How to love

thirteen: Propositions.

Frankie's point of view:

"I would love to buy him a new one for Christmas, but the funds just aren't allowing it." Flo sighs. I toss my bag by my feet on the old wooden floors of the crooked little coffee shop, shivering as I pick up the warm cup of tea and let the steam warm my lips. "He loves that bike, it'll kill him if he needs to get rid of it and the way he was talking to Paul yesterday, that's what it looks like. Steve says that the gasket can't be fixed."

I frown. "There's nothing that can be done?"

"Nothing, we've checked." She replies, softly sighing. "The guys at the club want to help get him a new one but dad would go insane, he would think they're seeing him as a charity case now."

That's where I obviously take my stubbornness from.

"I mean, I can ask Jason and David to give me some extra loads in work. I'll start working late nights. I'll even take on Saturdays, Sundays if I need too." I tell her, emptying a sachet of sugar and swirling it with a spoon. "Just try and find out what his bike is, or if he wants a newer model. Obviously don't tell him that I'm paying for it -"

"Frankie, no." Flo interrupts loudly. "You're now overworking yourself. No, I won't allow it. Paul and I have savings-"

Now I interrupted her. "You're not touching your savings. They are for Viv. Let me handle it Flo, I promise, I'll be fine. Trust me." Vivian's little cry was heard in the background and I smile. "Go see what she wants. I'll call you later."

"Please Frank, don't go crazy."

"Where's the fun in being normal?" I joke. Bidding her goodbye, I set the phone down and fish the notepad from my bag. My Christmas list had begun even if it was only the beginning of November. I wanted to be organise this year unlike last when I was caught in the rush of Christmas Eve panic and hour long queues.

Dad, Flo, Vivian, Paul..

Jason.

His name was wrote across the line before I could think, with a question mark hovering beside it. I tap the end of the pen against my lips letting battle in my mind of whether or not to score his name out or leave it and but him a small token.

Token.

As my scribbles absentmindedly across the line below, a tap startles me from the window. With wide eyes, I hug the notepad to my pounding chest. He enters, the ding above his head and the laugh leaving his lips.

"Jason!" I shriek, my hand still over my vast beating heart. He grins cheekily, lowering himself to the rugged armchair facing me. "You don't do that on people! Jesus."

"What's that?" He beams, lifting his chin to try and peak at the book on my lap. I snatch it back to my chest, narrowing my eyes and watching his grin spread further. He sunk back and poked his tongue out childishly.

"Okay who are you and what have you done with Mr Moody?"

"Mr Moody?"

Shit.

"Uh - nothing."

His bellowing laugh bounces through the empty cafe, just the waitress letting her eyes dance across to us. I dip my head, groaning and using my hair as a curtain to mask the embarrassment that crept across my cheeks.

"Is that my nickname in the office? Mr Moody?" He laughs, nose wrinkling and eyes creasing. "Who came up with that?"

"Please, you can't tell them I told you." I whine. "Everyone calls you Mr Moody, and David Mr Chrippy. Obvious reasons, of course."