by Randi Rigby
I’m his 5:15. That felt important to remember.
“How was work?” Drew asked, steering me briefly with a hand on the small of my back. “We’re just over here.”
“Work was good.”
“Yeah? What makes a day good for you?”
He looked sincerely interested and curious—surface answers never seemed to be enough for him. I took a deep breath, “Everyone showed up on time. We stayed on schedule. No one cried or threw up. All the office equipment worked. I found the last piece of Dove’s Dark Chocolate in our secret office stash. There you go. Day made. How was yours?”
Drew pulled out a chair for me and closed the studio door. “I like Mondays. I didn’t used to but I sure do now.” He winked at me as he picked up his guitar and sat down, folding his long legs underneath his chair. “But now that I know how you feel about punctuality, I’m thinking we should probably get started. Got to stay on your good side.”
I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on my carefully chosen skirt. I went with it because while still office appropriate, it showcased my long runner’s legs and looked fabulous matched with the ruffled, bell-sleeved, pink blouse I was wearing. I hadn’t taken into consideration its possible need for moisture absorption, but I couldn’t think about sweat stains now. I licked my lips and found my voice. It was tremulous. “First, I have a confession to make.”
Drew slowly leaned forward in his chair, peering at me through piecey bangs and resting sinewy forearms along the edge of his guitar. “You’re actually nervous. Come on, Kel. It can’t be that bad. What happened?”
“I’m so Type A. You should probably know that about me up front. Like I should seriously come with a warning label. I’ve never played an instrument before, I wasn’t sure if I would be any good at it. I couldn’t wait to find out, here, in front of you. I’ve been practicing guitar all week with an Australian guy on YouTube. I guess I was hoping I’d be able to master enough chords that you’d think I was a natural. Stop laughing, it’s not funny. Look at my fingers.”
“Sorry. I wish you could see your face right now.”
He took my hands gently in his and examined each fingertip. “Yeah, looks painful. You just got to play through it. But look,” he rubbed his thumb slowly over my scabs. “You’re already starting to develop callouses. It won’t hurt like this for much longer.”
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Well, that’s good.”
Drew released my hands and shook his head, still grinning. “You must’ve practiced a lot.”
“Let’s just say my dad is happy I didn’t take up the trombone.”
“Alright Chicago, let’s see what the Australian gave you.”
I picked out my E minor, C, G, D, A minor, E and A chords for him. We worked on moving fluidly from one chord to the next while keeping rhythm strumming, which is much harder to do than it sounds. My fingers and my brain seemed to be at odds with one another. It didn’t help that Drew kept leaning in to adjust my fingering position. “A little more arch, I know it hurts more right now to do it that way but we’re in this for the long haul, right?”
I raised my chin at him and nodded. The longest.
Drew downloaded a metronome app onto my phone for me and handed me some sheet music for Lady A’s Need You Now. “You ready to make some music together?”
I looked at him in surprise. “I don’t know, am I?”
“Yeah. You are.” He showed me how to secure my capo to my 4th fret and explained how to read the music for chord changes. “Don’t worry if you can’t keep up Kel, just jump back in as soon as you can. I’m gonna play it all the way through at tempo so you get a feel for what it should sound like.”
Drew not only played it, he sang. I could carry a tune—I’d been in choirs since grade school so I definitely knew my way around a register, but he had an incredible voice. “Wow,” I said when the last chord I’d clunked through ended and it was suddenly very quiet in the room. “That was amazing, Drew. You’re really talented.”
“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.” His grin was wicked. “I think you might be a natural.”
I sheepishly returned his smile. “Fine. I deserve that.”
“Hey, I was being serious. Don’t roll those pretty blue eyes at me. Are we good now or do I still need to be worried about the Australian? Yeah? Okay, homework this week: let’s just spend some more time on perfecting these chords and maybe this song. Work on smoothing out your transitions.”
“Would you do something for me, Drew?” I pulled out my phone and opened it up to voice memo. “Would you play it again for me, please? I want to record it this time so I can practice with it.”
He did. Being able to experience the intimate beauty of Drew performing was the single best moment I’d clocked this miserable year. I listened to the recording on a loop and not always with my guitar in hand, although I practiced every chance I got. His voice lulled me to sleep at night and filled my dreams—not all of them pleasant. That song had become the anthem for the howling emptiness that in my darkest moments found me inescapably without my mother and completely alone with my grief.
Well, not completely alone. Charlie was always there to lick away my tears. He inched his furry body from his preferred spot curled into my hip, up to my pillow, and lay his wet nose next to mine. His warm body was reassuringly comforting.
“Don’t you ever leave me,” I whispered somewhere between sorrow and heartbreak and I held him tight.
The trouble was, I knew now that someday that day would come.
2
“This is what you came for”
NOT Calvin Harris…nicely played T. Swift
“How did I let you talk me into this?” Jake asked as he fastened his harness.
“Moan all you want, I saw you watching Mateo climb. You’ve probably already calculated the most efficient route to take given your height differential,” I said.
He had the grace to blush. “Shut up. I don’t have your freakishly wiry legs.”
“All those years of ballet were good for something,” I grinned. “Last one to the top buys ice cream.”
Jake surprised me. I beat him up but just barely. I hadn’t noticed, because all my attention was on the task at hand, but a small crowd had gathered to watch us. A cute redhead with freckles and a tablet was smiling at us as we returned to ground.
“You guys looked really good up there.” She shook our hands. “Hi, my name is Rachel Williams, I’m working on a marketing campaign for Austin Climbing Center’s relaunch when we open up our expansion this fall. I’ve had my eye on the two of you since you came in this morning. I was wondering if you might be interested in being highlighted in some of our publicity materials? Of course we’d compensate you for your time. We’d just rather feature actual customers in our photo shoots where we can, especially if we can say that you are.”
“You want to take pictures of us climbing?” Jake was struggling with finding any kind of logic in this. “Today was my first time.”
“Really? I’m sorry, I didn’t get your names.” We introduced ourselves. It wasn’t my imagination—she practically purred when she discovered Jake and I were cousins and not boyfriend and girlfriend. “Well, you must be a fast learner, Jake. You certainly looked like you knew what you were doing up there.”
I mentally rolled my eyes. It’s your face, Jake. But to be fair, for a nerd he was deceptively athletic. “May we get back to you on that?” I asked. I needed time to wear him down.
“Sure. Here’s my business card. All my contact info’s on there. I hope you’ll take me up on this.”
“Thanks Rachel, I promise we’ll be in touch. Lovely meeting you.” I tugged at Jake’s Still in Beta T-shirt. “You owe me ice cream.”
“You can’t seriously be thinking about doing this,” Jake said as we climbed into his Jeep.
“Why not? I think it would be kind of cool. Don’t you?”
“No.”
I switched gears. N
ot literally, Jake was definitely driving. “Rachel sure is pretty. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”
He looked at me. “So?”
“So, when was the last time you had a date?”
“What are you Kel, my mother?”
“Just saying. You think she’s hot, she thinks you’re hot. You should do something about it.”
“How do you know she thinks I’m hot?”
“She wants you to be a model in her campaign, Jake. Trust me, it wasn’t because you looked like you knew what you were doing. Because you so didn’t.”
“Remind me again why I hang out with you?” He knew I was right.
“I’ll let you call her.”
Our photo shoot was scheduled for two weeks from Saturday. Jake insisted on dragging me to the ACC every night after work between now and then—with the exception of my Monday guitar lessons with Drew, which he knew were off limits. It didn’t hurt that Rachel was there most evenings watching him in action. The Tuesday before the shoot Jake finally summoned up the courage to ask Rachel out for dinner Friday night while I pretended to look incredibly interested in the upcoming class schedule posted on the wall.
“She said yes.” I might have been gloating as I punched his arm on our way out to his Jeep.
Jake smiled sheepishly. “She said yes.”
Which was good, because I’d invested so much time and energy trying to push the two of them together my guitar practicing had definitely suffered. And I’d finally been making some serious progress on my rendition of Jason Mraz’s I’m Yours, but there were only so many hours in a day.
Dad was still at the construction site when Jake dropped me off at the motorhome. Hugging Charlie, I flopped onto my bed, kicked off my sandals, tossed my bag of climbing gear onto the floor, pulled out my phone, and euphorically texted Drew. It’s been a REALLY good day. Sorry. Just had to tell someone.
Drew immediately responded. Glad you picked me. Do I get details? You know I love it when you talk punctuality.
I played Cupid and it worked! Just basking in my victory.
Congrats. I think they make an SPF for that. Anyone I know?
My cousin Jake and Rachel, this woman we met rock climbing.
Sounds romantic. No. Wait. It really doesn’t.
I grinned. Right?! Thank you. It was a LOT of work.
Guess it paid off. Hey, what are you doing Saturday?
I immediately sat up straight on the bed, heart pounding, fingers trembling as I texted him back. Rock climbing with Jake. I’m his wingman. He likes this girl who works at the ACC, Rachel.
All day?
Probably. Why?
My friend Matt is taking his dad’s boat out. Thought you might want to come.
“I hate my life,” I told Charlie just before I plowed my face into my pillow. The one time a boy I liked might actually like me back and I was tied up making someone else’s love life fly.
Tell Jake to take Rachel rock climbing by himself. He’s a big boy. Drew was understandably confused.
I don’t actually know if Rachel climbs.
?
I was going to have to tell him. Rachel is doing an advertising campaign for the Austin Climbing Center. She asked Jake and me if we’d be part of it. The photo shoot is this Saturday.
Seriously? Wow. A professional model! I might need your autograph.
Yeah. It felt as weird as I thought it would. Sure. Have your people talk to mine.
Will I see you Monday?
Of course. I’m your 5:15.
Saturday morning Jake was whistling—whistling—when he picked me up. “I’m guessing your date with Rachel went well?” I said, fastening my seatbelt.
“I’m taking her out again tonight after the shoot.”
“Nicely done, Jakester! I’m impressed. And grateful. Today might’ve been kind of awkward if things totally tanked for you last night.”
“Rachel’s a professional. She told me she normally doesn’t date the talent but she just had to make an exception for me.” A streak of pink was creeping up Jake’s face. It was kind of adorable.
“Aww, Jake. I’m so happy for you I’m not even going to mock the fact that she calls you ‘the talent.’”
When we arrived at the Austin Climbing Center we were ushered into a side room where they’d set up a rack with clothes from their shop for us. A lady named Espe was there, waiting to do our hair and make-up. Jake was surprisingly agreeable about having his face done for something that was meant to look natural and athletic.
Rachel had a series of shots mapped out on her ever-present tablet that she wanted captured. We started with me being slightly ahead of Jake on the middle of the wall and then reversed that. They took angles from below and angles from above. Jake and I got short breaks to rest our arms and legs while they set up the equipment and crew for the next shot.
Jake used his breaks mostly to flirt with Rachel. I’d never seen Jake flirt before. He was so shy I couldn’t even imagine what that would look like. But Rachel had a way of drawing him out and making him relax. They were cute together.
Happy in their bliss, I pulled out my phone. I had a text from Drew. Good luck today. Smile pretty for the camera.
Thanks! Have fun skiing. Without me. I texted back.
At my next break he’d sent me a shirtless picture of him looking swoonworthy in jammers, sunglasses, and a backwards baseball cap. He was sunning his washboard abs and grinning with a couple of his friends in the back of a boat that was obviously zipping through the water at a pretty quick clip given the visible wake behind them. Wish you were here.
I sent him a mirror selfie of Espe touching up my foundation, which I’d mostly sweated off. Sorry #modellife.
He immediately texted back. You’re rocking it, Chicago. Text me when you’re done being glamorous? We’ll pick you up at your place. You have a dock, right?
Me (squealing—definitely startling, possibly alarming Espe). We do and I will. FYI: I’m never NOT glamorous.
I reminded myself of that when Rachel asked us to wrap our shoot using equipment from some of the other classes they offered—but she didn’t just want posing. She wanted us to have worked up a real sweat. By the time we were done planking on Bosu balls and kickboxing, jumping rope, and doing multiple sets with kettlebells and resistance bands after already putting in hours of climbing, I was wiped.
“Thanks guys!” Rachel finally clapped her hands. “Good work, everyone. I think we’ve captured something special here. Can’t wait to see the final product. Jake, Kel, you were amazing.”
“I think I sweated my eyebrows off,” I told Jake as he extended a hand and hauled me up off the floor. “You so owe me,” I muttered under what was left of my breath.
He swiped at his forehead with the bottom of his already damp T-shirt, flashing a fine set of abs that Rachel would no doubt get to appreciate at some point. Who knew Mr. Research Lab had all that going on? “May I remind you that this was your idea, Kel?”
“Of course it was, but I was just trying to help you get the girl. You know, the one you’re taking to dinner tonight?”
Jake wrapped a sweaty arm around my sweaty neck and squeezed. “Fine, I owe you, Squirt.”
I texted Drew while Jake was saying a lingering good-bye to Rachel. On my way home.
Drew quickly responded. We drove by your place earlier. I could see your car parked by a motorhome in back of the construction. Matt’s on the wakeboard. Be there in 20?
Make it 30? I still need to shower and change.
He sent me the thumbs up emoji.
“Dad?” I hollered over the sound of the whine of the saw. He was in the kitchen with Uncle Bryce and Justin, my married cousin with a nine-month old son. Justin worked at McCoy Construction with his dad.
“Hey Kel. How did the shoot go?” Dad asked, quieting the saw and pulling off his safety goggles.
“Long. I shouldn’t have run this morning. Turns out modeling is surprisingly hard work.”
�
�Still can’t believe you talked Jake into doing that.” Justin grinned, shaking his head as he handed Uncle Bryce a board. “So when do we get to see the two of you blown up in high def and on the sides of buses and billboards?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he cares—he’s taking Rachel out again, tonight.” Outside, I could hear the sound of a motorboat approaching our dock. Deep breath. “Hey, is it okay if I go boating with some friends?”
For the first time Dad realized I was wearing a swimsuit under my tank top and shorts, and carrying a towel in my tote bag. He, Uncle Bryce, and Justin all turned in unison and stared out the framed kitchen window as Drew hopped onto our deck and tied off Matt’s boat. “McDreamy?”
“His name is Drew, Dad.”
“You know this guy?” Uncle Bryce said. Drew was making his way toward the motorhome looking like a Greek god, blissfully unaware he was being scrutinized. Thank heavens he put a shirt on.
“He’s her guitar teacher.”
“Seriously? What were you thinking, little brother?”
“Dad?”
“Give me a minute,” Dad said, ignoring Justin’s smirk. “Bring him over, Kel. I want to talk to him first.”
“Are you going to embarrass me?”
“Possibly.”
“Don’t. Please?” Drew was knocking on the motorhome door. “Be right back.” I dashed out of the house. “Hey, Drew. Over here.”
“Hey Kel. You ready to go?”
“I am.” I could hear my dad clearing his throat behind us. They’d all followed me outside. “Drew, you remember my father, Lucas McCoy? Dad, Drew Jarrod. And this is my Uncle Bryce and my cousin Justin.”
“Hi. Nice to see you again, sir.” Drew extended his hand. I chewed at my bottom lip and looked imploring at my father. He shook Drew’s hand and then stood with his legs apart, arms crossed, his head cocked, doing his best and succeeding at looking very imposing.
“Kel says you’re taking her boating?”
Drew nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“There will be no alcohol consumed while my daughter is with you. Do I make myself clear?”