Fray and Leland are seated at a two-top inside where Fray immediately detects the scent of Frayed Edge Classic Black. This comes as no surprise because it was his New England sales manager who gave him the name of this place.
A server with a dark ponytail and freckles—her name tag says SARAH—comes over, holding the signature Frayed Edge silver pot, and says, “Coffee?”
“Please,” Fray says, nudging the chunky ceramic mug forward.
“I’ll have tea,” Leland says. “Herbal, if you have it.”
“Right away,” Sarah says. She pours Fray’s coffee and, despite the steam, Fray can’t get it to his mouth fast enough. He looks at Leland. “You’re on a date with me and you’re ordering tea? Herbal tea?”
Leland laughs. “I did it just for that reaction.”
“Excuse me!” Fray calls out. “My beautiful friend here will have coffee as well. This is Frayed Edge, right?”
“That’s all we serve,” Sarah says. She takes a second look at Fray and he watches recognition cross her face. “Oh my God, you’re…”
Leland hoots. “Do you get recognized everywhere you go?”
Sarah pours Leland’s coffee and lowers her voice. “Someone called us yesterday to say you might be coming in. They wanted to make sure we had the signature pots and all the signage.”
“It looks great,” Fray says.
Sarah turns her attention to Leland. “Oh!” she says. “You’re the woman from the New York Post!”
“I don’t work at the Post,” Leland says. “I’m Leland Gladstone of Leland’s Letter?”
Fray gets a sinking feeling. The Post is folded in half on the bench next to him. “We’ll be ready to order in just a minute,” he says.
Fray finishes his first cup of coffee and decides to distract Leland with another topic they’ve been avoiding—their parents. Twenty-five years earlier, Steve Gladstone and Fray’s mother, Sloane, had an affair. Steve ended up leaving Geri Gladstone and marrying Sloane. Fray speaks to his mother sporadically but he hasn’t seen her and Steve in a few years. He gathers that Leland keeps contact to a minimum as well; she aligned herself staunchly with Geri.
He reaches for Leland’s hand. “How funny would it be if we called Steve and Sloane on the way home and told them we’re back together?”
“I’m trying to forget the unfortunate fact that we’re actually step-siblings,” Leland says. At that instant, Leland’s phone pings and she checks the text. “It’s my mother. She…I kid you not, just look at this…she says, ‘Are you with Frazier Dooley?’” Leland holds up the screen of her phone. “Tell me that’s not spooky.”
Sarah shows up with the silver pot and refills both their cups. Fray is starting to sweat.
“We’re ready to order,” he says. “I’ll have the panko eggs Benedict.”
“And I’ll have the bananas Foster French toast,” Leland says.
Sarah leaves and Fray feels his phone buzz again. DEAD TO ME. He declines the call and sighs. “I got the Post for a reason. I think there might be something about me on Page Six.”
“Eeeeeeee!” Leland says. “Let’s look together, come on.” She slides around to his side of the table, picks up the Post, and slaps it down in front of him. “You do the honors.”
Fray stares at the paper. What is he going to find? He tries to remember if he heard any drones during the night.
“Or I can?” Leland says.
“No, I’ll do it.” He opens the paper to Page Six—and there is a photograph of Fray and Leland kissing outside the Nantucket airport. The headline reads: “Frazier Dooley’s Tony Island Getaway with Feminist Icon Leland Gladstone.”
To her credit, Leland doesn’t shriek or scream, but when she pulls her reading glasses out of her purse, he notices her hands are shaking.
“‘Coffee mogul Frazier Dooley greets paramour Leland Gladstone outside Nantucket Memorial Airport. The couple were then whisked away by a private vehicle.’”
Leland turns to Fray and all he can think is how sexy she looks in her glasses, like a naughty librarian. “That’s why our server said I was from the Post,” she whispers. “And that’s why my mother texted. They’ve already seen this.”
Everyone reads the Post, he thinks. But only the brave admit it. He can’t gage where Leland is going to land on this. He’s pretty sure her brand depends on her sexual identity, which is…well, whatever it is, it’s probably not compatible with a weekend rendezvous on the arm of a white male billionaire.