And Mac wasn't going to let that happen.
19
Mac
Mac's apartment was small but comfortable, the kind of space that said "functional bachelor" rather than "permanent residence." He'd tidied obsessively all afternoon, vacuumed twice (once wasn't enough, apparently), done all his dishes, and lit a candle that claimed to smell like "mountain air" but mostly smelled like candle.
Was the candle too much? Probably. But he was committed now.
Puck watched from her perch on the kitchen counter, radiating judgment from every whisker.
"Don't look at me like that," Mac told her, checking the pasta water for the third time. "I'm trying here."
Puck meowed skeptically.
"The recipe says it's easy. 'Simple but impressive.' That's exactly what Cole said. I can do simple and impressive." Mac consulted the recipe card again, covered in Cole's neat handwriting. "Bacon, eggs, cheese, pasta. How hard can it be?"
The apartment smelled like cooking bacon and garlic, which had to be a good sign, right? People liked bacon and garlic. Machad set the table with actual plates instead of paper, cloth napkins borrowed from Cole and Ellie.
His doorbell rang at 6:50, and Mac's heart immediately started doing gymnastics.
He checked his reflection one more time, button-down shirt in soft gray, good jeans, hair acceptable, face showing the appropriate level of nervous excitement, and opened the door.
Rachel stood there holding a bottle of wine, looking absolutely gorgeous in a casual dress the color of spring flowers and a soft cardigan. She had that nervous smile he'd come to recognize, the one that said she was excited and slightly terrified in equal measure.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi." Mac's brain temporarily forgot how to form complete sentences. "You look... wow."
"Wow?" Her smile widened slightly.
"Beautiful. You look beautiful. That's the word I was looking for. Come in, please, before I say something else inarticulate."
Rachel stepped into his apartment with a smile, the familiar space feeling more welcoming this time. Last time she'd been here, they'd ended up ordering pizza after the pasta disaster. Tonight, Mac seemed determined to actually pull off dinner. The bookshelf still held the Jane Austen novels she'd recommended, though he'd added two more since her last visit.
"It's nice being back here," Rachel said, glancing around. "Last time I was too nervous to really take it all in. Well, and then there was the sauce explosion."
Mac winced. "Are we ever going to let that go?"
"Never. It's going in my memoirs." She moved to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines. "You got more! I recommended three, but you have five Jane Austen novels now."
"Yeah. I finished Pride and Prejudice and wanted to read more. The poetry one is harder. I still don't understand most of it, but I keep trying."
She examined him with something warm in her eyes, then spotted Puck on the couch. "There's my boy!"
Puck's ears perked up immediately at Rachel's voice. The cat stood, stretched luxuriously, and hopped down from the couch, trotting over with clear purpose.
"He remembers you," Mac said, watching his cat rub against Rachel's legs, purring like an engine. "I think he's been waiting for you to come back. He kept sleeping on the spot you sat last time."
"Did you miss me, Puck?" Rachel bent down, scratching behind the cat's ears with the exact technique that had won Puck over the first time. "I missed you too. And I promise I won't let your human burn dinner this time."
"Hey, the pasta incident was one time," Mac protested.
"One very memorable, very smoky time." Rachel straightened, and Puck immediately wound around her ankles again, meowing plaintively. "Puck agrees with me. Don't you?"
Puck meowed louder, as if confirming Rachel's assessment.
Mac's chest warmed. His cat had good taste. He'd recognized Rachel immediately that first disastrous dinner, and nothing had changed. If anything, Puck seemed even more attached now.
