Chapter Eight
THE FAMILY RESTROOM’S offensive white lighting highlighted every freckle on Rachel’s face as she paced the cracked linoleum floor.
Six steps forward, pivot, six steps back—a perfect metaphor for her relationship with Noah Calvary.
And Petey… urgh, with his “never looked more radiant” comment.
Even as kids, he’d find a way to comment on her appearance.
What sounded like compliments, in reality, were little splinters pushed under her nailbeds to remind her that she wasn’t one of the cool kids.
A Petey-ism. She’d fled here the moment the town hall meeting adjourned, mumbling something about a business call to exuberant citizens who intercepted her with welcomes back to Service.
Rachel braced herself against the industrial sink, its cold porcelain a stark contrast to the heat flooding her cheeks.
Her reflection stared back accusingly—copper curls still perfect, emerald blazer unwrinkled, and absolutely furious eyes that reminded her too much of her seventeen-year-old self.
As if last night wasn’t bad enough. She’d tiptoed in the farmhouse’s back door, not wanting to wake the whole house.
Only her father was sitting in the dark at the kitchen table like Ebenezer’s Ghost of Christmas Past, but cuter, in his denim overalls and socked feet.
She’d screamed. And somewhere in the yard, she’d heard an answering “MRRRRROWWWWWWW!”
Great, she’d thought. A failed kitty search-and-rescue mission. Returned home as one of the walking wounded. And ClamClam had hightailed it home, flopped on her side, and licked her lady bits under a starry sky.
Her dad had taken one look at her bandaged hand and the T-shirt she wore with Noah’s name on it, and his one question, in that Daddy’s-ready-to-do-damage-if-need-be tone, was “Are you okay?”
She’d lied. Telling him she couldn’t be better. In truth, her pride hurt worse than the minor sprain to her wrist. So, why had she stood up in that meeting to voluntarily dig a deeper hole, with Noah in it, for herself?
“What. Have. I. Done?” Each word escaped through gritted teeth as she gripped the edge of the sink harder. The paper towel dispenser beside her, scuffed and dented from years of abuse, seemed to mock her current restraint.
Outsider. Peter Judelson had called her an outsider.
Rachel’s maternal ancestors had been one of the original Negro families to migrate from Maryland’s coastal plantations to the Appalachian Mountains.
West Virginia, being the only state in the union fully situated in the mountainous region, was ill-suited for the large plantations along the East Coast. Native settlers, protective of the limited acreage available for farming, had outlawed human chattel.
The fact that the runaway and freed slaves were able to build lives and communities in these mountains wasn’t a benevolent act by any means.
The white families wanted to be paid for their labor.
Allowing slaves, many with craftsmen and farming skills they’d brought from their homeland, would’ve rendered their paid services obsolete.
She was no outsider. Her people had labored, and they still labored, for the land they loved. Petey wouldn’t rewrite or reduce her legacy, which her family had paid for with bloodshed, sweat, and prayers.
A gentle knock interrupted her internal meltdown. “FriendFriend? You in there? It’s me. The one and only.”
Even muffled through the door, Benji’s singsong voice was unmistakable. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m busy kicking my own behind. Come back in ten years.”
The door cracked open anyway, and Benji’s meticulously styled blond waves peeked through. “Honey, if you’re going to have a breakdown and you’re already in bandages, at least have it in a space with decent lighting. This fluorescent nightmare is washing you out something terrible.”
Rachel disagreed with Petey’s mayoral mansion, but the town hall needed a Beverly Hills facelift. The small colorful tiles, a signature of the late 1980s design styles, gave the entire space a shabby-chic vibe.
Despite herself, Rachel snorted. “Did you seriously follow me into the bathroom?”
“Family restroom,” Benji corrected, slipping inside and locking the door behind him.
“Gender-neutral territory. Besides, you just saved your ex from public execution. Someone needs to document this historic moment.” He waved his phone, displaying the Instagram reel he’d already posted.
The caption read: When your bestie swoops in like Superwoman to rescue her hometown redevelopment project and…
a hot firefighter. #Architect #RachelJDesigns #HometownShero #Gamechanger
“Take. That. Down.” Rachel lunged for the phone, but Benji danced away with the grace of someone who’d spent his formative years avoiding high school bullies.
“Can’t,” he cooed. “It’s already got three hundred and sixty-seven likes, including one from Ms. Begatta’s personal assistant.
” Benji tucked his phone safely into his back pocket.
“But that’s not why I’m here. I saw your face when you bolted.
That wasn’t your I just crushed it stride.
That was your I need to hide because I just screwed up walk. ”
Rachel resumed her pacing, this time with more vigor. The last thing needed was her boss discovering she’d volunteered to work on a design project under the guise of a vacation. “Did you see what happened out there? Did you see what I did?”
“Um, yeah. You were magnificent. Total lady boss energy. Noah looked at you like you’d personally hung the moon and stars, and the escape ladder he so desperately needed.”
“Exactly!” Rachel threw her hands up. “I promised myself. No, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t get sucked back into Noah Calvary’s orbit. Two weeks, Benji. I’m here for two weeks for my father’s wedding. In less than forty-eight hours, I’ve already fallen right back into my old habits.”
Benji hoisted himself onto the counter, legs dangling. “Which habit is that? Being competent? Having good ideas? Preventing a small-town catastrophe?”
“Being Noah’s cheerleader.” The words burst out of her with such force that they seemed to echo off the bathroom tiles.
“His number-one fan safety net. His save him from himself emergency number. I spent years in high school being the girl behind the guy—being his shadow, studying for his exams and mine, making excuses around the farm so I could show up for his big game or a family event.”
“And look where that got you—a town that welcomes you, a full scholarship, and an office, soon to be a corner office, at one of the most prestigious architectural firms in San Diego.”
Rachel shot him a withering look. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”
“Then what is the point, FriendFriend? Because from where I’m sitting, you saw someone drowning and threw them a life preserver. Didn’t matter what happened in the past. That’s just being a decent human.”
“The point is—” Rachel stopped, suddenly deflating like a punctured balloon.
She slumped against the wall, her head resting against it.
“The point is, I promised myself I’d never be that girl again.
” The one holding on too tightly. The one who craved his attention. “The one who runs to rescue Noah.”
“Rachel, you’re not a man-centered woman who has to have a guy on her arm to feel complete. You’re a kickass heroine like in a Wednesday Knight book.”
“Not those books again.” Benji and #readersofInstagram were obsessed with the monster romance series. “Just let me be a brat.”
Benji lowered his feet to the ground to move beside her, wincing as his designer jeans made contact with the questionably clean wall tiles. “It’s hard to be witchy when you have such a big heart, Rachel.”
A watery laugh escaped her. “I don’t want to have a big heart. I want to be bitter and resentful and completely anti–anything him.”
“Oh, FriendFriend.” Benji nudged her shoulder with his own. “For what it’s worth, you are very good at being petty when you want to be. Noah better not get on your bad side because you will absolutely staple gun his ass to hot asphalt.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Benji’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Do I need to remind you about Dominico from drafting? The man used the last of your salad dressing on his baked potato once. You’re still mashing his spuds for that minor infraction.”
Rachel’s lips twitched. “He used my imported white truffle vinaigrette on a potato, Benji. A potato! Do you know how much that stuff costs?”
“Yes, because you’ve told me approximately seventeen times,” Benji grinned.
“My point is, you’re perfectly capable of being petty when the situation calls for it.
But this?” He gestured vaguely toward the door.
“This wasn’t you falling back into old habits.
This was you being the badass professional you’ve become.
The fact that it happened to benefit Noah is just—collateral competence. ”
“You don’t understand,” she lamented. “The moment I stood up in that meeting, I felt seventeen again. Heart racing, palms sweating, thinking only about how I could help Noah shine.”
“From where I sat, you were thinking about how to help the town. Noah just happened to be the beneficiary of your brilliance.” Benji pulled out his phone and scrolled through his recent photos. “Look at this.”
He held up a picture from the town hall meeting. In it, Rachel stood tall at the microphone, her expression confident but compassionate as she addressed the crowd. Noah was in the foreground; his eyes fixed on her with an expression that wasn’t just gratitude—it was awe.
“This isn’t the face of a man looking at his personal cheerleader,” Benji said softly. “This is the face of a man who’s seeing you, maybe for the first time.”
Rachel stared at the photo, her throat suddenly tight. “It doesn’t matter.” She’d told Noah as much last night. “In two weeks, I’ll be back in Cali. He’ll be here, and nothing will have changed.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Benji locked his phone and tucked it away. “But whatever happens, you’re not that seventeen-year-old girl anymore. You’re not dropping everything for a boy. You stepped up, not in, because you have something valuable to offer your town.”
Service had always belonged to Noah more than her. “And if I end up helping him anyway?”
“Then, Service gets a better infrastructure, and Noah gets a lesson in humility. Win-win.”
Rachel rested her head on Benji’s shoulder. “You’re an awesome plus one, Mr. Wiles.”
“Oh, FriendFriend. I’m plus one, plus plus. Just like in the Black Panther movie, we will show this whole town who you are.”
Benji stood and offered her his hand. “Now, can we please get out of this depressing restroom? The lighting is making both of us look jaundiced, and I refuse to be remembered that way if someone walks in and discovers our bodies.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Rachel’s lips as she accepted his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Fine. But I’m serious about taking down that reel.”
“How about I change the caption? ‘When your bestie makes the hot firefighter look like an amateur at his own game’ has a nice ring to it.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, but the knot in her chest had loosened slightly. Maybe Benji was right. Maybe she wasn’t falling back into old habits. Maybe she was just being herself. The new and improved Rachel didn’t need Noah’s light to shine.
As they reached the door, Benji paused, his expression suddenly serious. “For what it’s worth, Rach, I think the reason you’re so angry isn’t that you helped him. It’s that even after all these years, some part of you still wants to.”
Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out.
“Shh, don’t speak. You’ve already hurt yourself once. Let’s go tour this fabulous town so we can sprinkle your Black girl magic on everything.”
Rachel emerged with Benji on her heels, having gained a new realization. Deep down, beneath her professional pride and hard-won independence, she knew her friend was right about her feelings for Noah.
Of course, the man himself stood guarding the hall as if he wanted to prevent her escape.
Those hypnotic hazel eyes fixed on her, and Rachel’s pulse hammered in her ears.
Ex-boyfriends should have skunk glands implanted in their armpits, so unsuspecting former girlfriends can smell them coming, and run.
Or, in her case, stake out the Ty-D-Bol room.
“Can we start today? Working through the proposal?” he asked, Stetson in hand, a bulky black binder in the other. “I can drive you through town… the mountains—show you the changes in the preliminary plans and talk. You can take the binder home afterwards. Review what’s been done so far.”
Back straight, head held high, she said, “Yes, to the file folder. The rest… There’s no need.
Benji and I can tour on our own. I know my job,” she said with every ounce of sarcasm she could muster when bombarded with Noah’s tanned and ruggedly handsome Noah-ness.
“The community expressed their needs. I will review and translate the vision into a functional plan that complements the existing structures.”
“Working together means you and me… in the same place… at the same time.” When she didn’t reply, Noah gave her a boyish grin. “Come on, Six. It’s for the town.”
Geezuz, he knew her too well. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll give you one hour.”
Benji’s not-so-subtle attempt to disguise his active listening halted. “She meant to say, we can give you an hour,” he interjected, “because I like my tea fresh.”
They both knew the gossip would spread quickly and freely when people saw them riding together.
Noah’s grin spread, splitting his lips to reveal brilliant white teeth. “That’s more than I need.”
And that terrified her more than any town hall meeting ever could.