“My mama told me it was inappropriate to bring beverages of this sort to a child’s birthday party,” Travis said, holding up the remnants of his first, and last, margarita in a mock toast. “I take her guidance on social customs as gospel.”
“That’s ridiculous. You should bring margaritas whenever you want.” Rachel’s face filter had dissolved about halfway through her first margarita, so she looked appropriately appalled.
He held back a smile. Tipsy Rachel was a hoot.
“When, precisely”—she waved her fingertip in a circle—“did you first read my sign?”
“I don’t know.” His southern-boy senses prickled, telling him he was about to get in trouble. He itched at his collar. “Probably around the time you put it up.”
“That sign has been there for two years.” She set her margarita on the coffee table to more fully talk with her hands. “You’re telling me, I could’ve been having these margaritas this whole time?”
Well, yeah, he supposed so.
He nodded.
“You should always read the signs and do as they request,” she said on a huff, falling back against the sofa cushions. “When you’re driving in traffic, you don’t justnotstop because your mother told you the signs are optional.”
No, he always stopped. She had him there.
“You know, every time I come over,Idoshut the front door.” He ran his thumb along his bottom lip. “As requested by that sign there.”
That got him a full Rachel smile.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You know that Mama has lots of thoughts about lots of things.”
Rachel glanced to the ceiling, flopping her arms to her side. “She ruins everything.”
“It’s her gift,” he replied, his lips twitching at Rachel’s margarita-induced melodramatics.
The television murmured low in the background, the only light in the room coming from the screen—some show about houses that Rachel had turned on—the hallway, and the small bulb over the stove.
This, this was nice. She was Rachel. There were no expectations. They were friends. Maybe. Maybe they could be friends. Stranger things had happened that day—Gavin had even apologized.
“I’m coming to the lake,” Rachel declared.
He had a feeling that she was half-past drunk and into blitzed territory, but he was a gentleman,as per his mama, and didn’t say anything about that. Also, he’d provided the liquor, so it was his responsibility to ensure she didn’t do anything too ill-advised that night.
“I heard,” he replied. “It came through on the family text chain. Mama is thrilled.”
When his mama was thrilled, everyone could breathe a little easier.
“I have to get work done, so I’m going to need your help,” Rachel said. “Dave’s, too.”
Wait. Hold the fucking phone. Did blitzed Rachel ask for help? This was good intel. Still, sober Rachel probably wouldn’t want his help, so he’d need to tread carefully. “Figured as much,” he said. “You know we’ve got you covered while we’re there. You can get all caught up.”
Rachel laid her head on the pillow, and her eyes started to drift closed. He didn’t say anything further, instead watching the show she’d left on the television. Now some beefy guy was attempting to build a house.
When he’d glanced back at her, she was snoring softly with her hands up under her cheek.
It was adorable.
Shit.
Was he allowed to think of Rachel as adorable?
The woman was made of steel. The wind tried and tried to blow her life over, but she held steady. She was a force of her own. The problem was, he had a hunch that if the wind got too strong, she’d need a net to catch her if she blew over.
He wasn’t sure that she had that net, and that made his chest ache. He’d been able to fuck up all the time when he was younger because he had the Frank family safety net.
