Chapter Four
RACHEL TOSSED HER Tumi computer bag onto the double bed that had been hers since tenth grade.
The quilt, her mother’s double wedding ring pattern in faded greens and creams, was freshly laundered, the smell of mountain spring detergent rising from the cotton as she sat on the edge of the mattress.
Same bed. Same room. Same view of the plunge pool through the east-facing window. And yet, nothing felt the same.
Noah had grown another two inches over the six feet she remembered.
Mink brown hair with silken waves, enough to cause any woman motion sickness.
Eyes that gleamed with the brilliance of rare color-changing gems—green, gray, hazel.
She never knew what she’d see with each glance, but she watched and waited for the storm, knowing whatever color, she’d be swept away, tossed and tumbled, a loose fixture banging into buried emotions, hidden feelings.
The truth—she should hate his guts for depriving her of years of peace…
and possibly pleasure, judging by that hot-guy body.
“FriendFriend, are we really not going to talk about Noah being your kitty baby daddy?”
“Nothin’ to tell. He had her delivered during my last visit.
The whole kitten-with-a-bow thing.” A flashback to promises between two six-year-old kids hit her heart with a two-by-four beam.
She changed the subject. “I know my dad offered you the loft apartment. Are you sure you’ll be comfortable out there?
” Rachel called through the open door of her childhood bedroom.
“Aw, he’s a romantic. Love it,” Benji replied.
“And yes, to your question. That barn apartment is fi-ya,” he purred, appearing in her doorway with an expression of pure delight.
“A renovated hayloft with exposed beams, a clawfoot tub, and a view of actual mountains. I feel like I’m in an HGTV special on rural retreats.
I’ll stay if you give me more juicy details about ClamClam’s long lost zaddy,” he sang.
Benji had many talents; he was a brilliant electrical engineer, a great listener, and the best kind of friend—unconditional.
Rachel chuckled. “Hmm, it’s a short walk to your new accommodations.”
“And to mind my business,” Benji finished for her.
“That, too.” Rachel had years of practice walling off her feelings about Noah.
Seeing him today had confirmed one thing: She needed to maintain a safe physical and emotional distance from the man.
Talking would deposit her in a hazardous construction zone without protection.
For now, she’d avoid feelings and contain her emotions.
“And sorry I didn’t think to offer it first. Dad’s right.
You’ll have more space to yourself than in the guest bedroom. ”
He held ClamClam and looked between Rachel and the tabby with a pointed stare.
“Mmm, and it had nothing to do with keeping your chronic platonic work husband away from his baby girl,” Benji teased, lowering ClamClam to the hardwood before leaning against the doorframe.
“I counted three doubtful looks and one ‘have you touched my daughter’ shoulder clasp? Real talk, your father thinks we’re buttering each other’s buns. ”
“First of all, never have I ever. And second, only buns on my dad’s mind…
are Bethany’s,” Rachel tossed out, though she couldn’t deny the observation that her father kept a close eye.
She supposed as a single dad to a girl who loved to roam their mountain town, he had a lot of training watching over her.
“He’s protective. Always has been.” Except he’d trusted her with Noah.
She thought her dad still wanted to see the two of them together.
Rachel knew better. “If I let him, Bethany and I would have a protection detail.” Losing a wife had something to do with her dad holding on regardless of distance or the disagreements.
He’d stood his ground when she left home.
She could leave Service. Leave Noah. But she’d never be rid of her old man.
“Speaking of which”—Benji lowered his voice conspiratorially—“I got the full tour of your barn apartment from Bethany. She’s absolutely smitten with your father. It’s disgustingly adorable.”
Rachel smiled, surprised by the genuine warmth she felt. “He’s easy to love. Always has been, but I’ve never seen him like this. Even on the phone these past few months, he’s different. Lighter.”
“And the house? I can’t help but notice the subtle blend of modern and vintage for a tasteful transformation.”
The old tin roof had received a contemporary standing seam metal upgrade.
Weathered Falu red paint that’d had her hesitant to invite other kids over in middle school now lay hidden behind a cool white exterior with stained oak trim.
All that remained true to her fading memory were the large red double doors.
The front porch, now framed in rectangular flower boxes bursting with white-trailing lobelias intermixed with yellow, red, and gold zinnias, the inside of the home, which had remained unchanged in her mind, had rearranged itself.
Gone was the shabby, gold and forest green microfiber couch butted up against the wall.
The scarred table with her initials carved in front of her self-assigned spot at the dinner table vanished.
In its place, a fresh-cut bouquet of peonies and lilies atop a tastefully decorated extended oak table with eight ecru and bone place-settings.
The entire room was painted an airy white with rustic, elegant light fixtures.
A distressed wood-framed bevel mirror hung above the fireplace mantel, adding a spaciousness that the room had lacked when it had been her home.
Rachel had expected everything to appear smaller, yet somehow, she was the one who felt outdated in her father’s renovated life.
“Not quite a complete makeover, but definitely not the bachelor pad of a widowed farmer I envisioned.”
Benji hit the nail on the head. Rachel wanted to brat out, to walk in the front door and immediately vomit on every change the new woman had slopped onto their lives.
But the place mirrored the people inside—renewed and bright.
Rachel glanced around her room—the one space Bethany clearly hadn’t touched—then back at her friend.
“I noticed a few things, too.” Rachel looked, not allowing her gaze or mind to linger.
The house felt happy, and she wouldn’t allow feelings of nostalgia to dampen the premarital bliss.
“It’s like—she’s changed everything without changing the feel of anything.
The sofa looks comfortable. Now there’s a chenille throw and silk pinwheel pillows instead of a quilt.
The kitchen’s the same layout, but bigger, with fragrant herbs growing in the windowsill and gourmet coffee. ”
“And framed paintings and photographs everywhere,” Benji added. “Including several of you, of which I need copies. Particularly the one with the coloring book and the cowgirl boots, sitting in your mom’s lap.”
“Actually, that was Mom’s sketch pad. A lot of the watercolor paintings are hers.”
“Ah,” Benji said, “that explains it.” He had one manicured fingernail pointed at nothing in particular.
She shrugged, waiting for more words, but none came from her normally verbose best friend. “What?”
“I wondered who commissioned the beautiful painting where you’re missing your front teeth and hugging a piglet. I mean, if you have to spend money, that’s not the obvious choice.”
“Hey, I loved that pig.”
Benji raised one brow, “And what happened to Charlotte’s literary companion?”
“This is a farm-to-table household.”
“OMG, FriendFriend, I’ll need the pic of the painting and all the tea from piglet love to hot grilled pork chop for the firm’s newsletter.”
“Don’t you dare,” Rachel warned, but found herself smiling.
She looked at the wall of faded memories, seeing herself, a mix of her mother’s round nose and bold lips, wrapped in her father’s alabaster skin and auburn hair.
A reverse Oreo, the kids had teased her—a Black girl with too light skin to be right.
Blackness equated to melanin-rich, dripping in chocolate.
No one celebrated Pale Girl Magic. Her parents had called her beautiful.
She never believed it until Noah had said the same words at the eighth-grade end-of-school dance.
“It’s strange. I expected to hate the changes, but they make sense. They make the house feel… alive again.”
“Unlike Noah Calvary. For sure, I thought ClamClam would unalive him and those shredded pants.” Benji smirked.
Rachel groaned, flopping back on her bed. “Don’t remind me.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely reminding you.” Benji crossed the room to perch beside her, his blond waves brushing his shoulders. “Your cat scaled that man like he was Everest, and you stood there looking like you wanted to either slap him or climb him yourself.”
“I did not.” She batted his hair off her arm.
“FriendFriend, I work with you every day. I know your ‘I’m professionally frustrated’ face, your ‘I’m hungry but too busy to eat’ face, and now I have footage of your ‘I want to devour that person whole’ face. Trust and verified.”
Rachel covered her eyes with her arm. “Need I remind you? I’m here for two weeks, then I’m gone. Back to real life. Back to Lawrence + Begatta Architects LLP, and a project that could make or break my climb to the next level.”
“Mm-hmm,” Benji hummed skeptically. “And meanwhile, this town’s major redevelopment project is just going to progress without your expert opinion? The same Rachel Johnson who once redesigned an entire city plaza because, and I quote, ‘the benches weren’t oriented for optimal human connection’?”
Rachel sat up, frowning. “It’s not my project.”
“But it could be,” Benji pointed out. “Two weeks of your time could shape this place for generations. Your hometown, Rachel.”