STARFISH | Part One ⭐️

Summary: Star is content to spend time alone relaxing (and daydreaming about Frankie) after Little and Santi’s destination wedding. But toddler Rosie Morales ensures that’s not how the vacation goes…

Warnings: Language, adult themes, injury, mention of blood, (eventual smut).

A/N: Here we go, part one of the follow up to my Little mini series! Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!!

You dreamt of Frankie Morales when you went to sleep. The way his eyes fixed on you as you sang with Santi on the beach, his gaze warm and kind. How he had looked in his suit, and then how handsomely disheveled he became as the night wore on until he was rid of his tie, a few buttons undone, revealing the tan, hair-speckled chest beneath. How gently he’d held you as you danced together, as though he thought you were delicate and his large hands had to be extra careful.

The sunshine woke you late the morning after the wedding, golden rays filtering through the California shutters you forgot to properly close in your haste to fall face-first into bed when the reception had wrapped up. You were naked, save for your underwear, and a quick pass of your hand over your face reminded you that you had managed to wash away the makeup before going to bed. When you finally rise from the luxurious sheets and pad to the en-suite bathroom, you see your pretty dress pooled on the floor, a set of false lashes next to it, and your heels kicked against the nearest wall.

It looked as though you had evaporated, and you laughed to yourself before freshening up. You took time to hang your dress, then changed into a comfortable lounge set. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a few minutes, eyes drawn to your chest.

You had promised yourself that this week was a vacation, where you were staying among friends, and that meant you didn’t need to wear your usual bras. You could get away with wearing this looser, insanely comfortable sports bra. But as you gazed at your reflection, you felt that twist of self-consciousness that always arrived just before you were to be around others. Your chest had been the biggest, in every sense, target for bullies growing up. And now as an adult woman, it was all the men seemed to find interesting about you.

Usually, once they stopped admiring your tits, they didn’t stick around much longer.

This was one of the many reasons that had brought Little and you close when you went to school together. She was beautiful, curvy and busty and unapologetic—you adored her confidence, her determination to ignore the ‘standards’ and just be herself. And she sensed your anxieties pretty quickly, promptly spending the formative four years of university encouraging you to love yourself, pulling you out of your comfort zone at times. And she was just there for you, supporting and loving you no matter what.

But her confidence only rubbed off so much, and while you looked at yourself now and saw a gorgeous figure, you still cared too much about what others thought when they looked at you. It was impossible to completely ignore the intrusive thoughts, especially when, time after time, men usually proved to be thinking exactly what you suspected them of. You had been ‘accidentally’ groped or brushed against too many times to count, which was why you had formed the habit of wearing constricting bras and avoiding low-cut shirts. You wanted to fully love yourself, but sometimes you thought it would just be easier to get a reduction and slink into the background.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard some laughter filter in from outside your open windows and promptly pushed away your concerns—it was vacation. You weren’t looking at a normal bra for seven more days.

Based on the direction of the laughter and voices, you guessed there was a larger group in the kitchen and dining room now. Santi had done a great job on securing this place because it came with everything—even a large staff dedicated to attending to all the guests’ needs. You had poured over the online brochure for the AirBnB during the flight to Hawaii, and know that there was a number you could text for room service. You found the number, already saved into your phone, and ordered a light breakfast and dark coffee. When it arrived, you happily wheeled the cute breakfast cart out onto your private balcony and relaxed with a podcast as you ate and watched the earlier risers settle in on the beach.

The balcony had dividers between it and the rooms on either side, but they didn’t fully extend so you could, in theory, walk next door. But Little, in all her match-making efforts, put your room right next to Frankie’s, stating it was ideal for the best man and maid of honour to be close to one another. And while she wasn’t technically, wrong, you still knew her well enough to know that wasn’t her primary motive.

She had sensed the chemistry between you and her friend straight away, but you denied it at first. You’d almost walked into a wall when you had first seen him at the wedding of a mutual friend he, Santi and the Millers had also attended, but you knew immediately who he was and that he was certainly not going to be interested in a much younger woman. He had a kid, for fuck’s sakes. But the more you got to know Frankie, the harder it became to deny that there was something there between you. And the harder you had fallen.

It hadn’t helped that, for the last six or so months, you’d been helping her plan her wedding. Which meant that you and Frankie saw a lot of one another. Eventually, you had started texting on the regular—always about the wedding, even if sometimes it evolved into sending memes back and forth or making jokes at your engaged friend’s expense. And you might have sent him a dozen-ish photos of your rescue pit bulls, Anna and Elsa, while he sent cute shots of Rosie being adorable.

You were friends, it was normal banter really. Even if every time he messaged you, a warm sensation would fill your belly it was entirely platonic.

You’re sipping on the final dregs of your coffee when Little appears below, holding a large mug in hand and appearing to be speaking. You pull your AirPods out and stand, catching her eye.

She grins up at you, “Morning, Star!”

“Oh, good morning Mrs. Garcia!”

She giggles at this, and Santi steps into view and spins to look up at you, his grin an extension of Little’s. You don’t miss the way his hand secures to her lower back. “That’s the first time today anyone has said that! I love the sound of it.”

Little rolls her eyes at her husband, then adds to you, “We’re going to relax at our little cabana on the beach, come join us whenever okay?” She gestures over her shoulder, where a small, mint-painted beach cabana sits among the spattering of shaded loungers.

“You’ll see me once I’ve had my second cup of coffee. I’m still recovering.”

Little and Santi laugh, send you friendly waves and make their way along the path, away from the concrete and grass surrounding the infinity pool and into the sand. You watch them with a small smile, your heart swelling with happiness at the sight. Little had been in love with Santa for a very long time, and when she’d called to tell you they had gotten together because she’d overheard him admitting his feelings over the phone—to Frankie, no less— you had been over the moon for them both. Helping her plan this wedding was one of the great honours you could have been given.

You contemplate the rest of your morning because in reality there is a lot to do. Or a great number of places to go ahead and do nothing, including a tranquillity room, movie theatre, onsite RMT, steam room, private beach, pool and hot tub—the list went on. It was paradise, and you were momentarily overwhelmed with all of the options laid out before you. You had to remind yourself that you had seven days left to enjoy this place, so you didn’t need to get all of your relaxing squished into one day. You decide to make your way down for another coffee, changing so that your bathing suit is on under your lounge set, the green of the suit peeking out from beneath your peach-coloured shirt and shorts. You pack a bag with the essentials, including a book, water bottle and sunglasses, and head for the kitchen.

You give your room a final once over, ensuring you haven’t left a big mess for the housekeeper. It is a beautiful room, filled with rattan furniture and live plants, soft white linens and orange accents throughout. The bathroom is open to the bedroom area, the only thing hidden behind a door was the toilet itself, so you could see the large soaker tub and tiled shower, and couldn’t wait to take advantage of both later that day.

As you wander downstairs, happy that you can’t hear any voices, you think of Anna and Elsa. This was the first trip you’d taken since rescuing them two years before, and though you trusted your veterinarian parents to care for them perfectly, you still ached for them and wished they could understand why you had left, that you’d be back before they knew it.

When your turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you barely take two steps before slamming into a wall. The wall grunts, hands shooting out to steady you as you reel back in surprise, and you look up to find a tousle-haired Frankie standing before you.

Oh, Christ. He looks good.

“Shit, sorry Frankie!”

He smiles at you shyly, a hand reaching to rub the back of his neck. “No worries. How are you?”

He still hasn’t taken a step back, though neither had you for that matter, and you catch his masculine scent now; an intoxicating blend of freshly mown grass and cedar. “I was worried that Rosie wouldn’t sleep well, being in a new place,” He replies, his smile widening, “But she’s taken to it fine, which means I’m sleeping well. So I’m great, how are you?”

You laugh, happy for him because, with all he had been through with his ex, you knew he deserved to relax more than anyone. You remember suddenly what you’re wearing and blanch because your figure is more accentuated in this outfit, but his eyes haven’t strayed from your face for even a beat. Whether he finds you attractive or not, you appreciate how Frankie was a true gentleman.

“I’m really good, thanks. Slept like the dead, now I’m going for another coffee to take down to the beach.”

“I’ll see you there in a little bit. My mom and Rosie are on the same nap schedule,” He lowers his voice teasingly, and you giggle. You try not to notice how his eyes brighten. “I’m just going to wake them up, and then I want to take Ro swimming.”

You nod, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you soon, in that case.” You part ways from him and resist turning to watch him make his way up the stairs. It wasn’t about checking him out; you just really liked looking at Frankie, memorizing the ways he moved, the expressions on his face, what made him laugh.

Yes, you had it bad for the man.

You’re relaxing in your lounger, grateful for the shaded canopy and enormously comfortable cushions, reading one of several books you’d brought on the trip. Others filter by, most saying hello but giving you your space. Recognizing that as maid of honour, you were more than due for a good rest.

Benny stops by on his way to tease Little and Santi, who are swimming in the blue ocean water, and you end up having a fun conversation with him. You’re retelling one another the best moments of the night before, and agreeing on the parts you hope made it onto the wedding video—and the ones you hoped didn’t. You’ve always really liked Benny, he seemed to sense the type of person you were in that same way that Little had, and he had a way of making you feel normal. Where you and Will had a friendly enough relationship, Benny felt more like a brother. Protective and encouraging and just really nice.

When Will comes along, he says hi to you before Benny—who gives you a quick hug—leaps to his feet and bounds towards his brother, ready to wrestle in the water. You laugh, watching them dunk one another, then a large splash hits Little and Santi jumps into the tussle, and your friend makes her way out of the water shaking her head in exasperation. When she plops down next to you on the lounger, you’re both snorting with laughter.

“It’s like they’re twelve. Santi literally said ‘don’t be a butthead’ to Benny,” Little giggles, and you both watch them for another minute before she turns to you and lowers her voice. “So, how are you doing today?”

“I’m supposed to ask you that, Mrs. Newlywed.”

Little doesn’t take the bait, and you never expected she would. “You know what I mean, Star. Are you having fun? Can I do anything for you?” This was the thing about Little. She was not just a good friend, she was a thoughtful and caring one, the kind that you could call at midnight and ask to move a body and she’d show up with shovels. Which was basically what had cemented your friendship several years before, though you weren’t going to think about that right now. You were on vacation.

You lean in and press your forehead to hers briefly, “This place is incredible, I’m extremely happy. Please stop worrying.”

“I just…I know you never get time for yourself. Or to have some fun and unwind,” She takes hold of your hand and applies light pressure, “I know you have busy shifts with the rescue, long hours. I just want this week to give you the break you deserve—the wedding was absolutely perfect and that’s in great part because of you, Star.” At this, you sigh softly and pull her in for a proper hug.

She was right that you barely had time for yourself, you worked a lot at the rescue as a vet tech, a job you loved and wouldn’t change for anything. You were hoping to get a couple of new techs hired and trained so that you could reduce your hours in the next year or so, but it wasn’t an urgent thing. You just wanted a little more free time, because currently, you were operating on hardly any, always either working, sleeping or making your way to and from work. Around the time that Little had asked you to be her maid of honour, you had made the permanent switch to daytime shifts, and your life had greatly improved with the steady routine.

But you still had a dismal social life, only occasionally going out with Little or spending time with your parents. And dating? You literally would have to give up sleep to bother with it, and since you were hung up on a man completely out of your league, that wasn’t happening anytime soon either. So you understood her concerns entirely.

“Little,” You pull back from the hug and give her an encouraging smile, “You don’t need to be so worried, I’m having fun. I’ll try to socialize, I promise.”

She grins back at you, then glances down at your outfit, “Is that the swimsuit we picked out together?” She’s beaming with pride that you’ve worn it, and you shrug with a smirk pulling at your lips.

Little coaxes you into the water, and after applying another layer of sunscreen and ridding yourself of your clothing, you follow her into the cool ocean. You love the water and sink into it quickly as you glance back toward the beach, instinctively seeking out who might have seen you in your swimsuit. Will and Benny are sitting in beach chairs in the shallow water, deep in discussion, while Santi is back at the cabana, cracking open a drink. His eyes are on Little in that rapturous, protective way that makes your heart swell with joy for them. They were perfect for each other, there was no way around that.

You spend a good half an hour swimming and chatting with Little, who tells you about the new woman in Benny’s life that he’s insisted is just a friend, but she suspects there may be more to it. And when it came to Benny, both of you knew that if he was feeling something for someone, he would deny it. He liked to be the bachelor, the ladies man because he was afraid of commitment. You tell Little that he just needs to find the person he won’t be afraid of doing anything for.

Eventually, her brothers grow bored and begin taking turns jumping off the end of the dock situated at one end of the beach. You aren’t surprised when Little takes your hand and leads you out of the water, eager to join in on the fun. You let her pull you along, happy to break out of your comfort zone and, other than her brothers and Santi, no one else is around. You glance back to see if he’s coming to join in and almost stumble in the sand.

Frankie is standing with Santi, his eyes locked on you as he speaks with his friend. Rosie is in his arms in a cute little one-piece swimsuit that has the Little Mermaid on the front, and she’s craning her neck to look towards the noise the boys are making on the dock. But all you can focus on is how Frankie watches you, even as you meet his gaze, and you feel heat flood your cheeks. “Jesus,’ You turn away as you speak, and Little looks at you, eyes searching your face before she looks back.

“Oh,man, Frankie looks like he got hit over the head. You realize that you look like a goddess right now, Star?” She slows her pace so that she can keep her voice quiet, her head leaning closer to yours.

You scoff, “Please, Little,” But she cuts off your protests before you can even begin.

“He looks at you like that all of the time. Like you hung the moon,” You glance back at him again, trying not to look too obvious, and find that he is making his way over to the dock now too, being tugged along by a giggling Rosie, her little feet sinking into the sand. Looking away, you smile to yourself, but you can feel Frankie’s eyes on you, your senses in overdrive, and you wish you could be brave enough to just look around and smile at him. Toss a flirty wink, just like Little would do with Santi.

But you were no Little (Miller) Garcia. And Frankie Morales was most definitely not interested in you. You try to ignore the swell of misery within—Frankie was the perfect man. The universe seemed to enjoy dangling him in front of you, showing you everything you wished you could have was just out of reach.

The Miller brothers make more noise at the end of the dock as you and Little step onto the warm wood, drawing your attention their way as they do elaborate jumps into the water. You gaze along the side of the dock, into the shallow water, where you can see several large rocks piled. There’s a little sign on one of the dock posts here, advising to walk along this first section, and you can see an orange line painted across the dock just ahead, the indicator that the water deepens and clears starting there. You’re so focused on the line that you lose track of your feet and stub your toe on a slightly raised plank, hissing in pain.

You pause and bend to inspect it, ensuring there are no slivers. “All good?” Little says, patting your arm with concern, and you smile at her, opening your mouth to respond.

When Frankie’s panic-stricken voice cuts through the air, you both turn in alarm. He’s at the end of the dock, now rushing forward because Rosie had pulled from his grip and was darting toward Little happily, her giggles in stark contrast to the horror on Frankie’s face. She’s not much of a runner at her age, so Rosie teeters back and forth in a way that would be adorable if it weren’t for how close she was to the edge that drop into the rocky shallows.

“Rosie stop!” Frankie’s voice is strained in an effort not to sound too scary to his daughter as he yells, but she glances backward anyway, her legs still moving, and you react before you think. It’s probably because you’d spent years dodging kicks and bites and swats from your animal patients, that your reflexes work the way they do.

Frankie isn’t as fast as you, and you have the advantage because she’s moving towards you and Little—you shoot forward as fast as you can, and just as she sees her dad chasing her and loses her footing at the edge, you drop down and shove your arms out, catching her in the chest so that she’s knocked toward Frankie.

You see him catch her, hear her confused whimper, but the momentum you created darting toward her so quickly gives you no ability to correct yourself, and you skitter, then plunge right off the dock, falling face down into the water.

You hear the way your leg smacks off of a pointed rock, and then pain is lancing through your face as it glances off of another one. You’re dazed, but still aware enough to feel the splinter of pain in your thigh, and you cry out—only you’re underwater, so it’s garbled and you push your hands out to try and get your bearings and raise yourself—

“Mi amor estas bien?” Frankie’s rumbling voice fills your ears as he lifts you, turning you in the water before pulling you up and into his arms, and you don’t even register what he said, really, but you lock onto the fierce concern in his expression and the words begin to sink in. “Cariño? Jesus Christ, Santi get the first aid kit!” He yells, and you feel him moving out of the water and tilt your head, looking down your body.

You can see the brutal gash on your leg, and immediately recognize it’s not as bad as it could have been—but it gushes a decent amount of blood, and it stings from the saltwater and you whimper again.

“F-Frankie—is Rosie-?”

“Cariño, she’s perfect thanks to you,” You look at him again, surprised at the strain in his voice. He sounds wrecked, and you want to ask him if he’s okay but you don’t know how, and something about the way he’s holding you as he carries you—your instincts say that he’s not okay, and to let him take charge here. He reaches a lounger and begins to lower you down carefully, but your leg is jostled and the pain peaks; you start to cry, short sobs that you try to hide—Frankie makes a noise in his throat, and then his hands are cupping your face gently. “Mi amor, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Please don’t cry.”

You stare at Frankie because this time, the words smack you right in the face and you can see that he means them. That he called you his love, twice now, and as you realize this, you see understanding flash in his expression and he doesn’t correct himself or try to deny it. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then the others are surrounding you and a first aid kit appears and you can only slump back and cover your face.

The man of your dreams just said something that might change your life, but you couldn’t do shit about it right now. And then realization sets in that you just fell off a dock in front of him, and you want to die of humiliation.

You tilt your head to look away and your eyes land on Little, who has Rosie in her arms and one hand over her mouth—but you recognize the way she’s trying to hide her smug smile, and you glare at your friend. Her expression changes, and even though she doesn’t speak, you know exactly what she’s saying.

‘I told you Frankie loved you, didn’t I?’

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