CHAPTER 7
RACHEL
The one constant in Rachel’s life over the past nine years had been change.
Change in her relationships with her family—her parents hadn’t been happy she decided to move to Denver permanently so the boys could be closer to their dad. Her siblings hadn’t been thrilled, either.
Change in her body—the postpartum phase should’ve lasted a few months, she figured, but eight years in and her metabolism was still messed up.
And change in her goals—it used to be she wanted to be a big shot like her brother Jack, work in a Los Angeles high-rise, and make lotsa money. Now, she settled for her own personal office under the staircase, the kitchen table, sometimes even her bed…wherever her laptop took her.
Life changed. Things flowed in different directions. She got that, embraced it most times.
But Travis bringing her margaritas? Yes, she would embrace it because they were delicious.
She could admit his margaritas were better than hers.
However, they’d spent time together last night like friends. Like she was hanging out with a male friend. A male friend who showed up late with an extra helping of five o’clock shadow that sometimes made her tummy flip and… other things.
That could not happen again, because if it did she might start to feel things more than a tummy flip, and she didn’t have time for more than a tummy flip. Especially not with someone like Travis. If she was going to have tummy flip time with a man, he needed to be a helluva lot more stable.
Filled coffee mug in hand, she opened the refrigerator to grab milk for her coffee and cereal. She stilled.
Travis had left her a whole pitcher of margaritas.
With a note. In bold handwriting slashes from a black ballpoint pen in all capital letters, he apologized for not bringing cocktails sooner.
What did she do with that?
Her lungs released a shaky breath.
Yes, life changed, but would it really be so hard for it to freaking at least try to fit into some semblance of the design she endlessly had to adjust?
The alert chime on her front door beeped. She looked up.
“Just us,” Molly said, letting herself in and striding through the living room to the kitchen with her son Oliver. “I came early to help you clean up.” She pulled the tablet from her purse and handed it to Oliver. He grinned like it was Christmas morning, since Rachel happened to know that Molly was stingy with screen time.
Which was odd, if you asked Rachel, given her profession as a YouTube personality.
Sunday mornings were for their “special” working mom meeting at the neighborhood park. Special because they all brought mimosas. Also, the moms each owned a business of some sort, but this was not a work meeting. This was a let-the-kids-play-while-the-moms-catch-up-on-all-the-things-that-happened-that-week meeting.
Oliver settled on the sofa and Molly turned her focus to Rachel standing in the kitchen.
She paused, probably because the kitchen was clean. Not just after-party-exhausted clean, but Rachel clean. And Molly knew Rachel well enough to know that after the party she’d have crashed and left the details for the next day.
“Did the house-cleaning, margarita fairy visit your house last night?” Molly eyeballed the half-empty remnants of Rachel’s last-night cocktail. “Or do you have a new best friend you forgot to mention?”
“How could I possibly replace you? You’d never allow that.” Rachel grinned.
“So it was a margarita fairy,” Molly said.
“Yes. Well, mostly.” He’d cleaned up after himself and even used the special spray that Rachel liked because it smelled like lavender.
Not that he’d known it was her favorite—it was the only cleaning spray in the kitchen—but what kind of guy even used cleaner? Didn’t they usually just go for a wet paper towel and call it good? Or was that only her experience?
“He?” Molly’s eyes turned to slits. “Like a mystical man creature who fills your cup with cocktails?”
Well, that was one way to put it.
