CHAPTER 6
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Miguel
The sun streamed in through the crack in the curtain, and the bright rays blinded Miguel as he grumbled and rolled. Fog clouded his brain. Slowly, the troubled sleep melted from his mind.
What time is it?
He lifted his arm and smacked his hand against the lamp as he searched for his phone on the nightstand. Gripping the little black device, he tugged the screen to his face and wallowed in the sinking pit spreading to his stomach.
“Nothing,” he whispered and eyed his unanswered texts from the afternoon before. “Why, Rachel?”
Swallowing the disappointment barreling through his heart, he dropped the phone to the mattress and released a heavy sigh.
What happened? You kissed me yesterday morning. And the night before! And now you’re just ghosting me?
Her sultry smile appeared in his mind, her sweet laughter echoing in his ears. Rachel’s lips pressed against his in a memory—just twenty-four hours before she’d gone radio silent.
“I don’t get it,” he mumbled and rubbed his fists against his eyes. Shaking his head, he forced his legs to move and stumbled from the bed. His toes dragged across the scratchy carpet as he descended the steps to the first floor with a growing desire for caffeine.
He tapped the button on the coffee pot and brought the small machine to life. It whined as Miguel popped in a k-cup and stuffed beneath the spout his favorite mug etched with Yellowcard’s logo.
Brown liquid slowly oozed, each drop perfuming the small kitchen with the scent of morning goodness. But his mood soured as disappointment settled in his gut. Rachel’s unanswered texts were a sad start to the day.
The last of the coffee left the spout and Miguel gripped the mug before trudging back to the stairs. Each step intensified the sorrow swimming in his veins.
He tumbled back into bed with a tight grip on the mug and sank lower onto his pillow. Miguel mindlessly scrolled through Instagram as the coffee cooled in his hands. Looks like Yellowcard has a show in L.A. soon! Twenty years of Ocean Avenue.
As he sipped the brown liquid and mulled over attending the concert, he found the strength to peek through the crack in his curtains and eye Rachel’s house. It sat as silent as her texts.
“Maybe you went out of town or something,” he whispered, working to convince himself of the unlikely possibility.
He inhaled a deep breath and tapped the screen on his phone until his unanswered texts reappeared—his offer to cook dinner rested in his palm.
“What do I have to lose?” he mumbled as a sudden bout of courage blossomed, undoubtedly aided by caffeine.
He typed, Good morning, Sunshine. Miguel pressed send and his brain blurred, the next string of words unable to form in his mind.
“I hope your open house...” With a frown, he deleted the letters.
I already said something about the open house yesterday.
“Are you okay? You didn’t respond...” Shaking his head, he deleted the letters for a second time.
Now I sound like a whiny asshat.
Frowning at his inability to form the next words, he huffed out a breath and dragged a hand through his short dark brown hair.
With his confidence fizzling away as the seconds ticked by, three little dots appeared in his palm and jump started his sad heart.
Rachel’s response filled the screen and he read, Good morning to you, too! I’m sorry I didn’t answer you yesterday. I had dinner with my family last night and now have what I can only assume is the plague.
He frowned as the prospect of seeing her diminished. Miguel sighed and typed in a response. There’s definitely something going around right now. My niece, Izzy, had strep throat last week. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well!
He eyed the little dots with growing anticipation. Thanks. I’m thinking you better keep your distance for a while. My entire body is killing me.
Miguel snorted and touched his lips, recalling her kiss. With a snicker, he tapped in, Well, considering yesterday morning... and the night before... I’ve already been exposed. He followed the note with another kissing face emoji and drained the lukewarm coffee before setting the mug on the nightstand. Lifting his gaze, he peeked through the crack in the curtains once more and conjured an image of Rachel resting in bed.
His phone pinged and his eyes dropped to her response. Ugh, I’m so sorry! I may have gotten a little ahead of myself. I just got out of a relationship and probably shouldn’t have—
Frowning at her note with the unfinished thought, his stomach plummeted. “Probably shouldn’t have kissed me?” He filled in the obvious blank. The words caught in his throat as disappointment crushed his heart. “Dammit,” he muttered and slouched back beneath the covers as the words just got out of a relationship depleted all hope.
Her latest, unfinished words hovered in his mind, hammering through his brain like a pair of tap shoes colliding with a cement floor. His heartbeat increased and pounded against his chest, thumping with dismay.
With a sigh, he tapped in, Probably shouldn’t have?
But no response followed.
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Miguel tugged Pier Ninety-Two’s side door closed and jiggled the handle until it locked. In his left hand, the heavy plastic bag dug into his palm, cutting off blood flow beneath the weight of the chicken noodle soup tucked inside.
At the very least, she’s still my neighbor.
He slid into his car and placed the soup on the passenger seat. The warm, salty scent overpowered the small space as he brought the engine to life and put the car in gear. Within minutes, the little car weaved in and out of traffic on the highway and veered off on the frontage road. The entrance to Rainbow Ridge appeared and Miguel turned, cruising down the familiar quiet street until his wheels found Rachel’s driveway.
Miguel eyed her front door, and his heart sank recalling her Friday enthusiasm turned Sunday rejection. He hung his head as he grabbed the bag and opened the car door.
I finally meet someone I click with, who isn’t married—
The thought stalled in his chest as an image of Lauren flickered to life in his brain again. Rolling his eyes, he trudged forward.
I’m such a mess.
Each footstep fell heavy on the cement path before his toes touched the two tiny steps on the front porch. Swallowing the disappointment barreling through his body as her front door loomed, he placed the bag of soup on the weathered doormat and bent to tie the handles into a bow. The plastic weaved through his fingers, trapping the steam beneath the barrier as a knot formed.
Miguel tugged the handles tight and sucked in a breath as the front door creaked open with a squeaky hinge.
“Miguel?”
Rachel’s raspy voice met his ears. He lifted his gaze to hers, and her puffy red eyes, pink cheeks, and disheveled hair looked back.
“What’re you doing here?” she choked out and pulled the light green fleece blanket around her shoulders tighter. A tired smile twisted her pretty lips and squeezed the strings of his heart.
He swallowed and lifted the bag. “Er, chicken noodle soup,” he said as he stood. “Cures any plague, I promise.”
She brought her palms to her cheeks. “You brought me soup?” Her lips pressed together into a thin line as her eyes watered. A stray strand of hair tumbled from her dilapidated bun and into her face. “Even after I sent that terrible text...” she added with a frown as the blanket dropped from her shoulders and fluttered to the floor.
His stomach dipped, flooding his veins with embarrassment. Miguel cleared his throat and extended his arm, the bag of soup spinning lazily in his grasp. “Umm, no hard feelings,” he mumbled and forced a smile. “You don’t—”
But her arms encircled him, squeezing his middle as her head rested against his chest. Heat poured from her body, warming his skin like a pot on the verge of a boil.
Whoa.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered and gripped him tighter. “I was so rude.”
Miguel lowered the bag of soup to their feet and held her closer, dragging his palm over her back. Sweat clung to her t-shirt and moistened his fingertips with each sweep of his hand.
“You really might have the plague,” he muttered and rubbed his thumb and index finger together.
She snorted. “Bubonic or Septicemic?”
“Let’s hope neither.” Miguel pulled away with a snicker and lifted his palm to her forehead. “But you are burning up.” He cringed. “Come on, back inside with you.” Gesturing to the door, he guided her over the threshold and snagged the bag of soup in one swift motion.
Two paces ahead of him, Rachel sneezed and stumbled back to the living room couch. “I’m going to get you sick,” she murmured as Miguel picked up her blanket from the foyer and tossed it over her body.
“I told you, it’s too late for me.” He chuckled. “We already shared germs.” He grinned as he fluffed her pillow and smoothed the hair away from her face.
Her eyes closed with a sigh and Miguel’s butt sank onto the coffee table amidst a layer of crinkled tissues. Each second filled his heart with the desire to stay and nurse her back to health—ready to hear her lively laugh and feel her lips press against his once more.
Past relationship or not, Rachel Prescott, I’m ready to help you rebound.
“Have you eaten today?” he whispered.
She shook her head and opened her eyes, her tired gaze searching for his.
“I just woke up... again. My doorbell app started blaring the second you stepped on the porch.” Pointing toward the TV mounted above the fireplace, she sighed. “Last I saw, the Fellowship hadn’t left Rivendell.”
Miguel turned and eyed Galadriel as she gifted daggers to Merry and Pippin. “Extended edition. Nice...” Nodding, he moved to the cushion beside her and rested his hand on her leg. “I didn’t peg you for a Tolkien fan.”
She adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. “Mitch turned me onto the movies again. Haven’t seen them since I was a kid.” With a shrug, she yawned and dropped her feet onto his lap. Her toes wiggled beneath her oversized, wooly socks.
Miguel snorted at the ridiculous print—goats galore. He stretched and snapped the elastic against her ankle with a laugh. “So, ah, Tolkien and... goats?”
Her sweet giggles filled the room as she stuffed her face into the pillow. “Oh, come on, don’t judge. I wasn’t expecting visitors. They were comfy and clean... and goats are my favorite.”
With a laugh, Miguel gripped her left foot. Massaging the heel, he grinned at the silly faces stitched into the fuzzy material. “I didn’t mean to wake you—or intrude,” he mumbled. “I was just going to leave the soup on your porch.”
Rachel’s eyes closed. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she whispered and rubbed her toes together with a shy smile.
His body warmed witnessing her cheeks flush. Sinking lower into the couch, he lifted his eyes to the Fellowship as they canoed down the river and left Lothlorien.
“I, ah...” he stammered. “Thought you just got out of a relationship.”
With a flutter of her lids, she hid beneath her palms. “I’m sorry. Umm, it was my brother—”
Miguel squeezed her foot. “You dated your brother?”
A burst of laughter left her before she sneezed again. Reaching for a tissue on the coffee table, she pressed her feet against his pelvis in just the right spot.
The breath left his lungs in a rush at the sudden pressure, the weight of her left foot sending tingles teasing his body.
Ugh, Rachel.
She blew her nose and added the tissue to the growing pile. “I did not date my brother,” she choked out, oblivious to what her feet touched.
Miguel shifted and returned his thumbs to the arch of her right foot, massaging the muscles in small circles. “Well, that’s a relief,” he huffed out, shaking off the inklings of arousal.
She snorted and eyed his busy hands. “What I meant was, Ryan suggested I focus on myself. Er, not rush back into dating so soon. I mentioned you at dinner last night and—”
“Ryan is your brother?”
Rachel nodded. “Twin brother.” She swallowed and lifted her gaze back to the TV as Boromir pleaded with Frodo for the ring. “I know he was just looking out for me. I didn’t really tell him too much about us.”
Us?
“But you were in a recent relationship?”
Rachel nodded again. “Well, yeah, kind of. Ian broke up with me a few weeks ago.”
With a gulp, Miguel moved his hands to her ankle.
“You’re really good at that,” she said and pressed her cheek into the pillow.
Miguel grinned as the dip in his stomach spurred his fingers to work harder. “Why’d he end it?”
“He thought we were too different.” She shrugged.
“Were you?”
Rachel grunted. “Absolutely. Looking back, we had next to nothing in common.”
“How long did you date?”
“Four months-ish.” She shrugged again. “The breakup came out of nowhere though and that kind of threw me. One day we were fine and then the next...” A shiver wracked her body, and she tugged the blanket closer. “I don’t know. He said I lived my life for everyone but myself.”
“Do you?” he prodded.
She frowned and stared at the TV. “Maybe?” Rachel sighed and her lungs deflated entirely. “But like, why is it a bad thing that I want to see my brother and sister be happy?”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing at all.” An image of Maria appeared in his mind, her smile squeezing his heart as Izzy joined the vision. “I always want to see my sister happy. That’s why I do as much as I can to help her with Iz.”
The life of a single mom.
“Yes! Exactly!” Her hand slapped the couch cushion. “Thank you! Finally, someone who gets it!”
“Sounds like Ian did you a favor then. I mean, if he didn’t understand that.”
She nodded and Aragorn drew his sword to meet the first Uruk-hai attacking the Fellowship at Parth Galen. “So, you have a sister?”
“Mmm-hmm. Maria. Izzy’s mom.”
“And you guys are close?”
With a nod, Miguel continued his massage up to her calf. “We are. Our mom passed away several years ago.”
Rachel’s fingers found his. “Miguel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He shook his head. “No, you’re okay. Mom’s illness brought us closer together. We’re nine years apart.”
Her eyes widened. “Nine?”
Miguel snickered and resumed his massage. “Mom never admitted it, but I think I was an oops baby. Maria and I don’t share the same father.” With a wink and a grin, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ears. “So, a brother and a sister for you?”
Weaving her fingers through his, she rested their shared grasp on her belly just beneath the hem of her t-shirt. “I’m older than Ryan by two minutes.” She winked. “And Rose is our older sister by two years.”
“And you all live here? In Pinecrest?”
“More or less. Rose has a condo in Rosewood.” Rachel dropped her feet to the floor and repositioned her body to rest her head against his shoulder. Heat poured from her skin, but she pulled the blanket with her and snuggled against him.
Instinctively, Miguel draped his arm around her and inhaled the scent of her hair.
“Ryan is a contractor. He flips homes with his girlfriend, Tess, and lives just up the road—er, for now. And then Rose, she’s engaged to Cole. They’re planning a wedding in December. She’s a chef and he’s in marketing.”
“Oh, that’s right. You mentioned she was a chef.”
Rachel nodded. “Yeah. A good one, too. Went to Kendall College in Chicago.”
“That’s a good school. Our former head chef went there, actually.”
“Our?”
His belly flipped, stilling the air in his throat mid-breath.
“Oh, umm, I meant Louis. He worked at Pier Ninety-Two before the fire.”
“Lauren’s head chef, then.”
With a swallow, he squeezed her shoulder as the familiar pit in his stomach opened. “Ah, yeah,” he choked out. His gaze returned to the TV to watch Sam and Frodo as they crossed the river and set out for Mordor.
Miguel lifted his hand and cupped her forehead. Heat warmed his fingers as another chill wracked her body.
“Miguel?” she whispered and turned her face toward his.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t remember the last time someone brought me soup when I was sick.”
His smile widened, growing with each passing second as their easy conversation flowed. “What are neighbors for?”
Her big brown eyes forced his stomach to somersault, sending his nerves into overdrive. His skin tingled, rippling shivers across his skin as she pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.
“I don’t know what you are yet, but you’re more than just a neighbor, Miguel Rodriguez,” she whispered and draped the blanket across his lap, too. Gripping the remote control, Rachel gestured to the screen and smiled. “Stay for the Two Towers?”
He pressed a kiss on her temple and pulled her closer. “Count me in for the Return of the King, too.”