“What a couple of old fogies we are, with your baking and my needles,” she’d said, and hadn’t pulled away—emotionally or physically—at his offhand comment about them taking up roller derby and hang-gliding when they reached their sixties. Just laughed and added traveling to music festivals to the list. Like they were in accord about sharing decades of adventure.
So Sergei’s interruption didn’t derail him at all.
“I’ll hold her while you finish your pie,” he offered when she returned.
“Oh, I don’t....”
“It’s fine. Besides, I asked Marti to bring me a dish of I-C-E C-R-E-A-M in case you need a reward. You can wave her off; I warned her you might.”
“You’re uncanny.”
“Promised a treat, did you?”
“I meant a couple bites of this,” she pointed her fork at the pie. “But your idea is better. She’ll make a mess grabbing at your shirt, though.”
He shrugged. “Must be an inherited trait.”
Her wide eyes and hasty bite told him all he’d wondered about her thoughts on them missing out on intimate contact that night. But soon ... one more week and they’d be at his place, and he’d make her moan without a single slice of his pie in sight.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How are things with lover boy?”
“Seriously?” Rachel laughed. “You promised to stop calling my dates that over a decade ago.”
Gillian smirked at her, no surprise. She’d kept the gals all in the loop, of course, once she and Theo decided to be all official about dating. They were up to date on the texting and late-night chats and the morning he met her at that cute brunch place near the daycare that she’d never figured she would take the time to try. Lots of contact, nothing intimate. It was ... odd.
Odd, but nice, getting to know him, and not just in a carnal way. Feeling a little sneaky about squeezing in all these moments of connection while they went about their lives. His muffled but echoing laughter when he phoned from the bathroom of the hotel in Fort Worth, once his son was asleep. His entirely wrong opinion about the best season of the Great British Baking Show. The ridiculous triumph when he admitted his weakness for Jell-O salad.
She summed it up in a way calculated to poke at Gillian’s smirk. “Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, he’s inoffensive, is he?”
One of these days she’d learn that Gill was the queen of poking back at people. “Shush.”
“Nope. New rule. I’m buying you loaded nachos, and in return you give me legitimate answers to three questions.”
“Wow. Lunch has gone transactional. Didn’t you once tell me relationships shouldn’t be like that? That keeping score was a bad idea?” Look at her, parroting back the good advice like she’d internalized it. She sipped her iced tea.
Gillian mirrored her, eyes bright with good emotions. “I love you, Rach. And I’m so proud to know you.”
“Stop trying to make me cry when you haven’t even provided one single nacho yet.”
She closed the menu and signaled the waiter. But she was Gill, so Rachel knew she’d be unable to let it go. No matter how many diverting topics she dangled. The aggravations of the summer online courses, shopping plans for Serena’s wedding dress, even the heartrending terrors of the national news. Before they’d finished the nachos, Gillian pointed a fork at her and asked, “Is this Theo individual some kind of embodiment of ‘lack of red flags’ for you?”
Thing about nachos was, they didn’t provide much of a distraction to hide behind. Didn’t take all that long to chew and swallow even the most loaded chip. She wiped each finger clean. Smoothed the napkin back over her lap. Gave in and looked up. “I mean, yeah. He is. You know how hard I’ve worked to be sure I’m not vulnerable to the same old BS, right? He’s not rushing me into something I’m not ready for, he’s not isolating me—he said he wants to meet y’all. Hell, he wants to introduce our kids, which is nonsense but whatever. He backed off when I told him to, after the condom thing. He took responsibility for his part in it all. So. You know. There might be other things wrong with him; I’m not an expert in his inner self. But it’s been a month or more since we met and we’ve spent a bunch of time communicating and I haven’t found any red flags. Yet.”
Gillian said ... nothing. Kept her face all still and unreadable like she was considering how best to contain an explosive situation.
“Why is it bad that I’ve checked him for bad news and haven’t found anything?”
Her friend stopped circling her straw through her drink. “Okay. I’m agreeing with you, it’s all positive. And you can introduce us any time. Let me know.”
“But?”
“Rach, I know you rolled the dice for all those superficial things. Hair and eyes, as if those are the key components of a partner. And I know you have your checklist of ways to avoid anyone like that pox of an ex. That’s useful, of course. You’re listening to your gut, alert to warning signs, and I’m, to be honest, in awe of you for how you’ve created that safety for yourself.”
She shrugged. “I have to, for Hannah.”
“I know, I know. But you did it for you, too. I hope you did it for you, too.”
She shrugged again.
Gill’s smile was full of love, and Rachel let it fill her, too. Then, of course, came part two of the big nacho-fueled speech. “So it’s good you have safety. And you know I’m up for being step one in any escape plan you need in life. You and Hannah both, forever. But. Rachel. Have you got a checklist of the things you want, or only of things you want to avoid?”
“What do you ... what does that mean?”
“What I said. Every time you talk about Theo, it’s about what he’s not. How he’s different from the slimy crust on month-old fried okra you call an ex-husband.”
Predictably, she laughed. Gillian’s insults for Sergei always made her laugh. Even when the sound had to battle up through a few layers of swallowed-down emotion. “Well, he is different. I told you how I confused them when I first met him. So of course I notice all the ways he’s not even week-old fried okra.”
“Sure. I’m not suggesting it’s a negative, protecting yourself like that. Of course that’s important. It’s vital. And other than my lingering fury that you ever had to come up with a protective checklist to start with, I don’t have a thing to say about it.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.” Lies. Lies she was pretending to not understand uttering.
Instead of calling her on it, Gill asked, “What do you want from dating? Is a relationship, commitment, something you’re open to right now? What does it take to elevate someone from ‘not a danger’ to ‘enriching your life’?”
“Hell’s bells, Gillian.” She rubbed at her midriff. Too many jalapeños, too many questions. Something.
“No, listen. You all get on me—don’t pretend you don’t, it’s fine—about all the people I date. But I have lists, too. And not about external markers, height and hair and dimples. I can pick all that off an app, which works for hooking up, but when I get myself into a relationship? Dimples aren’t what I’m going to evaluate. It’ll be how they treat my work commitments. If they jump to their own defense if I question them, instead of taking a second to consider my position. How they value family, or how they let me value mine, anyway.”
“Theo values his family. And Hannah.”
“As he should. She’s the best little person in the cosmos. And I’m sure valuing her will be key on your list, if you compile one. Hell, it’s key on my list, has been since she was born. The question is, are you taking steps to ensure you’re not settling for someone good enough? Have you thought about who your best possible partner would be? Not to hold everyone you meet to an impossible ideal, but because knowing who suits you best helps you look past ‘good enough.’ Helps you know you deserve ‘fucking amazing.’ Because, Rach?” Gillian leaned in like she was telling the most precious secret in the whole state of Texas. “You absolutely do.”
Fate was feeling sprightly and full of vicious nonsense, maybe. Or everyone on Wednesday night’s shift succumbed to an attack of sunstroke. Or his ex-wife’s predictions were overdue to come true.
Whatever it was, the bus boy called in sick, the dish washer didn’t bother showing up, and one of the bartenders turned several wrong shades before dashing from the prep area twenty minutes after she clocked in. Sergei, big surprise, commandeered the bar, claiming it was so he could be available if Depy needed him. Which left Theo holding the tote bin when Rachel walked in. He hadn’t had six spare seconds to figure out who could cover Thursday’s shifts, much less call her to explain his hasty text canceling their dinner. The rope tethering him to any sense of calm had frayed during Sergei’s snit over not being able to locate the citrus slicer. Watching Rachel smirk at his apron-clad self left him that much more unraveled, but a second later he discovered he was wrong. She hadn’t unraveled him: she’d unwound him. Gossiping line cooks, ass-pinching customers, whatever was happening with Ron—the stranglehold of it all loosened. His back and neck and head all lifted.
He propped the bin of dirty dishes on his hip, and smirked right back at her. She finished up with Depy and Hannah, then that firm stride of hers carried her towards him. Each solid step grounded him, and he took the brief length of her journey to remind himself that they were taking it slow. That he couldn’t be in leap mode while she was still in look mode.
“Aren’t you cute.”
“Aren’t you cute your own self?” he replied. “Sorry about tonight.”
She shrugged. “I get it. Owner’s burden.”
“Yeah, well. I mean, you’re right of course. I’m—it is what it is. Part of the job.” He blew out a breath. “Not explaining myself well. Doesn’t matter, anyway. I appreciate you being flexible about it.”
One half step further into his space, as deliberate as always. “You making an insinuation there, Theo?”
Damn. He took a sec to be grateful for the apron around his waist. “Maybe.”
“Well. Good. I’m looking forward to finding out more about you and ... flexibility this weekend.”
The rim of the bin cut into his fingers. He loosened his grip, leaned in for a kiss hot enough, any of his employees would’ve been busted for interrupting their shifts. Owner’s privilege to counterbalance owner’s burden. “Siren.”
“I’ll say this for you.” She did that hip-jutting thing as she studied him.
Something thoughtful about her expression notched up his curiosity. “Oh?”
“I think I really like that you’re so calm and up-front about the change in plans.”
“You’re the one who was promised dinner and insinuations. I’m the one not following through on our plans. It’s on me to thank you for being calm and accepting.”
“I know. I get that, I appreciate it. But you could be a lot more of a jerk about it. You could be acting like I have no right to whatever emotions a broken date brings up in me. You could be.... Ugh.” She shook her head. “The point isn’t all the things you’re not. I’m the one not explaining myself well now.”
Something about her flustering left him fizzing. “You’re saying you like me.”
Her curved lips. Those electric eyes. “I’m saying that. Yes. I like you.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day. I like you, too, Rachel. I very intensely like you.”
“Get back to work, you flirt. But text me tonight.” She kissed him again, thanked him for the to-go order he’d set aside for her, and left him grinning as she exited. He didn’t mind at all when she was the one pinching his ass.
Good with kids. Good to kids.
Calm about plans changing.
Takes responsibility for his part in—whatever.
Nurturing.
Really, really honest and thoughtful about his feelings, even if they’re not sunshine and kittens.
Doesn’t put himself first all the time.
Whatever superpower makes it so I keep smiling all the time, even when we’re not together.
Rachel scrolled through her list, muttering and feeling full of nonsense for muttering. It wasn’t like anyone could overhear her, in this stolen moment in the parking garage. Hannah was at school; she had seven minutes before she needed to clock in at work. And Gillian had cajoled her into promising she’d name the qualities of this mythical ideal partner she somehow was looking to add to her life.
She couldn’t remember quite how she’d come to agree that she was looking to add him—not Theo specifically, but the invented ideal—to her life. It sure as hopping toads wasn’t anything she’d admitted to herself before her latest lunch with Gill. Putting aside the always-possibility that Gill possessed witchy abilities to see inside her soul, she supposed it was a lurking desire she’d forgotten to hide from herself. Paired nicely with the lurking desire for more children, and a tighter relationship with her sister. Did not go so well with her bank balance or the logistical truths of her work-life juggling or, it turned out, her ability to name a few things that would build a net of security about the guy she chose to fulfill that desire.
She gave her list of qualities one last read-through and hit send.
She got hearts back from Serena, and a gif of a dancing llama from Natalie, but it was Gill’s reaction she wanted. At last: ‘Phenomenal work, reframing the bad shit of ex-hole as positive things you want instead. Way to go. Can you push further? Can you name a trait you want that doesn’t reflect him at all?’
She dropped the phone to her lap and pinched the bridge of her nose. Lucky for her, it was time to head in to work, so no. No. She couldn’t push further. She tucked away her phone and resolved—ha—to not give her friend’s probing questions a bit of thought as she went about her day.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Uninterrupted hours stretched, sensual and expectant, ahead of him. When Annalisa offered to fly down with Andres on Sunday instead of his driving up on Saturday, he’d outright lied to everyone at Elixir about the change. As soon as he put the accounts to rights, he was out of there. His detailed plan involved cooking, then cleaning, then fulfilling Rachel’s every desire until his son’s plane glided across the tarmac in Houston.
He checked the time. Again. Banished the image of half-asleep pre-dawn sex. Of waking beside her. Of cajoling her into naked pool time. Clearly his brain needed focus.
Finish checking the payroll. Follow up with the Houston Greek Festival committee. Spot-check the POS. Engage with social media. Text Rachel. Anticipate holding Rachel. Input the inventory numbers. Add coconut chocolates to his shopping list. And a candle. Were candles cliché, or romantic? Not too many, not one of those movie scene spreads of candles on every windowsill and countertop. Only one, with a nice scent. Nothing too floral. A spice, maybe.
Damn, he was a disaster. Two weeks since they’d last slept together, and no work task had a hope of claiming his attention. He prioritized everything with a hard deadline, wrote up a longer-than-it-should-be list for himself for Monday, then shut down his computer. Time to go bury his nose in various jars of wax.
Almost out the door, his cell rang. “Boss?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop right there.”
He turned, and spotted Marti wedged between the bar and a party of twelve. She tilted her head at the man at the end of the table: slick suit, thinning hair, flashy watch. Mr. Low Tips was back. Theo heaved a sigh, pasting on his ‘good to see you’ smile as he approached. The guy was in the process of making himself a regular, showing up with a few different groups over the last month. Sergei was off charming a table of well-liked regulars, which left Theo to navigate the man who demanded lunch menu quickness during his weekend dinner party lifestyle.
And, as it turned out, who combined racism with sexism while harassing his favorite front of house employee. He sent Marti away before playing the ‘Sir, I’m afraid we can’t serve you anymore, yes, I’m the owner, no, please enjoy your meals, I’m sorry to hear that, I’m af
raid if you consume the alcohol already at the table we will have to clear everyone’s drinks, that’s certainly your right, no, it’s a final decision, we will not be serving you in future, I understand, and who’s responsible for tonight’s check?’ rodeo.
He staggered home, nerves too tight to deal with laundry or dusting. Some days were more of a waste than others, but with any luck, the hours ahead with Rachel and the weeks ahead with his son would help him track down the reasons he put up with it all.
Giddy. What a thing to be. She shoved the gearstick into park and flipped the visor for a quick check. Quick and embarrassing. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes, grin not at all contained.
Well, and so what if he saw her eagerness for their weekend on her face? His expression when he suggested it hadn’t put her off, for all that it glowed with lustful anticipation. They had time to be adults with each other, before their focuses both split for their children. Nothing wrong with a little bounce in her step as she landed herself at his front door. Nothing wrong with her playful rap and the little hitch in her breathing when she heard his approach.
She dropped her duffle next to his mop bucket and wrapped herself around Theo. His cleaning glove-clad hands squeezed her once, then he backed away. He disentangled and shut the door, apologizing.
“For what?”
“Wet floor. Sweaty self. Not finishing up all this before you got here.”
She grinned wider. “Oh, no, a sweaty man. I guess I have to lure you into the water to cool you down.” She kicked off her sandals and pulled the sundress over her head, revealing a green checked bikini she’d last worn before she started spending her pool time with a kid all too ready to yank at the various straps and ties preserving her modesty.
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