She had to stop comparing Travis to movie stars just because he was being a good guy.
“I’d love to come in.” He followed her inside, latching the door behind him.
He pulled off his shoes and set them next to the sign she had made up that read,Shoes Off, Please and Thank You.
“It’s quiet.” She moved to the kitchen to unload the bag.
No one had ever taken her margarita sign seriously. She hadn’t,either,when she first made it, but then as time went on and the boys got bigger and the intensity of life weighed heavier—she’d wished more than once that someone would leave her a basket of margarita fixings.
“It is,” he said, his deep voice seeming out of place in the quiet space of her home. “Quiet.”
“It’s never quiet.” She set the limes aside, finished unloading the bag, and folded it carefully before sliding it into the cabinet under the sink.
“Even when the boys sleep?” Travis pulled two glasses from the cupboard.
“You have no idea.” She did her best to keep her eyes open. It was hard, but she managed it. She snagged a cutting board for the limes and the cocktail shaker she wished she got to use more often.
“Do you want one or two?” Travis popped the top off the shaker and filled it with ice from the fridge. “Or a pitcher for later?”
Uh, a pitcher for later, duh. She pulled the shaker back into her grip. “I can mix them. You don’t have to.”
“Nope, the sign says margaritas, not the ingredients. I’m fixing them up for you.”
She looked at him from under her lashes. “I won’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking.” He took the shaker from her. “Before you start in on telling me how you can make them better, I’d like to point out that I do know how to do this. As a matter of fact, I take margarita making seriously.”
Oh, ouch. She’d definitely touched a nerve.
“On the rocks”—he held the shaker—“or in a blender? I should’ve asked that first.”
“Do you know how to use my blender?”
“I bet I can figure it out.”
“I don’t know. It’s one of those special Pampered Chef ones that can make soup or margaritas or whatever blended concoction you want as long as you press the right button.”
His eyes heated with an intensity Rachel hadn’t felt from a man in…wow, it’d been a while, huh?
“Then I’ll make sure to press the right button,” he said.
“Let’s go with the shaker kind.” Rachel decided immediately.
Travis Frank seemed to maybe, might be,hitting on her with margaritas, and those dimples, and that grin. And she was tired. And her boys were out for the night. And sometimes if she squinted while he was talking, he kind of looked like a superhero version of McConaughey.
“Thank you,” she announced when he started mixing. “For the margaritas.”
Yes, she was thanking Travis. Miracles could happen. It couldn’t have been the tequila,because she hadn’t had any yet, so probably just fatigue.
She wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure that as he squeezed a lime into the container,he said, “You’re welcome.”
Life had exhausted her, and she had the night off and Travis Frank was making her margaritas and then she was going to sleep. She was going to sleep the hell out of this Friday night.
…
Travis
Fun fact, Rachel was a lightweight. One and a half margaritas and she was an open book.
