Chapter 11
11
O utside of the bar, I contemplate grabbing her hand. I mean, we did kiss. But before I can make a move, she reaches for my hand first. The simple gesture makes me smile, and I squeeze her hand, interlacing our fingers. So easy. So natural.
“Rachel,” I say, breaking the quiet. “What’s your last name?”
“Wagner. What’s yours?”
“Nowak.”
She flashes a smile, then points to a nearby shop. “This is a cute place where you can buy everything your grandma could ever want.”
What a spot-on description , I think, looking at the window display.
“And this,” she points to another store, “is where you can find the stupidest t-shirts you’ll ever see.”
I nod in agreement, reading some of the shirts in the window.
“Should we get one?” she asks eagerly. “Like stupid matching ones?”
It’s a cute idea, but I share, “I’m in a minimalist phase.”
“How hardcore minimalist are we talking?”
“Not too extreme. I’m just trying not to buy stuff for the sake of buying stuff.”
“I feel that, but sometimes you have to make an impulse purchase like the temporary tattoos.”
I smile, leaning down to kiss the little tattoo on her temple. “I’m glad you bought them.”
She looks up at me, a little sparkle in her eyes. “You’re pretty smooth, you know?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You don’t think so?”
I lower my voice and lean in close, almost whispering. “I’m so nervous talking with you.”
“What?” She stops, standing in place on the sidewalk. “Why?”
I bite my lip, holding her gaze a little longer than necessary before answering. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever kissed.”
Her cheeks flush, and she twirls a piece of her brown hair with her free hand. “Well … you look like the mood board of my dream man.”
Did she really just say that? I stop walking, tugging her gently toward me for a kiss. This one isn’t as tentative as before. It’s slower, deeper—full of the feeling that I can’t believe this is happening either. There’s something about this kiss that says more than words. This connection is real.
When we pull away, her smile is bright, and she points to a nearby shop. “Sarah owns that one. It’s a maker’s studio.”
“That’s amazing. Are you all small business owners?”
“Not Emily. She has a six-year-old and does marketing for a law firm in town.”
Walking, holding hands, I feel so content and realize I haven’t looked at my phone since I got to the bar. Digital detox. It’s going well, and Rachel is more interesting than anything on my phone.
“It’s kind of freaking me out that this is happening,” Rachel says into the silence.
“What do you mean?”
“High Five … it’s like it has this magic or something.” She pauses, glancing back at the bar. “It’s how Emily and Nicholas got together. It’s how Sarah and Aaron started flirting. And now …” She trails off but keeps looking up at me.
I smirk, leaning in a little closer. “But we met at the Dubois house.”
“Well, you didn’t kiss me there ...”
“I could …”
Did I really just say that? It came out before I could stop myself, but it’s how I feel.
“Yeah right. I’m not hooking up there. It’s my biggest client, and I can’t mess that up.”
So, she’s not opposed to hooking up, just … not there. I bite my lip, trying to push down how overwhelmed I feel that she could be thinking about me in that way.
“I haven’t felt like this in forever,” Rachel says softly.
“What do you mean?”
She hesitates. “I’m probably going to freak you out, but I was engaged before. To my high school sweetheart.”
I know plenty of people who’ve been in that situation. Small towns.
“We almost got married, but I called it off. I felt like … I felt like he had his whole life mapped out, and at first, I liked that. But eventually, I realized I didn’t know who I was yet, and I didn’t want to get married when I wasn’t even sure what I wanted for myself.” She looks up at me, her eyes soft but serious. “I didn’t go to college. I’ve worked every kind of job around here and started a cleaning company a few years ago.”
“Running your own business is no joke,” I say, admiring her even more now. “And if you’re managing places like the Dubois house, you’re doing something right.”
She smiles, and I can’t get over how beautiful she is. Of course she’s gorgeous but … her energy, her warmth.
“I can relate, actually,” I share. “I’ve always been into computers, but I wasn’t sure how I wanted to spend my time until I got the job I have now. Hacking has always been fun, but this job—it’s like the pieces of my life finally started to fit.”
“That’s how I feel now too, like the pieces have finally come together.”
“Most of them,” I say, gently nudging her.
She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. “Most?”
“Well … I’d love to have someone to share it all with.”
“Same.”
We smile at each other, and it feels like the conversation just shifted into something deeper, something neither of us wants to say out loud just yet.
“So, this F.I.R.E. thing,” she says, changing the subject. “I bet it helps that you probably make a lot of money in cybersecurity.”
“I’ve made more money hacking.”
“I thought you said you were gray, not black.”
“There are companies out there that offer rewards or prizes for hacking them. It’s a way to test their security. I’ve made more money from that than my actual job.”
Her eyes narrow playfully before she says, “It’s kind of hot that you’re a hacker.”
“Not as hot as you in a Brand New crop top.”
She smirks, squeezing my hand as we continue to slowly walk along Main Street. “Do you know that band?”
“Know them? It’s taking everything in me not to say one of their most famous lyrics to you.”
“Hopefully it’s not ‘die young and save yourself.’” She nudges her shoulder into me.
“I’m thinking of one of their other depressing songs … that is also kind of romantic.”
“Aren't you a little young to be into emo music?” she teasingly asks me.
“I thought emo music was more related to being fucked up than age.”
She laughs deeply before saying, “Fair.” Shaking her head, she then looks up at me. “Why are you fucked up?”
“How much time do we have?”
“Don’t tease me, Patrick.”
Rachel saying my name. Fuck.
“Maybe after I take you out on a date, we can talk about that.”
“See!” She swats my arm. “You have game. Stop telling me you don’t.”
“I’m just happy you don’t find me boring.”
“How could I?”
“Plenty of people do.”
She shakes her head. “Not me.” Her smile widens, and I can’t resist anymore.
“Come here,” I whisper, pulling her into another kiss. This time, I let my hands slide down to her waist and then squeeze her ass. When we break apart, I tease, “You’ve got to tell me your workout routine because your ass says you lift too.”
She throws her head back laughing, and I smile, watching her. I really like her.