Not Quite Crazy (Not Quite Series Book 6)

by Catherine Bybee

  He slid on his coat.

  “Thank you again. For everything.” Rachel opened the door.

  He turned to her.

  She held on to the door, her hands fidgeting with what looked like nerves.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, not making any attempt to hug her, hold her hand and kiss the back of it . . . push her against the door and taste the back of her throat. No, he was quite reserved, given the fact he wanted to do all three of those things.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said.

  “Good night, Rachel.”

  “G’night, Jason.” There was a tiny sigh in her voice. Whimsy or want . . . either way, he liked the way it sounded.

  Less than thirty minutes later, he was climbing the stairs to the master suite of the estate . . . the walls of the house quiet, the lights outside illuminating the halls through the windows. He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and shot off a quick text. Your lights will go off at eleven. If that’s too long I’ll change it on Saturday.

  A quick dot, dot, dot flashed. It’s a miracle, your phone is alive!

  He laughed as he walked into his room. Don’t you have to work in the morning?

  Don’t you?

  I’m already in bed. Well, he was sitting on his bed, taking off his shoes, and texting. I bet money you’re cleaning up empty decoration boxes.

  When she didn’t reply right away, he knew he was right.

  Rachel?

  Nothing.

  You’re cleaning up, aren’t you?

  Crickets.

  Did your phone die? Like his had.

  Ha! It fell in the fish tank.

  Jason pictured her living room. You don’t have a fish tank.

  I’ll work on that.

  He managed to kick off one boot. Goodnight.

  Goodnight.

  Jason tossed his phone to the side of his bed and forced the second boot from his foot. For the first time since he’d moved into the master bedroom, he took notice of the color of paint on his walls. A decorator had removed his parents’ life before he’d moved into it. His mother was a buttery yellow kind of woman, and his father had let her decorate the house as she saw fit. Everything except the master suite had stayed the same, but the soothing yellow had gone away in order for Jason to make it his. Shades of olive and brown matched the style of the rest of the house without making the room overly masculine. He’d approved a picture and returned after a European business trip to have it completed. Much like hanging Christmas lights, he hadn’t painted a wall since he was a teenager. And that had to have been one of the walls in the guesthouse Nathan occupied on the property. The man had made it his business to give Jason and his brothers a space they could make mistakes in. Not that his own parents cared that they would screw things up, it was just that the main house was too large to ever consider tackling a project such as painting a room. He liked the feeling of accomplishment something as simple as hanging a strand of lights gave him. There was a lightness inside his chest that he hadn’t felt in a while.

  He liked it.

  Halfway through Thursday, Trent made an unexpected appearance at Jason’s door. The youngest brother came to the office twice a week at most. He headed the vacation helicopter tour section of their business, and then spent the rest of his time working from home or flying all over the globe with his wife, Monica, helping relief efforts. Flying in medicine or flying out a heart, the two of them had made it their quest in life to help others. They’d been married for four years and still looked at each other with lovestruck eyes.

  “To what do I owe the honor?” Jason pushed a pile of papers aside and stood to shake his brother’s hand.

  “It’s my day in purgatory.”

  Jason smiled at Trent’s reference to the Manhattan office. “You don’t hate it as much as you carry on.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  They sat down.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Cut right through the bull, eh?”

  “I do have a schedule to keep here in purgatory.”

  Trent leaned forward, rested his hands on his knees. “I’ll keep it short. Monica and I want to use the ranch for a charity fundraising event in early spring.”

  Jason paused. “You don’t have to ask.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “It’s just as much your home as it is mine.”

  Trent lifted a hand in the air. “Fine, but you live there.”

  No matter how many times he told his brothers his permission wasn’t needed, they always asked. “All right. Yes, you can use the estate. Just tell the staff.”

  “We’d like to make sure you can attend.”

  Jason sat up. “Well, now we’re talking a different thing.” He opened his calendar on his desktop. “When are you thinking?”

  “Last weekend of April or the first weekend of May.”

  “Has to be May. I’ll be in the London offices the last week in April.”

  “Perfect. I’ll tell Monica.” Trent stood to leave. “By the way, it’s going to be an auction event. Monica wanted to let you know that if you didn’t bring a date, she’s threatening to auction you off for a night out with the CEO.”

  Jason stared in silence for several seconds. “I’ll have a date.”

  “Really?”

  Jason paused on purpose. The kind of waiting that made the other person listen to what was going to be said next. “Yes, really.”

  Trent grinned. “I’ll tell her. Anyone in particular?”

  Now it was time to move things along. “Good-bye, Trent.”

  His brother lifted both hands in the air as he walked out. “Okay, okay. Just asking.” He turned before walking out of the office. “I heard you left work early on Wednesday.”

  Jason narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, so?”

  “You never leave work early.”

  Jason saw right through his little brother’s questioning. “Good-bye, Trent.”

  While Rachel worked diligently to have her report on her marketing plan ready for Jason and the senior executives on Monday, she spent an awful lot of time looking toward the hall, wondering when Jason would show up.

  He didn’t.

  She thought about texting him.

  She didn’t.

  Julie glanced around the divider separating them and caught her staring out the window. “Pssstt.”

  Rachel jumped. “What?”

  “Any chance I can talk you into drinks after work?”

  “Happy hour?”

  For a minute, Julie looked hopeful.

  “I remember happy hour . . . it’s that time before you need to get on the freeway and make sure the kid living with you is home and has dinner.”

  Julie pushed her chair back behind the divider separating them. “If you took the damn train, you’d be home in time for all that and still have an hour for some happy in your life.”

  Rachel squeezed her eyes closed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, Julie.”

  “Whatever.”

  She felt as if she was screwing up the only friend she’d really managed since moving to this city.

  Rachel pushed her chair around the cubby to see her colleague. “Julie.”

  She kept typing.

  “I don’t know how to balance this. It isn’t like Owen has been my responsibility for fifteen years and I know the boundaries.”

  Julie stopped and met her gaze. “Is he a latchkey kid now?”

  Rachel blinked.

  “Does he come home from high school, turn the lock on the door, and you’re not home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can he microwave a meal, shove a pizza in the oven?”

  Rachel felt the walls closing in. “Yes.”

  Julie took a few breaths. “Then he won’t miss you for an hour while you try and be a single adult.”

  She hated that Julie was right. Much as Rachel didn’t like stepping out of her newfound comfort zone with Owen, her friend was right.
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  “Next week.”

  Julie rolled her eyes and looked away.

  “No, really . . . I’ll tell Owen I’m staying in the city for a night out and will be home late. One Friday night won’t hurt . . . right?”

  Julie slowly let her lips pull into a grin. “You’re sure?”

  No. “Yes. Even Em and I would go out on occasion.” In the early years, Em would get a babysitter. Still, Owen’s mother managed to play adult once in a while.

  “I’m holding you to it.”

  Rachel tried to smile.

  “And if we have the night, bring a little black dress. You can change at my place.”

  The walls started to close in. Why did she have to suggest a night, when an hour would have made Julie happy?

  “Black dress. Got it.” She pushed back to her space. “Wait, it’s winter. I’ll be cold.”

  “Little. Black. Dress.” Julie’s staccato couldn’t be missed.

  “Okay.”

  “And a coat. No reason to be pissing cold.”

  Rachel placed her head on her desk and mumbled, “Oh my God.”

  “Don’t even think about backing out on me!”

  Her head popped up. “I’m not.”

  “Good!” Julie peeked around the corner. “You’re gonna love New York.”

  Rachel skipped the high school football game that night and used the time to shop for a few more boxes of Christmas lights and presents. The shopping center closest to home was shoulder to shoulder people herding through the department stores. Parents dragged small children around after their bedtimes, resulting in tears and tantrums. The line to sit on St. Nick’s lap wrapped around like a summer day in Disneyland. Holiday music blared as if it was yelling at the shoppers to enjoy the damn season.

  Rachel didn’t recall a Christmas when there was this much stress mixing in with mistletoe. Then again, her role in any gathering consisted of bringing a hot dish or a bottle of wine. She normally opted for the liquor. Now that she was responsible for a kid, a very grown-up teenager, but a kid nonetheless, everything was different. Instantly Christmas became something it had never been before.

  A chore.

  She scolded herself after walking into a video game store to pick out the latest must-have on Owen’s list. The line to the register was out the door. She should have just shopped on Amazon like everyone else. She glanced around. “Almost everyone,” she muttered.

  A massive display advertised the game she sought, along with a zillion copies of the disk. She snagged her copy and found the last person in the long line. “How long have you been waiting?” she asked the lady in front of her.

  “Five minutes.”

  The man in front of her chimed in. “I’ve been here ten. The people at the register haven’t moved.”

  The teenagers manning the store appeared to be dealing with an exchange for one customer, and only two registers were open. To be fair, there were only two places the employees could check people out.

  Five minutes later and the line finally moved up by one. Behind her it had grown by three.

  Rachel fished her cell phone out of her back pocket, searching for a distraction.

  She opened it up to find a missed text from Jason. Who is winning the game tonight?

  She snapped a picture of the long line and sent it off. Couldn’t tell you.

  That looks brutal.

  Shoot me now, she joked.

  I do my shopping in June.

  They moved forward by a family of four.

  I take it there are no kids in the family. Because if there were, early shopping just meant more shopping. Kids had a tendency to change their minds, and since technology was the big turn-on for teens, stuff was dated in six months.

  Rachel ignored the woman who backed into her, the lady’s bags nearly taking out the display standing in the aisle.

  Nope, not yet.

  That was interesting.

  Yet?

  I assume it’s only a matter of time. Glen has been married a year and a half, Trent just over four years.

  She was down to two customers in front of her.

  I’ll try harder to get this all done online next year.

  You still have time this year.

  She glanced up, moved forward, then ducked back into her phone.

  Other than a couple of video games, Owen didn’t ask for anything. I think he feels guilty.

  Maybe I can get some ideas out of him tomorrow.

  Much as she wanted to wipe the smile off her face at the thought of Jason coming back over, she didn’t. That would be great. Any idea is better than me buying the kid socks.

  Now that she thought about it, socks weren’t a bad idea.

  Poor Owen. I’ll see what I can find out.

  Thanks.

  Is 9 too early?

  That’s perfect.

  See you then.

  Rachel tucked her phone away and noticed the lady behind her glaring.

  A register had opened and no less than five people were snarling at her. “Oh, sorry.” She skittered up and tried to ignore the not so nice words from those in line behind her.

  Chapter Nine

  It was the first time Jason had been to the house during daylight hours. The Cape Cod style boasted lots of molding around the windows and more wood than stone accents. The small porch was large enough for one chair, or maybe a two-person swing, if it angled toward the door, but it didn’t have either. Someone had given the entry a fresh coat of paint in the not too distant past. Jason wondered if that was something Rachel did after she moved in, or if the sellers had put in some effort. He could see where there was more work to be done once winter lost its grip on the East Coast.

  He rapped on the door twice. Like last time, Owen answered with food in his hand. This time it was a bagel. “Hey.”

  Owen stepped aside.

  “Hey,” Jason mimicked back.

  “Rachel?” How the kid could get that loud with a mouth full of food was quite a talent. “Jason is here.”

  She replied from upstairs. “Coming.”

  Owen nodded. “Come on in.”

  Jason entered the warm space and smiled at the Christmas tree, which hadn’t changed since he left on Wednesday.

  Owen waved his bagel in the air. “Have you eaten?”

  “I’m good.”

  The sound of Rachel as she double-timed down the stairs had him turning around.

  Her hair was wet from the shower, her face void of makeup. Her cheeks were flushed and her skin was damp. Jason had a strong urge to lean in and sniff. “Good morning,” he greeted her.

  “You’re very prompt.”

  “All my flights arrive on time.”

  Those dusty pink lips pulled into a grin.

  “You’re a pilot?” Owen asked.

  “I know how to fly a plane.”

  Owen’s eyes grew wide. “That’s epic. Did you know Rachel works for some highfalutin private jet company?”

  “She did mention it.” Jason caught Rachel’s tense posture and lack of adding anything to the conversation. “So are you ready to string some more lights?”

  “Would you like some coffee first?” Rachel asked.

  “After, when I’m wet and cold.”

  Rachel looked over his shoulder and out the window. “It’s raining?”

  “Drizzling.”

  “You don’t have to do this today.”

  Jason opened the door. “This isn’t California. If we waited for good weather, we wouldn’t get anything done here.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Owen grabbed his coat and walked out. Jason followed.

  Her boss. No, the owner of the highfalutin private jet company was on her roof, in the rain, for the second time in a week. She’d bet money there weren’t any other employees of Fairchild Charters who could say that. She and Jason might not be dating, but there certainly was something going on here she didn’t know how to navigate.

  She
’d sat down to put on makeup before he arrived and stopped herself. It shouldn’t matter how smooth her skin looked or how expressive her eyes were if he was just being neighborly. He didn’t seem to notice, and he hadn’t run away. Not that she applied her cosmetics with a heavy hand . . . well, she had that week due to the black eye, but as a norm, she didn’t.

  From the window, she watched Owen and Jason set up the ladder as they had earlier in the week. Jason went up, and this time she heard footsteps on her roof. She cringed and really hoped her boss knew what he was doing and wasn’t going to be part of her landscape with a wrong turn.

  Instead of standing by the window and stressing herself out, she went through the kitchen to her mudroom and out into the garage to gather the tools she needed for her indoor activity.

  Removing the kitchen door left a frame that needed to come out. She’d become well acquainted with chisels and hand sanders. Wood putty did a great job of hiding her mistakes before she added a new layer of paint to cover it all up. After setting up her workspace, she took her hammer and chisel and went to work.

  There was a harmony in the pounding going on outside as she went at it inside. Much as this was work, it also calmed her soul. She liked the diversity of the tasks she’d managed to accomplish since moving to Connecticut. There was a first time for everything, and Rachel had experienced many do-it-yourself ones.

  It quickly became apparent that the simple doorway, which should have taken an hour of careful destruction, was going to take much longer. Like other places in the house, the kitchen threshold had no less than a dozen layers of paint. And to make it worse, the semigloss stuff used in the high-moisture room seemed to stick better. Or maybe that was the years of grease built up. She gave up kneeling on the ground and took a chair from the kitchen table to make things easier on her back. She hummed a popular country song while she worked and lost track of time.

  A gust of cold air followed Jason and Owen as they came back inside.

  “That was quick,” she said, looking up from her perch.

  “We’ve been out there an hour and a half.” Owen shook off his coat and hung it by the door.

  Jason followed his lead.

  Rachel glanced at the clock, then back at what little she’d accomplished. “I’m never gonna get this done before tonight,” she said to herself.