Contemporary People of Color Romance

Frankie was supposed to be playing photographer, capturing as many moments of the engagement party as humanly possible. It was his ONE job. But being the cousin of the groom afforded him a little slack. Plus, everyone knew who he was as a person, so it wasn’t like the results were expected to be anything except casual, which suited Rem and Rose just fine. Also, the thousands they’d paid for the wedding day photographer would probably make up the difference.

Frankie looked for her as covertly as he could, scanning the ornate L.A. ballroom like he was focusing on details, not faces. He lifted the Canon T6 camera to the artistic eye instead of his practical, objective eye, noting the massive white organza canopy billowing out around the chandelier at its center above their heads. He got a shot of the floor-to-ceiling fairy lights twinkling against the walls on the left and right side instead of the people taking their own selfies in front of them.

He zoomed in on the details at the round tables: the Chiavari chairs, also draped and tied with white organza, surrounding them; and their pristine tablecloths under centerpieces of tall vases with white and pale pink peonies, surrounded by candlelight. Rem’s younger sister Sofi had arranged the decorations, fulfilling a duty that Rose had declared she’d one day ask of Sofi. Frankie smiled, remembering one of Rem and Rose’s first dates; they had attended Sofi’s quinceañera, and later Rem told him that Rose had fallen in love with the details, and Rem had fallen in love with her, all in the same night. They were so adorable. It was gross.

With an affectionate smile still on his face, Frankie rolled his eyes right over to her and became locked there.

As she watched him back, a smile growing on her own beautiful face, he was no longer entertaining memories of his cousin’s love story. Now, memories of that California summer between him and Cosima flooded his mind.

Though Frankie wouldn't dare call theirs a love story. He knew that she wouldn’t call it that, at least…so he wouldn’t, either.

When he’d flown from North Carolina to California to spend the entire summer with his favorite cousin eight years prior, he was barely an adult, freshly twenty-one with no real ideas about what he wanted to do with his life. That was why his parents had suggested that he spend the summer with the focused and studious Rem, who was by then three years into his relationship with his now-fiancée, studying at San Diego State University, and already headed into the realm of International Business. They’d spent the majority of that summer working with Rem’s dad’s construction company, building the restaurant that Cosima’s family owned. That was how they’d met.

They’d clicked immediately, recognizing how similar their family dynamics were; they both had parents who nagged them about wasting their time and their studies, and both Frankie and Cosima wanted to lean into unconventional ways of using their degrees. Cosima wanted to open an apothecary with her business degree, and Frankie had been leaning towards freelance art…or something…with his graphic design degree. Neither of their parents thought these were sustainable “career” paths, and Frankie and Cosima had bonded over their shared frustration.

Through bonding, they’d also discovered that their attitudes were the same, along with their humor, their unwillingness to commit in relationships, the fact that neither of them had ever been in love and had both decided they never would be. Not even a month into Frankie’s time in L.A., they’d fallen into an easy situationship that had felt a lot like affection, like connection.

But they both knew what it was, and what it was always going to be. And at the time, there was comfort in knowing that wouldn’t change.

Cosima smiled that same mischievous, slightly snarky smile that she’d always given him, her dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed directly at his and her full, dark red lips pulling to one side. It always made him feel giddy, which frustrated him, because despite his excitement for the inevitable battle of wits they were about to engage in, it was that smile, directed at him, that made him the giddiest. He liked making her smile. He liked making her laugh. He liked making her gasp, too.

The sound in the room swelled in his ears the closer she got, but when she finally approached him, her eyes level with his throat, the music, laughter, and tinking of glasses became muted. Frankie swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once.

“So,” he started, “you are in the wedding party after all.”

“I am. Rose and I got very close because of you, all those years ago,” said Cosima, still smiling that mischievous smile, the words sounding like a laugh all by themselves. “And I just knew you’d be part of the wedding party too.”

“Best Man,” Frankie said, feigning smugness as he dusted off the shoulder of his crisp button down.

Now Cosima actually laughed. Frankie melted a little, against his will, because he knew he shouldn’t, and they were still resisting any and all lovey-dovey feelings. Right?

That summer eight years ago, he was just starting to realize that he was falling for her when she told him she thought they should keep their connection strictly physical. He agreed, feeling foolish for even entertaining any sort of mushy emotions…that is, until the end of the summer, when she admitted she was beginning to fall for him. The ensuing conversation ended with the both of them agreeing that neither of them was the type to be in love, in a real relationship, and anything but a good time to anyone else. They parted ways, ending physical contact.

“It’s been a couple years.” Cosima’s lyrical, confident voice broke him out of the spiral of memory, dragged him back to her and her face with its gentle smile. “You look good.”

Frankie sighed. “Yeah. It has been a while. You look good, too.” He froze. “Great, actually.”

“I know,” she retorted. They laughed. Her inky black hair, already long the last time he saw her, was halfway to her waist now. She wore a strapless dress the color of pale cornflower that stopped just above her ankles. Her light brown skin was dewy and looked warm, as warm as he remembered it feeling whenever it rubbed against his; he’d spent a lot of time all those years ago with her skin against his. They warmed each other hotter than any sunshine ever could.

He was starting to feel warm now, remembering. He stuck a finger into the collar of his shirt and pulled it away from his neck, then pushed his own dark locks back and away from his forehead and sides of his face as his hairline prickled with sweat.

“Are you the official photographer?” Cosima asked, indicating the camera in Frankie’s hands.

“Yeah. For the party, at least. I got the proposal on video for Rem, and he knows I have an eye for these types of things, so….”

He trailed off, remembering his and Cosima's conversation about his art as they ate seafood at that waterfront joint in Long Beach. There, as she slurped down about two dozen oysters—or sea snot, as he’d called it—he gazed at the water from their cozy booth in front of the largest ocean-facing window in the place. She’d noticed him marveling at the gorgeous scene and knew immediately that he was an artist. With very little effort, she ended up finding his Instagram page full of artwork. They talked about their dreams that day, and how each of their parents were dampening them, little by little.

“I remember,” Cosima said after a few too many beats, making it seem like she had been reading his mind instead of responding to what he’d just said.

“And I remember that party out at Venice Beach that you took me and Rem and Rose to,” Frankie said, grinning. “Your parents and sister were working your family’s food truck at the party because lots of rich people lived there and your truck always made bank, but you didn’t care about the money—you cared about the moment.”

“Oh, please,” Cosima said, guffawing. Even that silly sound gave Frankie the warm fuzzies. “You make me sound as hippie as Venice Beach.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Nope. I didn’t say that.” Her expression grew wistful. “I was happy about finagling my way out of my duties for an excuse to actually…enjoy my summer? With friends? Like a normal twenty-year-old? That was fun, that one and only time.”

“I’m glad we could make that happen for you,” Frankie said proudly.

“You made a lot happen that summer,” Cosima said, actually earnest now. He froze again, his breath catching in his throat. “I realized so much about myself. I got back into school, fought for a compromise with my parents so I could use my degree in a way that would make me happy. I opened up because of you.”

Frankie swallowed again. Hard. He’d opened up that summer too. All the car rides she’d subjected him to, her in her black sunglasses that took up her whole face, all of her windows rolled down, the local radio station blasting, and screaming small talk at Frankie over all of it as she sped down the highway. Frankie always gripped the side of his seat in one hand and the door handle in the other, wide eyes oscillating between the road ahead and her, mouth frozen agape in a startled smile. Their hair whipped their faces so wildly he could hardly see anything, so he’d just turn off that sense and strain to pick out pieces of her voice over all the noise. Just like he was doing now. He’d gotten good at it then, so much so that now, it was as if the ballroom was empty, save for the two of them.

He remembered their last car ride together, to the boardwalk, where they got ice cream (she’d ordered piña colada, and he’d ordered chocolate caramel). They’d talked about how much they’d changed that summer, then she’d kissed him goodbye for what he thought was the last time.

“Speaking of,” he asked, breaking up their staring contest by making her blink several times in surprise.

“Speaking of…what?” she asked.

Frankie’s mouth tightened. “How’s your fiancé?”

Cosima’s eyes widened.

“He all right?” Frankie continued. “Is he here with you?”

Her demeanor shifted then, from light and easy, as she always had been with him, to stick-straight and…defensive, maybe? Frankie couldn’t tell. He’d never seen her this way, ever. He hadn’t even detected it in her tone the previous year when she told him she was engaged in the first place.

They stared at each other for a moment again, and Frankie didn’t know what the shift in energy between them meant. She could have been mad at him for spoiling an otherwise friendly moment, but why? Her fiancé was her main focus now, had been for at least three years—her longest relationship.

Something told him she wasn’t angry, though, just steeling herself, like she had the last time they’d kissed eight years prior.

“It’s over, Frankie,” she said finally.

Oh. Oh, that was not what he was expecting. He looked over and found Rose in the crowd, laughing with some old friends. She hadn’t told him at all, and she was close with Cosima, so she had to know.

“I—I'm sorry,” he stammered.

“It’s okay. I wanted to tell you myself,” she said, seeming to read his mind again. “I just didn’t expect us to have been having such a good time remembering that summer….I didn’t expect to be feeling this way when I told you.”

Frankie blinked. “How…are you feeling right now?”

Instead of answering his question, she turned up her chin a bit, bracing herself again, and asked, “How’s your girlfriend?”

When his own stomach dropped to his feet in response to her question, he knew how she’d felt when he asked about her fiancé. Briefly, he considered keeping the answer simple before remembering she knew too much about him, his tendencies and the way his mind worked. During their summer together, they’d discovered they were basically the same person, and there wasn’t much he could keep from her.

So he cocked his head and said with a matter-of-fact smile, “We’re done too. I got cheated on.”

And he knew right then that Cosima would have burned his whole city to the ground looking for his ex. The fire that flashed in her dark eyes was hotter than any summer sun, any flame from a match or a lighter.

She stepped closer to Frankie but seemed not to know what to do next, as if the move had been instinctual, automatic. As they gazed at each other, he wondered if she was remembering the same moment as he was, the day that he left California at the end of that summer.

On the morning that Rem and Rose and his uncle were due to take him to the airport, Cosima showed up, surprising everyone—even herself.

Then she’d confessed: “I don’t want to cut you off just because our feelings got complicated. I’m glad to drop the ‘benefits’ part of our friendship, going forward.”

Frankie had hugged her, unable to help himself, and Cosima had looked up into his open, adorable, cocky face and felt her feelings intensify. They were scary, but she’d welcomed them.

“That… is the best thing anyone has ever said to me,” he’d said, smiling.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You think I’d make a cool friend. You like me for me.”

“I like you,” she'd admitted softly.

“I like you too. A lot.”

He wouldn’t say that he wasn’t sure, in that moment, that he’d like anyone else as much as he liked her, because he wasn’t sure how true that was, and also he didn’t want to freak her out. They were being open, and it was good. He would just feel it on the inside, and enjoy that feeling. That was a good, good sign.

Someone tapped the mic on the stage at the front of the ballroom and called everyone to attention, making both Frankie and Cosima jump. But even once everyone was quiet, and the speaker began honoring Rem and Rose, Frankie couldn’t concentrate.

He looked at Cosima again. She was already looking at him.

They moved closer to each other, the space between them warming up again. It felt a lot like summer.

Posted Jun 24, 2025
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