Chapter 11
Rachel
Rachel was reshelving returns in the biography section when the library's front door chimed.
She didn't look up immediately. Tuesdays at noon were usually quiet, just Mrs. Henderson browsing the new releases and maybe a college student or two looking for study materials.
But then she heard his voice.
"Hi, Mrs. Henderson. Is Rachel around?"
Rachel's heart did that stupid fluttering thing it had been doing every time she heard Mac's voice for the past month.
"She's in biography, dear," Mrs. Henderson said, and Rachel could hear the smile in her voice. "Second aisle. I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you."
Rachel quickly tried to smooth her hair, then immediately felt ridiculous. It was Mac. He'd seen her in yoga pants with her hair in a messy bun and morning breath. They were dating. Officially. She shouldn't be nervous.
She was absolutely nervous.
Mac appeared at the end of the aisle carrying a brown paper bag from Sophie's Café, wearing jeans and his Eagles hoodie, his sandy hair slightly messy from the wind outside. He grinned when he saw her.
"Hi."
"Hi." Rachel set down the books she'd been holding, suddenly very aware of how boring her librarian cardigan and sensible work pants were. "What are you doing here? Don't you have practice?"
"Finished early. Coach Davies is at some conference." Mac held up the bag. "I brought lunch. Sophie said you usually skip eating because you get too busy with work, so I figured I'd make sure you actually eat today."
Rachel's chest tightened with something warm. "You brought me lunch?"
"Sandwiches. Turkey and swiss for you, Italian sub for me. Also chips because Sophie insisted, and two of those chocolate chip cookies you like." Mac looked suddenly uncertain. "Is that okay? I should have asked first. I just thought—"
"It's perfect." Rachel's voice came out softer than intended.
"Cool. Good. Great." Mac's grin returned, that boyish, genuine smile that made her stomach flip. "Where can we eat? I don't want to get you in trouble for having food in the stacks."
"Break room. Come on."
The library's break room was tiny, barely bigger than a closet, with a small table, two chairs, a mini fridge, and a microwave that only worked on certain days. But it was private, and right now, that felt important.
Mac unpacked the sandwiches while Rachel grabbed napkins, and then they were sitting across from each other in the cramped space, knees bumping under the small table.
"So," Mac said, unwrapping his sandwich. "How's your day been? Scale of one to ten, with ten being 'amazing' and one being 'currently being crushed by falling bookshelves.'"
Rachel laughed despite herself. "Solid six? Mrs. Henderson returned all her books early, which is suspicious. I think she finished them all in two days."
"Is that unusual?"
"She usually takes a week. I think she's speed-reading so she has an excuse to come back and check on my love life." Rachel took a bite of her sandwich. It was perfect, exactly how she liked it, with extra pickles and no tomatoes. "Wait. Did you tell Sophie how I like my sandwich?"
"I may have asked her. Very casually. Like I definitely wasn't taking notes." Mac grinned. "Was I right?"
"Completely right." Rachel's throat felt tight. "How did you, nobody ever remembers the pickle thing."
"I pay attention." Mac said it so simply, like it was obvious. "You mentioned it once, like two weeks ago. At Sophie's. You told her you didn't like tomatoes on sandwiches but you did like pickles, and she said that was weird, and you said—"
"'My sandwich preferences are not up for debate,'" Rachel finished, staring at him. "You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you tell me, Rachel. Even the small stuff. Especially the small stuff." Mac took a bite of his sandwich, seemingly unaware that he'd just said something that made her heart stutter.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Rachel found herself watching Mac.
The way he ate without being self-conscious.
The way he checked his phone once, frowned at something in the team group chat, then put it away to focus on her.
The way he listened when she started rambling about a book patron who'd requested seventeen different biographies, about the same person.
"You actually care about this," Rachel said suddenly.
Mac looked up. "About biographies?"
"About my day. My boring librarian day where nothing exciting happens." Rachel set down her sandwich. "You asked how my day was and you actually listened to the answer."
"Why wouldn't I listen?"
"Because most people don't. They ask because it's polite, but they don't actually want to hear about Mrs. Henderson's reading habits or the broken printer or the kid who tried to check out the same dinosaur book five times in a row."
Mac smiled. "Did you let him?"
"Obviously. He's seven and obsessed with velociraptors." Rachel paused. "But my point is, you're actually interested. In the mundane stuff. In me."
"Rachel, of course I'm interested in you. You're—" Mac stopped, seeming to search for words. "You're the most interesting person I know."
"I work in a library. I alphabetize things for a living."
"You work in a library where you help people find exactly the book they need.
You recommended three books to that college student last week and she came back and said they changed how she thinks about her major.
You know every single regular patron by name.
You organize story time for kids every Saturday morning on your day off because you love it. " Mac leaned forward slightly.
Rachel couldn't breathe properly. "Mac—"
"And yeah, I care about your day. All of it. The good parts and the boring parts and the frustrated parts. Because it's your day, and you matter to me."
The break room suddenly felt very small. Very warm.
"Why do you look at me like that?" Rachel asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm... I don't know. Special."
Mac reached across the table, taking her hand. His thumb traced circles on her palm, and Rachel felt that simple touch everywhere.
"Because you are special," Mac said quietly.
"What if who I am is boring?"
"Then boring is my new favorite thing." Mac's voice dropped lower, rougher. "But you're not boring. You're you. And I really, really like you."
Rachel's breath caught. The way he was looking at her, like she was the only person in the world, like he could sit here all day just watching her exist, made her pulse kick up.
Mac's gaze dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. His jaw tightened, and Rachel watched his throat work as he swallowed.
"Mac—"
"Yeah?" His eyes were still on her lips.
Rachel stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the linoleum. Mac looked startled, starting to rise too, but Rachel crossed to his side of the table in two quick steps and slid between him and the table.
"Rachel, what—"
"Shut up for a second," Rachel breathed, and kissed him.
Mac made a surprised sound against her mouth, his hands hovering uncertainly for half a heartbeat before they landed on her waist, fingers spreading wide, pulling her closer. Rachel's hands fisted in his hoodie as she pressed against him, and Mac groaned low in his throat.
The kiss was different from before. Not tentative or careful. This was…heated.
Mac's hand slid up her spine, into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Rachel gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage, kissing her harder, more thoroughly. His other hand tightened on her waist, thumb stroking the strip of skin where her shirt had ridden up.
Rachel's knees went weak.
Mac must have felt it because he shifted, bracing her against the table, his body a solid wall of heat pressed against hers. She could feel his heart hammering against her chest.
When they finally broke apart, only because breathing became necessary, Mac rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting.
"Holy shit," Mac whispered.
Rachel's hands were still fisted in his hoodie, unwilling to let go. "Yeah."
Mac pulled back just enough to look at her. His pupils were blown wide, his lips swollen, his sandy hair completely disheveled where her fingers had tangled in it. He looked wrecked in the best possible way.
"What was that for?" His voice was rough.
"For bringing me lunch." Rachel's own voice was unsteady. "For remembering about the pickles. For caring."
She was acutely aware of everywhere they were touching; his hands on her waist, her hips pressed against the table, his chest rising and falling against hers. The way he was looking at her mouth again, like he wanted to kiss her until neither of them could think straight.
"I can bring you lunch every day if this is the reaction I get." Mac's thumb traced slow circles on her hip, and Rachel shivered.
"Mac—"
"Yeah?" He leaned in, his lips brushing her jaw, just below her ear.
Rachel's fingers tightened in his hoodie. "We should probably get back to work before Mrs. Henderson sends a search party."
"Right." But Mac didn't move. Neither did she.
"Mac."
"You keep saying my name like that, and I'm going to kiss you again."
"That's not the threat you think it is."
Mac groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. "You're killing me, Morrison."
Rachel laughed, but it came out breathy and shaken. She finally released his hoodie, smoothing the wrinkled fabric even though her hands were trembling. "Come on. Break's over."
Mac stepped back reluctantly, and the sudden distance felt like a physical loss. His hand caught hers before she could move away completely.
"Rachel?"
"Yeah?"
"I really, really like you."
“I like you too, MacKenzie.”
Mac's smile was devastating. "Good. Because I have a question."
"Okay..."
"The team does dinner every Thursday night at O'Brien's Pub.
It's kind of our thing, wings, beer, terrible sports takes from Luke.
" Mac's thumb traced lazy circles on her hip, and Rachel fought to focus on his words instead of that distracting touch.
"Come with me this week? Meet everyone properly? "
Rachel's stomach flipped. Not in the good way.
Meeting the team. As Mac's... what? Date? Girlfriend? The girl he was seeing? In front of everyone. All his friends. His teammates. People who'd known him for years, who'd probably heard about her past by now, about—
"Rachel?" Mac's voice gentled. "What's wrong?"
"I—" She forced herself to meet his eyes. "That's a lot of people, Mac. All at once."
"It is," he agreed, not dismissing her concern. "But they already like you. Jamie thinks you're hilarious. Luke's been asking when you're coming to dinner for weeks."
"What if they're just being nice?"
"They're not." Mac's hand came up to cup her cheek. "And even if the whole team spontaneously decided to be weird, which they won't, I'd be right there. The whole time. We can have a code word. If you want to leave, just say... I don't know, 'pickle,' and I'll fake a stomach emergency."
Despite her nerves, Rachel laughed. "You'd fake food poisoning to rescue me?"
"I'd do a lot more than that." Mac's expression was serious now.
Rachel bit her lip, considering. The old Rachel, the one who'd stood at that country club a year ago, would have said no.
But Mac wasn't Brad. And this wasn't Burlington.
"Okay," she heard herself say. "Thursday. O'Brien's."
Mac's face lit up like she'd just agreed to marry him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Deal." Mac pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. "Thank you for saying yes."
"You're very persuasive." Rachel's hands slid up his chest, feeling his heart racing as fast as hers. "Must be all that charm."
"I'm very nice. Especially me. I'm very nice," Mac quoted back at her, grinning.
The library phone rang in the distance, shrill and insistent.
Rachel sighed. "That's probably for me. Duty calls."
"Go be an amazing librarian." Mac pressed one more quick kiss to her forehead before stepping back, creating space between them that felt too cold, too empty. "I'll text you later about Thursday. Six thirty?"
"Six thirty," Rachel confirmed.
Mac grabbed their trash, shot her one last smile that made her knees weak all over again, and headed for the door.
Rachel watched him go, her heart still racing, her lips still tingling.
Thursday. Team dinner. Meeting everyone.
She pressed her fingers to her mouth, trying to calm her breathing.
What had she just agreed to?
"Rachel, dear?" Mrs. Henderson's voice called from the main desk. "Your face is very flushed. Are you feeling well?"
Rachel pressed her cool hands to her cheeks and stepped out of the break room. "I'm fine, Mrs. Henderson."
"Mmhmm." Mrs. Henderson's eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. "I saw Mac leaving. He brought you lunch, how lovely."
"He's very thoughtful."
"He's in love with you, dear."
Rachel's breath caught. "Mrs. Henderson—"
"Oh, don't Mrs. Henderson me. That boy looks at you like you hung the moon. And unless I'm very much mistaken, you look at him the same way." She patted Rachel's hand. "It's nice to see you happy."
"I am happy," Rachel admitted quietly. "That's what scares me."
"Happiness is supposed to be scary, dear. That means it matters." Mrs. Henderson returned to her book. "Now, about those new releases..."
After she was done with Mrs. Henderson Rachel went back to reshelving, but her mind was miles away.