Chapter 11 #2
I watch it unfold, forcing myself not to react to the word babe crawling under my skin or the way his hand rests on her back.
I glance back at Rachel. She is staring down at her beer, slowly turning the bottle in her hands. Calm on the outside, but clearly, she is not relaxed. Her mouth is pressed into a tight line, and I get the sense she’s heard this whole speech at least a dozen times before.
She catches my gaze and straightens, snapping into the version of herself that refuses to give anything away. She lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a careful sip without saying a word.
I feel like I don’t know her at all. All the progress we made evaporated in seconds.
Ben slaps Anderson on the shoulder, grinning. “We should grab lunch sometime. I’ve got ideas I’d love to throw at you.”
Anderson’s smile tightens. “Sure. Shoot me a message.”
Rachel steps deeper into the kitchen, the light catching her pale blue sundress that brushes just above her knees. The fabric sways with each step she takes. Loose curls graze her shoulders, minimal makeup highlighting her eyes.
She stops near the counter next to me. “Hey, Rhett. How have you been?”
“I can’t complain. You?”
She shrugs and glances away. “Same.”
It is weird, talking like this. So casual and empty, with someone you used to sit and talk with at all hours of the day or night. All I want is to talk to her. But I say nothing. Silence becomes my cage, and I am trapped inside it, listening to my own heart pound like a guilty drum.
She moves past me toward Margo. The second Margo turns from the stove, she pulls Rachel into a hug.
“Hey, honey,” Margo says warmly. “I’m so glad you came.”
Rachel smiles, and I watch her shoulders relax the second Margo’s arms are around her.
Fifteen minutes later, the front door swings open and Connor walks in, still smelling faintly of smoke and soap. He had a shift at the firehouse today, so I can’t give him shit for being late.
I’ve gotten closer to Connor over the last couple of months.
He is sharp and doesn’t waste words. That earns respect from me without trying.
It helps that he has been friends with Anderson for years.
Over the past three months, the three of us have caught games sometimes, and grab beers when we can line up our schedules.
Wes, Connor’s childhood friend, has been in that mix lately, too.
He is a wildcard. He is laid back and funny, but there’s something underneath it that he doesn’t talk about.
Connor has mentioned he is in the military, Air Force, maybe?
The details are blurry, and I think Wes intentionally keeps them that way.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. He came through town a couple of months ago and stayed for a bit.
The four of us ended up hanging out. Me, Anderson, Connor, Wes.
It felt familiar. It reminded me of nights I used to have with Josh.
It made me realize I missed having guy friends.
“Nice place,” Connor says, clapping Anderson on the back. “Your texts better not have oversold the food, because I’m starving.”
Anderson grins. “Margo’s cooking, so it will live up to the hype. Beer’s in the cooler if you want one.”
We eat dinner outside. Margo lit candles on the deck, strung lights overhead, and set the long table with mismatched plates and cloth napkins.
She always makes it feel easy while putting in all the work, making people feel cared for without making a production.
I haven’t seen this version of her in a while, and I’ve never been happier to see her like this.
I slide into a seat near the middle. Anderson claims the head of the table with Margo beside him. Rachel sits directly across from me. Ben takes the spot next to her. Slone settles near the end, and Connor grabs the seat beside her, beer already in hand.
Ben launches into conversation immediately, and, to no one’s surprise, he dives right back into work.
“I had a meeting last week with a guy out of Denver,” he says, turning toward Margo as if she had asked. “He is a big-time investor. I’m talking six-figure buy-ins.”
Margo nods politely. “That sounds exciting.”
“Yeah, it is.” Ben’s clearly thrilled with himself. “I’ve been handling a lot of high-level accounts lately. Management’s trusting me more, which is huge.”
I tune most of it out. All I can focus on is Rachel’s hand placed on his shoulder.
Connor leans toward me, pulling me back to reality. “Guy really loves the sound of his own voice.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Ben’s voice rises again, something about marketing strategy and “client scalability.” I take a drink.
Connor mutters, “If he says ‘synergy,’ I’m jumping off this deck.”
I choke on a laugh. “Give it five minutes. He’s just getting warmed up.”
Ben punctuates his next sentence with finger guns.
Connor deadpans, “That’s it. I’m out. Tell my future wife I died doing what I loved—avoiding sales guys.”
He pushes back from the table with a dramatic sigh and heads for the cooler.
“Beer run,” he calls. “Only thing keeping me from faking a phone call and disappearing into the woods.”
I shake my head, grinning as he sidesteps a lawn chair.
Rachel stays mostly quiet during dinner. But I catch her glancing at me a couple of times. However, every time I meet her eyes, she looks away immediately as if she was never looking at me in the first place.
Conversation finally eases when Ben quits trying to dominate it. Slone tosses in dry one-liners that keep cracking Connor up. Anderson keeps the tone light, talking about their honeymoon with just enough detail to make it funny but not weird.
At one point, someone teases Slone about breaking up with guys over text.
“She’s not wrong,” Connor says, laughing. “I’ve seen the receipts.”
Slone rolls her eyes. “Would you rather I do it over pancakes?”
“No,” Connor shoots back, raising his hands. “Just be easy on me when you break my heart, Princess.”
Slone laughs, but there is a tiny hitch in it. “Please. Like you’d ever make it that far.”
Connor tilts his head. “So you’ve thought about it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Westbrook.”
“We both know it’s too late for that.” Connor leans back, teasing. “Honestly, I think I would bet you could ruin me in three texts or less.”
“Ruining you would be far too easy, and I prefer a challenge.”
“Slone, we talked about this. All you have to do is ask for what you want. I’m willing to oblige,” he shoots back, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“You know the saying curiosity killed the cat, right, Westbrook? Just a heads up, I’ve been known to sharpen my claws.”
Connor leans forward with a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face. “Good. Because I’m very curious and I don’t mind letting you sharpen those claws on me.”
“You guys are making me nauseous,” Margo chimes in, scrunching her nose.
Anderson waves his hands dramatically. “Slone, seriously—is this,” he gestures between Connor and her, “necessary? I’m starting to miss Aaron.”
“Grow up, Anderson. I’m allowed to do what I want. And maybe I miss Aaron too,” Slone fires back, eyes sparkling.
Connor places a hand over his heart. “Now that’s just cruel, Slone. Absolutely cruel.”
I sit back waiting for Rachel to chime in, but she hasn’t made a single sarcastic comment. I can usually count on her for an eye roll or two. At the bare minimum a dry jab. But tonight I’ve seen nothing from her.
Connor elbows me lightly. “You still with us, or you daydreaming about running drills with passed-out rookies?”
I blink, barely smiling. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m listening to you drone on. Don’t worry, Westbrook.” I say mockingly, even though I have no idea what he is talking about.
He rolls his eyes and launches into another station story. This one is along the lines of something about a guy locking himself out barefoot in the middle of a shift. I only half-listen. My eyes drift back to Rachel.
Then, a few moments later, Margo leans forward, glass in hand. “Actually, you know what that reminds me of?”
I glance up, curiosity flickering. Probably should’ve kept my head in the conversation.
She fixes her attention on Rachel. “Remember the state fair? That was so fun—we should go back to one of those.”
Rachel groans, tilting her head back. “How could I forget? You basically forced us to go.”
“I hardly forced you,” Margo protests, hands waving as she shoos away the accusation.
“I was there,” I say, smirking, “and I remember being forced.”
“You guys are so dramatic,” Margo snaps, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I had a knife to your back or anything.”
Connor perks up, elbows resting on the table. “I’m team Margo. State fairs are fun.”
Rachel crosses her arms, leaning back. “Yeah, but even with all that ‘forcing,’ Margo and Josh only lasted thirty minutes before ditching us. Rhett and I were stuck there with no car, and you know how I feel about clowns. For some reason, the place was full of them.”
I shake my head, laughing. “And we had so much fair food I almost puked.”
“I did puke,” Rachel admits, cheeks coloring, “after those spinny things.”
I grin, letting the memory play in my chest. “Oh yeah, I totally forgot.” I let out a content sigh. “We made a good night of it, Sunny.” The nickname slips out before I can stop it.
Beside her, Ben stiffens and looks at her. “Sunny?” His voice cuts, sharp around the edges.
That name doesn’t belong to him. It sounds wrong coming from his mouth, misplaced and exposed. I look to Rachel, but her eyes remain down on the table.
Ben turns toward me, brows lifting as if I owe him an explanation. “Why’d you call her that?”
I straighten slightly, force my shoulders to relax. I am going to stay calm. I am not going to picture my fist connecting with his mouth. “Because I did.”
He lets out a short laugh. “Okay, but what does it mean?”
“It’s a nickname. I assume you’ve heard of those before, Ben.”
Rachel flinches so subtly I almost miss it.
Ben leans forward again, voice lowering. “You think you can just say whatever you want, don’t you?”
“Relax, I said one word,” I reply evenly. “You’re the one turning it into something.”
His jaw tightens. He looks at Rachel, waiting for her to step in to correct me or maybe smooth over the situation. However, she doesn’t. She stays silent in her chair.
So I add, firmer now, “She called me Sweaty Rhetty once, too. Want a full list of our old nicknames? We’ll be here all night, Benny.”
That does it.
Margo jumps in immediately, sensing the shift. “Okay, moving on,” she says cheerfully. “Does anyone want more of this honeymoon wine, or are we all pretending it’s not incredible?”
Everyone takes the out. Conversation swells back up around the table, laughter filling the gaps.
Ben leans back in his chair with his jaw still pulled tight.
At least he’s finally quiet now. He drapes his arm over the back of Rachel’s seat in an obvious show display. But I’m not afraid of guys like Ben.
I don’t give him any of my attention.
I watch her instead.