Rachel, Out of Office

by Christina Hovland

  “Nope.” Travis pinched his lips closed and shook his head. “Don’t squeeze the boys. I can speak for all men when we say ‘no’ on this one.”

  “You speak for all men on this subject?” Rachel asked without adding even the thinnest coffee filter to her thoughts before they vocalized right from her lips. “Literally, all of them?”

  “Of course not,” Travis said lightly. “Just every man I’ve ever met and every one I’ll ever meet.”

  “The produce manager will get upset if I lick the lemons.” The words tumbled from Rachel’s lips before she fully processed their meaning.

  She couldn’t help it, her cheeks burned, and she was pretty sure she’d turned the color of the red accent wall in her living room as her mind played a film reel of licking Travis’s lemons.

  Yikes. No. Nada on a banana. That would not happen.

  “Rach.” He grinned, the slow way he drawled her nickname making her cheeks burn brighter. “You never cease to surprise me.”

  One-hundred-percent inappropriate, that’s what this was. Because, first of all, his brand of irresponsible didn’t just land on the playboy square of the game. His misguided style landed every-freaking-where. Taking nothing seriously was literally his thing.

  What was the second of all? Oh, right, right, right, he was Gavin’s brother. Okay, fine, they were only friendly co-parents who shared a couple of kids, but he was Gavin. Her ex Gavin. She was Rachel. His ex Rachel. This definitely went on the list of reasons.

  The fact was, this was Travis, and he drove her bonkers 99.9 percent of the time, and that was plenty of reason for her to force her mind to not think of his lemons or zucchini or…you know what? Rachel was going to go full carnivore and just avoid the produce aisle from here on out.

  If she needed vegetables or fruit, she’d just hit up the frozen variety in the freezer section.

  “You can’t just walk in here and say something’s a bad idea without a suggestion as to what would be a good idea.” Molly’s eyes danced in the way that Rachel just knew she was plotting yet another not-so-subtle shove in her direction.

  “I promise, any suggestions I give will have nothing to do with produce,” Travis said, slow and deliberate. “I shop at the supermarket, too. I don’t want to have to explain to my nephews what their mama is doing to the pineapple.”

  “I’m not doing anything to the pineapple,” Rachel said, her voice raising before she quickly caught herself and hissed, “that’s my point.”

  Here he was stealing her point without even so much as a please may I have it?

  Travis leaned closer, so only a foot of space separated them, enough that it should’ve been plenty. Yet even though it was a full foot of space, it felt like only a fraction of that. Like it was just the two of them there at the baseball field. His eyes held hers, her heart beat faster, her stomach twisting itself into lemony, whiskey-flavored knots.

  “You make lewd gestures with a mango, we’ll have to have a private discussion about appropriate uses for groceries,” he said, utterly serious.

  Blurgh. Gah.

  She scowled at him.

  He didn’t seem to care, settling in stride with her as the trio continued toward the bench.

  “So she sticks to obviously sexual fruits and vegetables.” Molly nodded with her train of ridiculous thought.

  What the hell was an obviously sexual fruit?

  “No tropical fruits,” Molly tossed in, continuing. “Stick to the basics.”

  Rachel stared openly at Molly like she was fresh in the act of molesting produce.

  “I cannot believe I’m participating in this conversation,” Rachel said under her breath.

  Travis’s eyes glimmered. “I don’t know, the conversation keeps getting more and more interesting. Makes me wonder where it’s going next.”

  “Nowhere, it’s going nowhere,” Rachel mumbled, tripping a little over a crack in the sidewalk.

  The stumble was slight, barely there, but Travis’s hand hovered at her elbow, apparently ready to save her from biffing it.

  That was nice of him.

  He rarely did nice with Rachel. Not really.

  He dished out the critical and sarcastic just fine, however.

  Then she doled it right back at him.

  Truthfully, it became exhausting.

  “Feels like it’s going somewhere,” he said, as though he knew this for certain.

  Blood flowed to her cheeks, and she would bet money soon she’d have hives. “Please, stop.”

  He took her in for a moment, studied her with those deep brown eyes—like he really saw her. The feeling made her shiver all over.

  “Maybe we should start over. Say hello and pretend we never had this conversation about groceries,” Travis suggested.

  “Excellent,” Rachel said, eyes focused straight ahead so she didn’t trip again or get caught in his eyes once more.

  “Trav!” Molly bounced along the path with them. “Good to see you here. What are you up to these days?”

  “Not a thing other than watching my two favorite nephews win this here ballgame,” he replied, laying on his southern accent thicker than necessary, letting the full twang hang out.

  If you asked Rachel, he should have to have a license when he wielded that thing. Some unsuspecting woman might just get smacked upside the head by the sheer sensual sounds he could produce.

  His brothers didn’t wield their accents like that. They both seemed to cover the twang, to blend in with the other Coloradans.

  Not. Travis.

  Rachel paused mid-step when Kellan threw the ball across the field with remarkable precision for an eight-year-old. The kid lit up when the ball made it home.

  His brother, Brady, wasn’t so into baseball, but he played because his brother wanted to play. Rachel hadn’t yet been able to extract from him an extracurricular activity that he would be truly excited about. He seemed content to do whatever Kellan wanted to do. Contentment, however, didn’t bring him joy.

  If there was one thing Rachel had learned from watching Marie Kondo, she needed to find something that sparked Brady’s joy.

  The joy Kellan had on the baseball field.

  “Rachel, how are you doing this fine afternoon?” Travis asked, his words low like he meant them for only her, even though Molly was right there with them.

  Rachel slid her gaze to him. He was staring at her, and not like she was funny. Not like he’d been staring before.

  She cleared her throat. “Great. I’m great.”

  “Gavin couldn’t make it,” Travis said, his voice low and, God bless the man, sympathetic.

  “I know. He called. I guess you drew the short straw?” she asked, her gut plummeting.

  The boys didn’t get to see their dad as often as she’d have preferred—Gavin traveled a lot for the work he did with the family company. He’d taken over management of the Puffle Yum foundation, charitable work that he seemed to approach the same way Brady approached baseball. Like it was just something to do to pass the time.

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” Travis asked, feigning insult and refocusing on the field. “I came to watch my nephews kick some ass on the field.”

  Used to be, the boys would trip all over themselves for Gavin’s attention. Lately, they seemed to have resigned themselves to the fact that he had other priorities. Rachel did her best to fill their lives up so much, they didn’t notice when Gavin couldn’t be there.

  Rachel took the last steps to the park bench where she usually watched the games—away from the stands, but still with a full view of the game.

  “Good thing I got here when I did.” Travis looked straight ahead, his eyes moving from Kellan to Brady and back again. “I consider it my civic duty to save men’s balls from the vise grip of the mommy brigade.”

  Oh, look, the rest of the mommy bri
gade. Rachel waved to her other friends already in the stands. Maybe they’d come to her rescue.

  Happily married, perpetually chill April was their yoga-loving friend who also managed a blog, a podcast, and a web community. Brown hair always in a low ponytail, light complexion, and a smile that seemed to make a person relax on contact, April was the real deal. The Calm Mom, her brand, was popular all around the country. Her reach made sense, because April’s abundance of tranquility was impressive.

  She sat next to Kaiya, their resident multilevel marketing salesperson. With black hair cut in an A-line and flawless gold-toned skin, her words held a perpetual kindness that made everyone want to support her business. She sold all-natural skin care products she’d discovered while visiting family in Japan two years ago. The company was huge in Asia and becoming bigger and bigger every month in the States. The overnight serum was the most kick-ass cream Rachel had ever tried. Not to say that a serum could change a woman’s life, but Kaiya’s was just that good.

  “How do you meet women, Mr. Frank?” Molly asked, getting down to business.

  “Well, I’m glad you asked, Ms. Molly.” Travis settled in beside Rachel. “Because I meet women the old-fashioned way.”

  Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

  “What’s the old-fashioned way?” Rachel asked. Dammit.

  He paused, looking from Rachel to Molly and back to Rachel. Something curled in Rachel’s belly and she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. The same feeling she always had when Travis was around. One part curiosity and two parts stay the hell away because, danger, danger. Player, player.

  “They come to me.” He grinned then, and that grin made Rachel seriously consider swiping right on his profile picture.

  “I suggest clients show off their strengths,” Molly said. “Do the things they’re good at. Attract a potential partner that way.”

  “Then I guess I’d be doing the laundry for him on the first date,” Rachel said. Laundry was one thing she was exceptionally good at. “Since I can get anything out of cotton, maybe we should meet at the laundromat. Offer to separate his colors. Bonus, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll still have the laundry done.”

  That was some seriously mommy logic going on right there.

  “You could tell him how much you like your laundry good and wet,” Molly said, the last word coming out on a sultry breath.

  “It makes sense. Besides, if you’re equating meeting a man to sex, then laundry is totally like sex,” Rachel added, apparently rolling with the nonsensical bouncing around the ball field.

  “I think you might have sex with the wrong people, if you’re comparing it to laundry.” Travis held up his hands. “I’m not judging. I’m just sayin’.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’ve never thought of it like that?” Rachel asked.

  “Like a chore I have to do?” He seemed to take a mental inventory of his past partners. “Nope.”

  “It’s not that much of a stretch.” Rachel threw up her hands.

  Molly looked as unconvinced as Travis felt. She stayed silent, though, clearly letting Travis take lead on the inquisition.

  “Maybe you should explain it?” Travis asked, his expression unreadable.

  Rachel nodded, ready to dive in. “Okay, it’s like…”

  “This ought to be good.” Travis settled in.

  Rachel’s palms started to sweat, but she sallied forth.

  “It’s like, you have to do things in a specific order.” Rachel was all confidence as she did her best to explain the unexplainable. “And on certain days,” she continued.

  “Uh,” Molly started to speak.

  Travis apparently elected not to.

  “There’s a lot of bending over,” Rachel continued, because that much was true.

  This time both Travis and Molly remained totally silent. Rachel kept on going. There was a point here. She simply needed to get to it.

  “The first time, you don’t really know what you’re doing. It takes practice. You should always pretreat so it works out for all the garments involved.” Rachel didn’t even stumble over the words as she said them. “If you don’t, somebody’s going to be unhappy.”

  Travis’s eyes went a little wider, but other than that, his expression didn’t change.

  “When it’s over, the buzzer should go off,” she added, like this entire conversation made sense.

  Travis and Molly hadn’t moved at all during her tirade on laundry sex. They both stayed still.

  Because laundry sex made no sense at all.

  “Well, this episode of Find Rachel a Man has been real, but I’ve got a game to watch,” Rachel mumbled.

  “I guess more of the lecture on laundry sex has to wait,” Molly replied.

  “Or…” Travis said.

  Rachel paused at his voice. Molly turned toward him.

  “Or,” he started again. “You could use this as a learning experience. Let’s just call it the latest episode of How Not to Meet Men. We’ve covered the basics here today.”

  “You’re impossible.” Rachel turned her body as far away from him as she could. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t that far.

  “I’m reasonable,” Travis whispered so only she could hear.

  She turned, glared at him, but the look he was giving her made her want to ask him to do a load of his extra dirty…clothes.

  No. She shut her eyes. Rachel absolutely refused to think about Travis’s laundry. Or stroking a pineapple. Or anything else. She opened them again.

  “You’re the least reasonable person I know,” Rachel said under her breath.

  Travis kicked back, getting comfy on the bench. “I think if we’ve learned one thing here today, it’s that we need to expand your horizons.”

  Molly’s cheeks stretched wide with her smile. “Now we’re talking.”

  “No, we are absolutely not.” Rachel huffed.

  “I think we might be,” Travis murmured softly.

  Dammit, Rachel’s stomach did the flippy, floppy goodness oh-so-good acrobatics at what sounded like a Travis declaration.

  Chapter Three

  “Parenting is f**king hard.” — Adele

  Travis

  Travis preferred to live in the realm of fact. Hey, don’t judge him by his past. This was true now. He’d learned things were easier with data backed up by indisputable evidence. He’d just taken the long way coming into that knowledge.

  Now, he understood there was fact and there was opinion.

  For example, it was a fact that the boys won their baseball game the evening before, after the uncomfortable squeezing conversation. No one, not even Rachel when she was on a tear, could dispute their win.

  It was, however, Travis’s opinion that his brother, Gavin, was the favorite of their parents. He based this on years of observation.

  Another fact was that Gavin didn’t regularly make his children a priority.

  The evidence? He flew to Boston for the summer instead of bringing his kids on the family summer sabbatical—the one that always took place during two full months at the Puffle Yum Twin Lakes retreat. The summer residence was a twelve-thousand square foot lakefront monstrosity with nine bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a pool, a buttload of open space, and a private dock for a couple of boats.

  The entire Frank family held a two-month family vacation together there every year. It made them appreciate any time they spent apart the rest of the year.

  “Do you think he told Rachel he’s skipping out?” Dave, his other brother, asked.

  Gavin should’ve talked to Rachel. But Gavin was Gavin and he didn’t do the hard things. The evidence pointing to Gavin’s asshattery was as vast and wide as the Puffle Yum brand’s popularity.

  Travis’s stomach wound around itself like a twist tie for bakery bread. He shook his head.

 
“Nope.” He did not believe Gavin had told her.

  “That’s what my money says, too.” Dave kept his gaze forward, but the little tick happening in his jaw belied his outward calm.

  Travis’s gut tightened further. If this continued, he’d need a whole bucket of intravenous antacid. This is how it went when he was around Rachel—he wound himself up in knots, especially when there was not-so-great news to share.

  Usually, this resulted in him teasing her or matching her sarcasm bite for bite. Even when he tried not to.

  “I’ll let her know.” Travis steeled the words and gripped and ungripped his fists. “If Gavin didn’t.”

  Dave pulled into Rachel’s driveway, right behind the SUV she’d gotten in the divorce. “It’ll go better if I do it.”

  Travis didn’t disagree, but Dave sometimes took the back roads during a conversation when there was a highway right freaking there and the highway version took half the time and half the effort.

  Travis opened the car door and stepped out into the sunny day on the quiet street in front of Rachel’s house.

  His heart did the plummeting thing that it did when he knew Rachel was facing disappointment. Usually, he ignored it. Today felt…different. Scratchy. So he turned his attention from his feelings to the well-kept pots of flowers around her front steps and the wreath on the door he knew she made herself by somehow weaving twigs together.

  She’d given one to each of them last year for Christmas.

  “I’m going to shove him in the lake,” Dave said as he headed toward Rachel’s front door.

  “Kinda hard to do when he’s not going to be there,” Travis said under his breath.

  Rachel’s house looked like it came from one of the Country Chic and Charm magazines—whatever the fuck that meant. They were magazines at the checkout line of The Home Depot, and he’d noticed them because they reminded him of Rachel’s digs.

  Her home had been a cookie-cutter house when first built, but she’d repainted it light blue with white trim and added a porch swing next to the all-weather storage bins for the boys’ shit. The fancy kind that didn’t look like storage bins, but looked like benches instead. Bins that were not of the bargain variety.