Dear Frankie – Again!

The One

A/N: This story has references to "The Letter" and "Dreams of You" although it is not necessary to read those first. I don't own Dear Frankie or any of its original characters. A/U- this is yet another path for our beloved stranger. Begins prior to Patrick and Lizzie's first meeting at the coffeehouse. Also, there will probably be liberties I've taken with the story. Please read and review!

"Everything that is happening, has ever happened, or will happen is happening right now." – Neale Donald Walsch, Conversations With God, book 3

Chapter 1

Patrick Connelly held the delicate ring between his thumb and index finger. He wore a small smile and looked expectantly at his sister, Marie.

"It's a ring," Marie remarked, unimpressed, and quickly averted her eyes from it and her brother's gaze across the dining table. Instead she found it far more comforting to focus great attention on the cup of tea in front of her.

"Aye, it's a ring, Marie," he affirmed, his expression puzzled. Patrick couldn't help wonder about his sister's lack of enthusiasm.

Patrick watched as his sister purposely avoided his gaze. She seemed determined to stare out at the ocean, or down at the floor, or even to his dismay, at the bloody fly that had been buzzing around her flat for the last two days. He sighed as she gave him no response, and his frustration grew every second that she remained silent. To him, his own sister should at least pretend to be interested in something as significant as this.

"Marie? Don't ya have anything to say?" he asked trying to remain calm.

Marie met her brother's turquoise eyes, and even though she could see the excitement in them, it took all the strength she had to suppress the dread she was feeling. She gave him a weak smile and said brightly, "It's a lovely ring."

"And?"

"Is it her birthday already?" Marie asked coyly.

"No, Marie, it's not a birthday gift, it's a bloody engage…"

Marie cut him off, leaning forward with elbows on the table, her fingers exaggeratedly rubbing her now aching temples. "I know what kind of a ring it is, Patrick," she snapped. "I just don't want you to rush into anything…I mean, you don't even know if she's the one," her voice trailed off.

He let out a loud sigh and set the ring down slowly on the table. "She's the one."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Marie bit her lip and thought of every curse word in the English language, and even a couple in French that a sailor once taught her.

Her light blue eyes searched his, and she could see his hurt expression. She exhaled and took a sip of tea from her cup. "Does she love you, Patrick because you know, I think she's out…"

He interrupted, "Yah, Marie, I know you think she only cares about my money, but she loves me. Gretchen loves me."

Marie shuddered at the mention of her name. Gretchen. She was an absolute nightmare. One hundred seventy-two centimeters of legs, poofy blond hair, and large green eyes; she was a right cheeky bitch in Marie's opinion, and any kind of caring sister would not want this showy, manipulative woman engaged to her brother.

"Patrick, how do you know she doesn't marry you, divorce you, and then end up with half the business? I mean, you may be the brains behind our restaurants, but don't ya forget, that I'm the one who runs them."

His jaw was set in a line. "Nothing is going to happen to our restaurants, Marie." Patrick had known that Marie did not care for Gretchen but still he had hoped that she might be more supportive. He stood up from his chair and looked out at the comforting waves of the ocean. "You don't know her, Marie…"

Marie interrupted, "Oh, I know her, Patrick, she's selfish and stubborn…"

"I know how other people see her- how you see her. She's not that way to me. I know we've been off and on for years…but Gretchen knows me, really knows me."

Marie turned her face to the cool ocean waves he was looking upon. Maybe there she could find out what he truly saw in that woman. "There's more to a marriage than that, Patrick."

His turquoise eyes bore into hers, begging for understanding. "Gretchen was there for me, Marie, after Annabel died." His voice turned soft. "She's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Marie's eyes clouded up at the memory of Patrick's wife. Annabel had passed away after one year of marriage taking with her their unborn son. Marie wished that Annabel were still alive so that he could be happy- so that he could know his little boy. And, she couldn't help thinking, would not have to be having this conversation. Annabel and Patrick had been so in love. It was tragic that she had died so young and Patrick seemed not ever to get over her.

Clearing his throat, he announced, "Monday, on this cruise, I'm proposing to her. Yer just going to have to accept it."

Quietly Marie stood up and faced her younger brother. "Do you love Gretchen, Patrick?" He looked away from her and Marie shook her head. "Do you love her, Patrick?" she repeated.

"It's time, Marie. It's time for me to settle down."

"That's not a reason to get married, Patrick," Marie insisted.

"I said it's time, Marie, please just try to accept it and accept her."

Marie turned away from him, picked up her teacup from the table, and headed towards the kitchen.

Patrick hung his head as he wished things could be different. Patrick, of course, lived in the real world and realized that he had only truly loved another once in his life. He counted himself lucky for those years with his Annabel. Long ago, he'd given up on the idea of truly loving another woman. For now he decided that companionship was enough and that he and Gretchen could start a family.

On the cruise, during a romantic candlelit dinner, he would propose.

Marie would learn to live with it, he thought. Maybe someday in the future they would all laugh about it. But for now, he wasn't doing himself any favors beating himself up about it.

Patrick turned and headed towards the door with his hand bracing the doorknob when he remembered.

Speaking of favors, he thought. He turned around facing the direction of the kitchen and could hear the water running. Patrick took a breath and called out, "By the way, Marie, thanks for getting the inventory done. It was a huge load off my back. I owe you, sis. I owe ya big."

It was silent and Patrick no longer heard the sound of running water. Since no reply came, he decided Marie just needed some time to digest his news. He turned again and reached for the doorknob. "Anytime you need a favor, Marie, just let me know. Anything you want, I mean it."

She didn't miss a beat and peeked her head out of the entryway of the kitchen. Her face was bright and he could tell she was holding back a grin. "Anything, Patrick?"

Across from the table they sat again. Rather than siblings having a discussion, they looked more like businessmen dealing in intense negotiations.

"You said 'anything', Patrick."

"I know what I said, Marie, but this…you want me to meet this woman so she can beg me to be her son's dad."

"It's just for the day and she's not going to beg you."

"Marie, this is bad business, you shouldn't get mixed up with our employees," he told her shaking his head. "And neither should I."

"Oh, so now yer the serious businessman, eh? Patrick, it's not going to kill you to meet her."

Patrick leaned back in his chair, wishing he could take back that inventory favor that Marie had done for him. Why would anyone ask someone to do this? Or better why would she ask him? Still, Marie had spent two whole weekends along with Cindy, her other employee going through inventory at all three locations.

He exhaled and his shoulders slumped in defeat. The 'why' didn't matter, he knew. What mattered was that Patrick owed her, and that he owed her big.

"Gretchen's not going to like this."

Marie rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. She couldn't give a damn what the cow did or didn't like. "Yer just going to meet Lizzie and talk to her, not propose to her."

Lizzie and her son, Frankie had recently moved to Glasgow and had just begun working in her shop. Marie liked them immediately, and what was odd, was that she trusted her. Marie hardly had any friends, and that's how she preferred it. But there was something about Lizzie; something that she saw in those haunted brown eyes. Marie had been fiercely independent for so long, putting off marriage and family, that something deep within her desperately craved the feeling of being needed. Lizzie needed a friend and Marie was more than happy to oblige.

"Just do me a favor, Marie. Next time I ask you to do me a favor, just say no."

Patrick stood outside the coffeehouse. He was five minutes early, and he couldn't help but ask himself for the hundredth time that day what he was doing there at all.

Nervously, he pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and read Marie's scrawled penmanship: Meet Lizzie Morrison at 3:00. He doublechecked the name of the coffeehouse to be sure he was in the right place.

Why did he feel like he was doing something wrong? Sure, today Gretchen was out of town on one of her many shopping sprees and he'd planned on sending her away to a weekend spa to prepare for their cruise. But he was just being nice. He wasn't doing anything wrong. This meeting meant nothing to him. He didn't even know this woman or besides Marie's vague description what she looked like. Gretchen definitely would not approve. Marie had not been entirely off the mark about Gretchen. She was a possessive woman and automatically would assume the worst. That's why Patrick would tell her that this was a favor for Marie, and that she was going to pay him for it. Yeah, somehow that made it better, but somewhere the nagging feeling in his stomach didn't agree. Maybe telling Gretchen wasn't such a good idea after all...

He took a breath and opened the door, walking in observing the patrons- keeping an eye out for a brown-haired woman, late twenties, big brown eyes. Step by step, he knew he came closer to finding her, the dread began to mount. Quickly he stuffed the note back into his pocket and felt his cigarettes. At that moment, he felt he really needed one.

Just then he rounded a booth and found himself looking down at her.

"Lizzie Morrison?"