question when she was so obviously unwell, too. He didn’t know just how sick she felt, but that sigh had been a weighty thing. Still, this was an important practicality; he hardly imagined she wanted to rely on the trashcan in the corner of her bedroom. “Good news is,” he added softly, “I’ve got you. Just worry about getting Frankie into clean PJ’s and back here.”

-

Isla Jean didn’t hail from weak stock — it had surely taken a freight train of an illness to knock her over, and yet she was resilient enough to stand on her own two feet, determined to see that all was well and Frankie was taken care of before she could possibly consider resting herself. Even now, it was difficult to unclench, to let Kevin take the reins, even when she was reasonable enough to acknowledge that his help would make life instrumentally easier. She wasn’t meek, couldn’t acquiesce so simply. She’d leave the sheets be, let him clean up as he was insisting, but she couldn’t relent, at least not verbally. “Any garbage can will do. We’re not fussy.” She might have laughed if she thought it wouldn’t make her dizzy, so Isla Jean left it at that, soft smile in Kevin’s direction before she made her way for Frankie. 

It was a concerted effort, getting Frankie hosed off in the shower and changed into fresh pajamas, collecting another pair just in case she didn’t make it to the trash can the next time she felt sick. Frankie was all too happy to climb into Isla Jean’s bed, fading into the blanket and pillows with a relieved sigh. Isla Jean, however, lingered by the door, waiting still for Kevin to reappear, wanting to be sure he had the lay of the land. ‘Where’s Kevin?’ Frankie sounded from the bed, much to Isla Jean’s surprise. “He’s just grabbing some things.” She might have sounded surprised if she didn’t feel so exhausted, her body all to happily leaning into the doorway for support. ‘Is he going to stay?’ Frankie inquired next, invisible amidst the sheets. “Yeah, baby. He’s stayin’.” Isla Jean replied, holding her breath as she awaited Frankie’s reply. ‘Good.’ Was all the seven year old retorted with before the sound of shifting could be heard, Frankie clearly settling herself in.

There was a note in Isla Jean’s voice that surprised Kevin, and he sat all the way up as she did, though a trifle less urgently. He’d heard Isla Jean in any number of moods since he’d met her that spring. He’d even heard her worried about Frankie, though not quite like this. But it wasn’t concern, ( though she obviously was) and it wasn’t just-woke-up roughness ( though there was a hint of that, too,) he heard in her voice. Kevin felt his pulse kick it up a notch as the warmth of Isla Jean’s touch ( that he’d dismissed as the result of a cozy bed when he first woke, ) the depth of her tiredness, suddenly told a very different story to the assumptions he’d made. Hastily, he leaned over, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling it on. He’d been concerned about Frankie, of course; he’d never known her to wake up like this in the night. Now, however, he was worried about Isla Jean, too, and so he did as she asked, sat there silently while Isla checked Frankie’s temperature, while Frankie delivered her not entirely surprising news, while Isla Jean sent her on ahead.

Kevin was watching Isla closely, though, so he saw just how long it took her to stand. He knew, even before she hinted as much, that whatever Frankie had, Isla Jean did, too. If there was a bug going around, he would’ve gotten a double dose of exposure: between his job and Isla herself, he knew the damage had already been done. He took a brief inventory before she spoke, but he felt fine. Maybe it was coming for him still, in a few hours, or tomorrow, or maybe … Kevin shook his head at her suggestion. “Me getting out of here isn’t gonna change whether I get sick or not.” He’d always had a good immune system, and been sick with the flu or a cold only a handful of times in his life, and not once in the past decade. “If you want me to go, I’ll go, but if not … I can change Frankie’s sheets and run a few loads of laundry. Go grab ginger ale and whatever else you don’t have on hand, if you want.” He could help, without threatening Frankie’s boundaries. He got up, then, and pulled his joggers on. Staying or going, he couldn’t walk around in a t-shirt and his boxer-briefs. Suitably attired ( for the moment, anyway, ) he crossed over to where Isla Jean stood. “I don’t want to leave you two sick.”

-

To say that Isla Jean was independent would be an understatement. And she knew, in large part, parts of her life had been somewhat impenetrable by Kevin up until this point. She knew that she could handle this, could get through the grueling hours of being sick while taking care of her sick child, and life would march on as it always did. And in fact, she almost doubled down, wanted to, for a moment at least, insist that he go, save himself from the mayhem that was bound to ensue. But watching him spring into action, she couldn’t bring herself to muster the words, and found that in a moment, they’d disappeared completely. When was the last time she’d been taken care of? She couldn’t recall the occasion. 

“Alright then.” She concluded with a bit of relief edging its way into her tone, grateful for the help. “There’s ginger ale in the pantry, and saltines... Pedialyte, too. Actually —” Isla Jean was running lists over in her head, woe to still be upright, but unable to let herself relax until things were in order. “There’s those pedialyte popsicles, in the freezer. She might want one of those. And the medicine cabinet has practically anything else I could think of.” Minus a plague mask, she’d wanted to add, but saved herself from making the joke, too weak-feeling to mince words. “I’ll go help her and strip the bed, and you can just take everything down to the laundry room.” Pausing, Isla Jean let out a miserable-sounding sigh, non-plussed by the arrival of this stomach flu. “And then I’ll just shut up and let you take care of us.”

“Is ‘oh hush’ a Southern thing for ‘Okay fine you’re right, Cyrus’, because that’s what it sounded like to me,” Cyrus started, his eyes shooting up, brows raising, in an effort to look at Frankie, “You speak Southern Mom, is my translation right?” he asked, only hearing a response of giggles.  “But you’re right, my apologies, Madame King,” Cyrus corrected himself with an exaggerated and affected accent, and something resembling as much of a bow he could manage with the girl on his shoulders.  

Isla Jean had mentioned in many of their get togethers over glasses of wine and bottles of beer the trouble she and Frankie had been having over Cal.  Cyrus wished he knew what to say, what to do to help, even if it wasn’t his place to do so.  Frankie was smart as a whip, and he hoped that her anger towards her mother was something that as she grew emotionally, she’d grow out of and come to understand her mother’s actions.  But other than offering that platitude, which while he hoped was the truth, he had no way of making sure it was so, Cyrus had nothing to give his friend other than an ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on.  

“I thought you knew,” His eyes widened, still playing it up for Frankie, “I have a King/Elkins lady spider sense.  It tingles when I know you all need something.  Today it was only a little one.  In my toes.  So I knew a red panda viewing was necessary.” He pushed against Isla Jean a bit, an approximation of a nudge with her arm wrapped up in his. 

-

“Bless your heart.” Isla Jean replied with a dim smile, a wink shot Cyrus’s way. “She speaks it, alright. But I think she has selective hearing loss when it comes to listening sometimes.” She replied, her and Frankie exchanging a look, her daughter’s smile not yet fading. So, at least she’d found her mother remotely funny, if only for a nanosecond. Isla Jean would consider that a win.  “Why don’t you leave the twang to the folks who can handle it, sweetheart.” She soothed, a pat landing on Cyrus’s arm. 

Cyrus surely must have had a spider sense when it came to Isla Jean and Frankie, that much felt strangely true to the woman. No man had ever known her the way he had, no one had connected with Frankie like Cyrus had (since the loss of Cal, anyway). When she looked at Cyrus, Isla Jean saw the other half of herself in some ways. “I know to never second guess you. I learned that the hard way when you ended up fixing my very broken garbage disposal.” There had been many mishaps over the years she’d been in Eureka, but somehow, Cyrus had been her knight in shining armor when it came to remedying her many struggles along the way. It certainly took a village, and Isla Jean was glad to count Cyrus among hers. 

... After a few hours spend meandering around, Isla Jean had elected to wait for their sodas and ice cream while Cyrus and Frankie laid claim to a picnic table. She glanced over at the pair, giving them a small wave of recognition as they gathered her attention, signaling where they’d landed. While she fully trusted Cyrus could wrangle their large order to the table, Isla Jean was quite adept when it came to such things, and there seemed to be a degree less risk involved because of that. Although, without a tray she was one hand short, when a bystander stepped in. ‘Can I help you with that?’ They inquired with a friendly smile, to which Isla Jean nodded and gestured towards Cyrus and Frankie with an elbow. “Thank you so much. We’re just headed over there.” As they weaved through the tables, Isla Jean would deposit her end of the order onto the table, turning then to grab the last ice cream from the good samaritan. “You’re a lifesaver, really, thank you.” The woman waved a dismissive hand, clearly happy to have been able to help. ‘Not a problem. I hope the three of you are enjoying your day. My husband and I love to bring our kids, too.’ She added, gesturing towards her own brood.

Isla Jean paused, prepared to offer the distinction that they weren’t a couple, but paused, looking then to Cyrus to chime in.

“Lead with that,” Kevin advised with a soft chuckle. He had a feeling Jade would take such a compliment well; but really, he knew that Isla Jean needed no help from him when it came to winning over his friends. Especially as she went on; Isla Jean wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know about his friends, but something about hearing her insight in such a clear-cut way made him feel very loved. “I got very lucky with them,” he said simply. “And with you.” He  lifted a hand to the one she had brushed against his cheek, wrapping his fingers around hers and holding it in place, there, for a moment. “I know you do. But let’s start with just Wes and Jade. Next time …” he trailed off, giving Isla Jean the space to explain a bit. It was an explanation he appreciated, if only because it gave a tiny drop of context to so many things he’d learned and observed about her since they’d met, especially since  it was rare that she talked about her family beyond Frankie. “I’m sure you can win them over before dinner, but I hear you. And thank you. For explaining.”

The abrupt change in topic may have been an exercise in subtlety, but it was easy enough for Kevin to read between the lines. “Hm, would you look at that.” He made a show of glancing at his watch and checking the time. “I think you’re right, it’s bedtime.” Not to sleep, though, at least not yet. “Oh, I’m interested,” Kevin assured her. His hand still in hers, he stood, and then it was his turn to look down at her. “I’m very interested in everything to do with you and your bed.” There was still a little wine at the bottom of his glass but he didn’t bother finishing it, instead pressing it into her hand. “If you want to take care of these, I can go grab my shoes,” lest Frankie spot them, and also just in case he needed to make a speedy exit. “And then you can show me all the things you like about this new bed set.” Maybe they’d even get some sleep later on, but for the moment, Kevin cared only about the gleam in Isla Jean’s eyes and just how quickly they could get upstairs and start breaking in those new sheets.

Weston let out a soft chuckle when Isla Jean said she only knew Kevin a little. It was a bout of sarcasm he could appreciate, after all, Kevin had spoken so highly of her and it was nice to know that in addition to all those nice qualities she was also quite funny. Reaching out, Weston gave her hand a firm shake and a smile to match, “ I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Besides, I think the introduction is a little overdue in my opinion,” Truth be told, Weston had been meaning to schedule some sort of dinner or drinks situation between himself and Jade and Kevin and Isla Jean but the timing hadn’t been the most favorable lately. “Oh it’s definitely an understatement but if I spout anything more than that his ego might get out of control,” Weston joked with a chuckle. As she went on and brought up the past election, Weston couldn’t help the amused expression that found its way to his features, “Hey, i don’t take offense at all. If you voted for him purely on his policies then I’d be a little offended, besides, I know Sara and she’s a wonderful person. Didn’t hold it against her, definitely not gonna hold it against you.”

Checking his phone for his father’s text, Weston soon returned his attention to his present company, “Sorry, my pops isn’t really a fan of technology. Getting him to text me back is kind of like a miracle.” Thankfully, his father said he’d be down in a few minutes which meant Weston had some time to get to know Isla Jean a little better. “So Kevin’s pretty much sang your praises. Why don’t you tell me something I probably don’t know already.”

-

“Overdue? Did you think Kevin was hiding me away?” Isla Jean joked with a smile. “I’m afraid I’m just awfully busy here, and with my daughter… It’s quite the task for the man to track me down for himself, let alone his friends.” She was certain Weston knew of the intricacies of Isla Jean’s life from Kevin — she was cautious when it came to introducing him to her daughter, but once that had happened, Isla Jean wanted to integrate their lives further. “Well you know Kevin well enough to know that man could use an ego, actually!” She shook her head, a soft laugh parting from her lips. “He really is just a completely fabulous man. I could gush, but then my employees might never let me hear the end of it.” Isla Jean shook her head, rolling her eyes as Weston teased her regarding Wyatt. “Well, I’d like for the father of Sara’s children to stay gainfully employed, but beyond that, I’ve never paid much attention to his politics. I can say I’m quite pleased with everything you’ve been up to. I just wish I had more time to go to the some council meetings and get a little more involved.” Isla Jean had grown up in a family where politics was king, though her own beliefs differed quite greatly from her parents and close friends.

Isla Jean observed Weston as he checked his phone, not particularly offended a man with his credentials might need to be somewhat glued to it. Her heart warmed at the mention that it was for his father. “And how am I supposed to know what praises he’s already sung? This is quite the task.” Isla Jean found that very quickly, she liked Weston. He was charming, and despite being a politician, was incredibly authentic. “Well you know I own this place, obviously. And it’s quite the career, but my real joy in life is being a mother to my daughter.” She knew that Kevin was discreet enough not to share the intricacies of her complicated relationship with Frankie, but it wasn’t an understatement to say that Isla Jean was a deeply dedicated parent. “So if you’re going to ask me to talk about myself, I might as well talk about her.” That was the truth of it — Frankie was a part of Isla Jean, the most important part. She never really thought of herself, beyond taking good care of herself so that Frankie could at least depend upon Isla Jean’s presence in her life. “She’s in the first grade, spends most of her time with her goats and chickens. Keeps begging me for a dog. And when I tell you that I’m not the type of Southern woman who enjoys getting down in the mud, I’m not. I prefer my sweet tea and pearls much more.”

nataliedawson​:

Natalie had always been a bit of a loner, so to be in the company of other woman, especially now, was a welcome reprieve from the norm. Most of the time, she sat back and watched Isla Jean and Naomi carry on, interested more in the happenings of their lives than her own, fascinated to see how they managed to balance everything. She was not interested in deviating from that norm tonight, and, as she brought her wine glass back toward her, careful not to spill any of Isla Jean’s generous pour, she shook her head. “Grilling one another, huh?” She smirked, bemused by the way Isla Jean’s face lit up at the prospect of gossip, then took a sip of her wine while she plucked a cheese square from the charcuterie board she’d brought. She’d never been particularly adept at girl talk, but she was feeling a bit less restrained with the help of their bottle(s) of wine, and it helped to oil the machination of her mind in a way that made everything seem a bit easier. She rested back into the couch. “Please, regale me with your romantic exploits. I’m going to live vicariously through the two of you.”

@naomitheestallion​

It was the first time since she was in school that Naomi felt she had an actual group of friends, and she reveled in it. How lucky, she thought, that her daughters got along so well with Frankie, that she and Isla Jean could simply bring their two families together to spend time instead of trying to navigate babysitting and scheduling and so on. And in Natalie, Naomi found someone she could be more than just a mother with, like her old self was returning slowly but surely. She smiled into her own wine glass as her two friends began to tease. “I’m not so sure you want to live vicariously through me,” she replied, bringing up her legs to cross underneath her. “Unless  you would like to have the conversation about why we are not getting a dog for the fifteenth time this week.” After ending things with Isaac, Naomi had been trying to embrace the discomfort of being completely solo, with limited success. “What I am interested in is Isla Jean and Kevin. Feel free to spare no detail,” she encouraged, tipping her glass toward the younger woman. 

@isla-jean​

Isla Jean regarded Natalie with a healthy amount of disbelief, only because she hoped for the sake of her friend that some attempt, however unfruitful, might have been made in attempt to get over her ex-husband. She didn’t have many details beyond the fact that Natalie was newly divorced, and Isla Jean didn’t pry. It was a hell of a thing to walk away when your heart was still so full. If Isla Jean had been even remotely as brave, she might have done the same thing. When Naomi spoke, Isla Jean let out an exasperated gasp, completely in disbelief. “You know what, I don’t believe that. I know what that dishy little rabbi looks like, now. And holy shit, Noems. He’s certainly nice to look at. Are you sure you can’t just, you know —“ She gesticulated idly. “Kevin comes over if Frankie’s at your place for the night, or if she’s already in bed. I’m sure you could get creative if you wanted to.” She added with a wink and a grin. “Oh, come on. What details? He’s — we’re —“ Isla Jean struggled to find the right words. “I refuse to call him my ‘boyfriend’, and he’s only allowed to call me his girlfriend if I’m not around to hear it. I’m a widow, I can’t stand that juvenile crap anymore. It just doesn’t do it all justice.” Once again, she waved dismissively. “He’s as sweet as can be. Sweet on me, sweet about Frankie and everything. And, you know…” Isla Jean shrugged her shoulders, faint blush in her cheeks. “Kevin’s… Good.”

“I kinda don’t think Jade would forget something like that, and much as I hate to admit it …” Kevin shook his head, smiling a little at his friend’s apparent efforts, “Making her presence known is a very Jade thing.” He took it as a very good sign that Isla Jean could intuit that much about Jade, and that she appreciated those quirks she’d encountered thus far. He had no doubt that Isla Jean would win over Weston, and in turn, Jade, without too much effort. Maybe even Isaac, down the line. He wanted it to be just as smooth for Isla Jean, though, and it wasn’t because he thought poorly of his friends ( he wouldn’t have been friends with them, even after so long, if that were so, ) but because he could appreciate how hard it was to try to find your particular place in a group that predated your joining. Whether the group in question was a team or circle of friends, the principle was the same. He grinned as Isla Jean reaffirmed her offer; that love was one of the first things he’d learned about her, he thought, and he hadn’t forgotten, but he was glad that she seemed just as excited as he was by the prospect. “You want me to rope a few more into this, really make it a crowd?” he teased affectionately.

“Yes, really,” Kevin confirmed with a soft smile. He felt Isla Jean draw back, and small though the distance was, it was all the reminder he needed to keep from seeking yet another kiss just then. Frankie might be in bed, asleep, but Isla Jean’s living room wasn’t the right place to start carrying on, especially now he knew what a risk there was of a tiny eavesdropper. “That’s lovely to hear,” he told her, his voice just as soft. There were so many things he could’ve added; that he adored her, too; that he more than adored her, really, when it came down to it. But that would’ve been too much, and besides, he was fairly certain his feelings were obvious whenever he looked at Isla Jean. As for her keeping him around, “You’d better. This—you—spending time with you makes me so happy.”

-

“Well I can respect that in a woman.” Isla Jean stated with a grin. “More than that, I admire it in a friend. And I like that you have nosy, maybe even pushy friends. It means that they love you, and they care enough to make sure I’m up to the task.” Not that Isla Jean doubted she was — she had a fairly good opinion of herself and knew what she brought to the table. “Don’t tease, I love hosting.” Isla Jean assured with an affectionate hand grazing his cheek. “I wasn’t really raised in an old fashion home, in that regard. We had a housekeeper, I was raised by my nanny. I don’t think my mother had a homemaking bone in her body. But somehow, I just always had this intense attraction to hospitality. Not like June Cleaver, or anything like that… But restaurants, hotels, that sort of thing. The bed and breakfast was sort of kismet, in a way. I get to do what I really enjoy when I’m there.” Isla Jean was passionate about her work, took pride in the quality of service she rendered for her customers. “So bring on the masses of your adoring friends. I’m sure I can win them all over by dessert.”

Letting out a soft, contented breath, Isla Jean slipped her hand into Kevin’s. “That’s music to my ears.” She reassured with a wink sent in Kevin’s direction. “Now, I don’t know about you… But I think it’s getting pretty late.” Isla Jean let the suggestion land softly, beginning to gather herself up now that her wine glass was empty. “And I’ve been meaning to show you my new bed set. Linen! It’s all the rage, apparently. And I thought you might be curious.” Shifting to stand, Isla Jean looked down at Kevin with a toothy grin and a shrug. “But if you’re not interested… Well that’s another issue entirely.”

The rabbi had a famous sweet tooth, one he’d inherited from his father. He’d spent his childhood sneaking sweets with Levi, much to Eliana’s chagrin. Noah was with his parents, which meant that Isaac could indulge himself without having to include his son, which to an outsider may look selfish, but for a single parent, Isaac rarely experienced moments of selfishness. So if a solo trip to the ice cream parlor was the most selfish thing the rabbi did as of late, then he wasn’t too morally bankrupt of a person. He knew his order before he’d arrived, standing patiently behind the mother and daughter in-line before him. He caught the woman looking at him, and on the second occasion she did so, Isaac met her gaze, curious as to what the outcome might be.

“Ah.” He immediately offered a warm smile, his hand reaching out to shake hers readily. “I wondered when we’d get such an occasion as to meet, but I thought Kevin might have had a bit more say over it.” Certainly Kevin was inclined to facilitate introducing his girlfriend to his friends and family on his own terms. But, at the end of the day Eureka was a small town in many ways. “It’s a pleasure, really. That must be… Frankie, yes?” The rabbi’s gaze flickered towards the young girl. “You’re better than me. I came here knowing my son was with his grandparents.”

-

Isla Jean wasn’t as concerned about the status of Isaac and Kevin’s relationship as she was curious. While meeting Weston and Jade was on the docket, Kevin had brought up Isaac much after she’d been the one to tell him that Isaac and Naomi had broken up. But true to Kevin and Naomi’s descriptions of him, the rabbi seemed a very amiable and approachable man. She was certain, considering how well she knew both Kevin and Naomi, that they wouldn’t keep company with anyone less seemingly stellar. Isla Jean was impressed by the firmness of his handshake, appreciating the warmth in his demeanor and tone. She was certainly excited to hopefully get to know Isaac better, and more than that, meddle a little in he and Kevin hopefully spending more time together in the future. Not that she felt particularly apt to share Kevin more than she had to, considering their window of time to spend with one another was limited to times she could get a babysitter or after Frankie had gone to bed. “Yes, it is.” She agreed, a glance towards her daughter acknowledging the secondary meeting. “Well, she got awfully good marks this period, so I thought she was owed the reward.” Isla Jean remarked as she looked back to Isaac.

“Now your boy is a few years younger, isn’t that right?” What she knew of Noah came more from Naomi, who was completely taken with the little boy. Isla Jean might have liked to have had a boy of her own at some point, had life worked out that way. Not that Isla Jean had ruled out having more children in the future, but at the moment, life was good enough to just take it moment by moment and not get ahead of herself. “Kevin’s — well. I think he’s working on coordinating all that, actually. I told him I’d be happy to play hostess to whomever he’d like me to meet. I love to cook, so a crowd is perfect.” She said with a satisfied smile. Watching Isaac, the woman wondered if bluntness would be appropriate, as she always considered honesty to be the best policy. And inevitably, her intrusive thoughts won. “I don’t want things to be awkward, just because Naomi is my best friend. I’d like to think that doesn’t mean you and I can get on. I know for a fact she wouldn’t like that. And I’m sure you can agree, Kevin might appreciate it if we could all be social. Plus, I like to think I’m a pretty likable gal. I do work in hospitality, after all.”

With Frankie’s marking period grades in, Isla Jean elected to take her daughter out for ice cream as a reward for her good marks. In respect to Frankie’s school work, Isla Jean had never had to ask her daughter to do her homework. She always offered help, and sometimes Frankie accepted, but typically, she was a self-starter, trying to troubleshoot her own issues before coming to Isla Jean. In that way, they two were alike. Frankie was in her own world in that moment, contemplating all the toppings she’d get as she waited for the ice cream to be scooped, a few steps away from her mother now. 

Isla Jean was staring at the case, not quite as focused, when the door to the parlor chimed, a new customer entering. She turned her head, only offering a glance before returning her focus, but just the millisecond of attention got the wheels churning in her brain, and Isla Jean hazarded another glance back. He was tall, taller perhaps than Isla Jean expected him to be, a yarmulke attached to the dome of his head, turtleneck awfully formfitting to what Isla Jean could only imagine was a fine physique. God, good for Naomi. Well. Not anymore. But he certainly was as dishy as Isla Jean had heard about, the soft and broody rabbi standing in line for ice cream looking just as Isla Jean had imagined him, and from the photo or two she’d been offered for context. 

“I’m sorry to be so nosy —” Isla Jean wasn’t at all, actually. She loved being nosy. “But you’re Isaac, aren’t you? I’m —” She offered a hand. “I’m Isla Jean. Kevin’s —” She paused, rethinking the statement. “I go with Kevin.”

One of the perks of having a large yard was the ability to set up tents and let Frankie and Naomi’s girls camp out under the stars while still in close proximity. But more than that, it enabled Isla Jean, Naomi, and the addition of Natalie, Isla Jean was happy to have a night with Frankie happily preoccupied and with her friends and Isla Jean able to simply relax. She hadn’t glanced at her phone since the girls had come over, but was certain Kevin was surviving an evening without her all the same. Finishing her task of grabbing another bottle of rosé from the fridge, Isla Jean made her way back for the living room where the other two women were situated, snapping off the twist-cap to tend to everyone’s glasses.

“I don’t hear any more giggling, so I’d say those gremlins are passed out right about now.” She stated with a smile as the wine sloshed into Natalie’s glass, and then Naomi’s. “Which also means it’s the safest it’s ever been to start grilling one another.”