Not Quite Crazy
Page 31
There wasn’t any denying that.
“He is killer good-looking.”
“They all are,” Julie said.
“True.”
Julie tapped the edge of her cocktail with a fingernail. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”
“No! Of course not. He’s our boss.”
“You said that waaaay too fast, girlfriend.” Julie lifted her fork and used it as a tool for pointing. “You’ve been quiet at work. I see you texting more during your day than ever before. Smiling into your phone. I know the signs that there is a guy in a woman’s life.”
Rachel sighed and offered most of the truth. “We are not dating. I assure you. I told him we couldn’t.”
“Ha! But he wanted to.”
She looked down at her salad. “Yes.”
“I knew it. The way he watches you in our meetings is a dead giveaway.”
“I’m not going there, Julie. Just because he helped us with the Christmas lights and tree doesn’t make us dating. Dating requires dinner and drinks and—”
“He hung up your Christmas lights? Jason Fairchild hung your lights?”
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t meant to say that.
“He offered before I knew he was a Fairchild.”
Julie’s smile beamed. “That’s priceless.”
“And no one at work should know about it.” Rachel stared. “Promise me you’ll keep this between us.”
Julie pushed her lips into a thin line and pretended to button them.
Rachel doubted the button would hold.
“What does Owen think of him?”
It was hard not to smile. “Owen likes him, a lot.”
Julie stuck her fork in her salad. “I’m guessing he isn’t the only one.”
Rachel spoke around her food. “Not going there. Fastest way to lose your job is to date your boss.”
“Uh-huh . . . I’ll remind you of that.”
For the next hour they talked about anything and everything outside of Jason Fairchild. By eight thirty, they were standing three deep at a bar just a couple of blocks from where they’d started. Rachel sucked on soda water and kept her eye on her watch.
There was a time when the bar scene was one she enjoyed. The young energy, and the spark between strangers that created conversation and connections. Julie introduced her to many of her friends, or perhaps barroom acquaintances.
Twice Rachel texted Owen to see how his night was going.
Twice he told her she was being a ninny.
The third time, he took a picture of his room, telling her he was tucked into bed and not to worry.
Rachel knew there was no way in hell Owen was in bed before nine.
“Are you texting Jason?” Julie asked, trying to catch a glimpse of her phone.
“Owen.”
“Who is Owen?” the guy who’d been attempting to grab Rachel’s attention over the last half hour asked.
“My friend’s son who lives with me.” She really needed a better way to say that.
“You have a kid?”
“He’s not my . . .” She stopped. “Yes, kinda.”
“I don’t do kids.” And Pickup Guy was gone.
Julie stepped in and watched him go. “Whatever.”
Rachel tucked her phone into her purse and sighed. “I should go. I’m an hour from home and the roads are still slick.”
“It’s early!” Julie complained.
“I know, but Owen is home alone. I don’t want to push it.”
Julie pouted.
“This was great, really. I want to do it again.” Rachel glanced around them.
“I’ll walk you back to my apartment so you can get your things.”
“No, no . . . just bring them to work on Monday. You stay. I’ll taxi to my car at the office.”
“You sure?”
Rachel kissed Julie’s cheek. “Thank you for getting me out.”
Within twenty minutes, she was in her car and on her way home. Since when did she call an end to a Friday night before nine?
On the bright side, there wasn’t any traffic to speak of, and she pulled into her driveway just after ten.
Lights were on in the living room and upstairs. She pulled into the garage and walked around the boxes still piled in the corners.
Once inside, she shook out of her big jacket and left her purse on the kitchen table as she walked through. Voices drew her to the second floor. The temperature dropped as she climbed the stairs. At first she thought Owen had his TV up loud, but then she realized the door to his room was open and no one was inside.
“Owen?” she called his name and walked to her room. The door was closed, and light and noise came from the other side of the door.
Owen’s music from bands Rachel couldn’t identify reached her ears.
“Dude! You’re not very good at this,” she heard Owen say.
“You’re one to talk, you’re wearing more than you’re getting on the walls.”
Jason?
She sniffed and knew exactly what the guys were up to.
“I have an excuse, I’m fifteen.”
“Ha. I have an excuse, I’m old.”
Rachel smiled behind her hand before slowly opening the door.
Her bed and dresser were pulled away from the wall, the nightstand sat on her bed, with the lamps plugged in and lighting the room. Plastic tarps covered everything. The paint she’d picked up, which had been sitting in the garage since Halloween, now covered most of her walls. The window in the room was open, helping to air out the fumes and letting in the cold.
Jason had on a pair of worn jeans and a denim, long-sleeved shirt. Owen was decked in a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt.
Owen saw her first. “Oh, man.”
“What?” Jason used a step stool to reach the corners with a brush.
“Jig is up, dude.”
“Wow.” Rachel stepped in, careful with the splatters of paint.
Jason turned to look at the sound of her voice.
“What are you guys . . . this is fantastic.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Owen said, grinning.
“Color me surprised.”
“Whoa!” Jason stared at her, his eyes taking their time looking her up and down.
She’d forgotten that she was still in her little black dress and boots that went to her knees. Heat reached her cheeks with his blatant stare. “What are you doing here?”
He sucked in a long-suffering breath. “Owen asked me for help.”
“I knew I couldn’t get it done in one night by myself.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know. Now get out of here so we can finish. We’re almost done.”
Rachel put her hands in the air, laughing. “Okay, okay.”
She bumped up the thermostat and removed her boots.
Less than thirty minutes later, Owen ran down the stairs to retrieve a large plastic bag from the garage before disappearing back upstairs. When he came back down again, the tarp had been bundled up and shoved in the sack. He opened the front door and placed it on the porch. “Okay, you can see it now.”
With her hand through the crook of Owen’s arm, Rachel walked with him up the stairs and back into her bedroom. The furniture was still pulled away, but everything was back on the ground. The painter’s tape had been stripped from the molding, and the window was still open a crack.
Jason stood in the center of the room, smiling.
“Wow, guys. This is wonderful.”
“He is killer good-looking.”
“They all are,” Julie said.
“True.”
Julie tapped the edge of her cocktail with a fingernail. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”
“No! Of course not. He’s our boss.”
“You said that waaaay too fast, girlfriend.” Julie lifted her fork and used it as a tool for pointing. “You’ve been quiet at work. I see you texting more during your day than ever before. Smiling into your phone. I know the signs that there is a guy in a woman’s life.”
Rachel sighed and offered most of the truth. “We are not dating. I assure you. I told him we couldn’t.”
“Ha! But he wanted to.”
She looked down at her salad. “Yes.”
“I knew it. The way he watches you in our meetings is a dead giveaway.”
“I’m not going there, Julie. Just because he helped us with the Christmas lights and tree doesn’t make us dating. Dating requires dinner and drinks and—”
“He hung up your Christmas lights? Jason Fairchild hung your lights?”
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t meant to say that.
“He offered before I knew he was a Fairchild.”
Julie’s smile beamed. “That’s priceless.”
“And no one at work should know about it.” Rachel stared. “Promise me you’ll keep this between us.”
Julie pushed her lips into a thin line and pretended to button them.
Rachel doubted the button would hold.
“What does Owen think of him?”
It was hard not to smile. “Owen likes him, a lot.”
Julie stuck her fork in her salad. “I’m guessing he isn’t the only one.”
Rachel spoke around her food. “Not going there. Fastest way to lose your job is to date your boss.”
“Uh-huh . . . I’ll remind you of that.”
For the next hour they talked about anything and everything outside of Jason Fairchild. By eight thirty, they were standing three deep at a bar just a couple of blocks from where they’d started. Rachel sucked on soda water and kept her eye on her watch.
There was a time when the bar scene was one she enjoyed. The young energy, and the spark between strangers that created conversation and connections. Julie introduced her to many of her friends, or perhaps barroom acquaintances.
Twice Rachel texted Owen to see how his night was going.
Twice he told her she was being a ninny.
The third time, he took a picture of his room, telling her he was tucked into bed and not to worry.
Rachel knew there was no way in hell Owen was in bed before nine.
“Are you texting Jason?” Julie asked, trying to catch a glimpse of her phone.
“Owen.”
“Who is Owen?” the guy who’d been attempting to grab Rachel’s attention over the last half hour asked.
“My friend’s son who lives with me.” She really needed a better way to say that.
“You have a kid?”
“He’s not my . . .” She stopped. “Yes, kinda.”
“I don’t do kids.” And Pickup Guy was gone.
Julie stepped in and watched him go. “Whatever.”
Rachel tucked her phone into her purse and sighed. “I should go. I’m an hour from home and the roads are still slick.”
“It’s early!” Julie complained.
“I know, but Owen is home alone. I don’t want to push it.”
Julie pouted.
“This was great, really. I want to do it again.” Rachel glanced around them.
“I’ll walk you back to my apartment so you can get your things.”
“No, no . . . just bring them to work on Monday. You stay. I’ll taxi to my car at the office.”
“You sure?”
Rachel kissed Julie’s cheek. “Thank you for getting me out.”
Within twenty minutes, she was in her car and on her way home. Since when did she call an end to a Friday night before nine?
On the bright side, there wasn’t any traffic to speak of, and she pulled into her driveway just after ten.
Lights were on in the living room and upstairs. She pulled into the garage and walked around the boxes still piled in the corners.
Once inside, she shook out of her big jacket and left her purse on the kitchen table as she walked through. Voices drew her to the second floor. The temperature dropped as she climbed the stairs. At first she thought Owen had his TV up loud, but then she realized the door to his room was open and no one was inside.
“Owen?” she called his name and walked to her room. The door was closed, and light and noise came from the other side of the door.
Owen’s music from bands Rachel couldn’t identify reached her ears.
“Dude! You’re not very good at this,” she heard Owen say.
“You’re one to talk, you’re wearing more than you’re getting on the walls.”
Jason?
She sniffed and knew exactly what the guys were up to.
“I have an excuse, I’m fifteen.”
“Ha. I have an excuse, I’m old.”
Rachel smiled behind her hand before slowly opening the door.
Her bed and dresser were pulled away from the wall, the nightstand sat on her bed, with the lamps plugged in and lighting the room. Plastic tarps covered everything. The paint she’d picked up, which had been sitting in the garage since Halloween, now covered most of her walls. The window in the room was open, helping to air out the fumes and letting in the cold.
Jason had on a pair of worn jeans and a denim, long-sleeved shirt. Owen was decked in a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt.
Owen saw her first. “Oh, man.”
“What?” Jason used a step stool to reach the corners with a brush.
“Jig is up, dude.”
“Wow.” Rachel stepped in, careful with the splatters of paint.
Jason turned to look at the sound of her voice.
“What are you guys . . . this is fantastic.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Owen said, grinning.
“Color me surprised.”
“Whoa!” Jason stared at her, his eyes taking their time looking her up and down.
She’d forgotten that she was still in her little black dress and boots that went to her knees. Heat reached her cheeks with his blatant stare. “What are you doing here?”
He sucked in a long-suffering breath. “Owen asked me for help.”
“I knew I couldn’t get it done in one night by myself.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know. Now get out of here so we can finish. We’re almost done.”
Rachel put her hands in the air, laughing. “Okay, okay.”
She bumped up the thermostat and removed her boots.
Less than thirty minutes later, Owen ran down the stairs to retrieve a large plastic bag from the garage before disappearing back upstairs. When he came back down again, the tarp had been bundled up and shoved in the sack. He opened the front door and placed it on the porch. “Okay, you can see it now.”
With her hand through the crook of Owen’s arm, Rachel walked with him up the stairs and back into her bedroom. The furniture was still pulled away, but everything was back on the ground. The painter’s tape had been stripped from the molding, and the window was still open a crack.
Jason stood in the center of the room, smiling.
“Wow, guys. This is wonderful.”
