Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
RACHEL
N ick : Do you have any free time this week to talk about the fundraiser? I work Tuesday and Friday, but I’m available any other day.
I pull off my gloves as I read Nick’s text, dismissing the flutter in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m surprised to hear from him. I gave him my number after all, and it’s been two days since the pancake breakfast. Presumably, we need to get started planning what comes next.
“What is it?”
“Huh?” I glance over at Sydney, who’s flouring her worktop before she rolls out dough.
“You look like someone said you need a root canal.”
“Ha ha.” I look back at the text, debating what to say. I guess tomorrow night would work. It’s not like I have plans. “I, um, agreed to do something I’m second-guessing now.”
She huffs as she rolls out her dough into a rectangle. “Cryptic much?”
I smile. She tries to act aloof, but the girl’s got a serious case of FOMO. “I’m helping Nick plan the fire station’s next fundraiser.”
She laughs, an edge of disbelief in it. “Seriously? You?”
My brows knit. “What, you don’t think I can?”
She sets down her rolling pin and picks up a bowl of butter to spread over the surface of the dough. “Oh, you could plan something like that with your eyes closed. I mean working with Nick.”
I think back to her saying I’ve always been weird about him, then push it away. “It’ll be fine. It’s good for the community.”
I cling to the scrap of an excuse I’d come up with when agreeing to the plan to begin with. It was my fault for blurting it out to Kyle anyway. Agreeing had nothing to do with Nick.
Not the way he stood up for me with Kyle or the deep, growly way he’d told him to fuck off. Or how sincere he was when thanking me for my help. Or how so many people had good things to say about him at the breakfast. None of that made me… intrigued about him.
“So what’s the fundraiser?” Sydney asks, rubbing a brown sugar and cinnamon mixture over the buttered dough.
“Oh, you should do one of those hot firefighter calendars. The ones where their shirts are off but they still have the suspenders on and are all glistening with sweat and soot.” She pauses when she catches my horrified expression. “What? It’s hot. I’d buy one.”
My mind jumps to Nick dressed like that. I have no idea what he looks like shirtless, but if the size of his biceps are any indication… No, what am I thinking?
“We’re obviously not doing that.”
She shrugs. “Might be fun. You could creatively place props to hide their—”
“Oh my God, stop.” I theatrically plug my ears. She’s as bad as Jae. “Can you imagine if I actually suggested that to Nick?”
Smirking, she says, “I bet he’d be on board. He definitely wants to show you his—”
“Sydney.” I glance toward the double doors that lead to the public-facing side of the bakery, as if he’s going to pop through them at any moment. “Will you quit? Why would you even say that?”
Her smirk grows bigger. “Because it’s fun making you mad.”
I sigh and take my phone with me to the office, telling her I need to work on schedules. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t call me out.
Sitting in the squeaky chair, I lean back, my thumbs hesitating over the keypad on the phone screen. Why am I worried about this? I already researched fundraiser ideas for the past two nights. It’s not like we even have to brainstorm anything from scratch.
Me : How about Wednesday? I’m available after four.
That’ll give me time to go home and shower after work, but not too much time to obsess over what the hell I’m doing.
I set my phone facedown so I don’t check it like a stalker, then immediately pick it up when it vibrates.
Nick : I can do Wednesday at four. Where do you want to meet?
Oh, I didn’t think about that. I guess my place is as good as any. Unless we should meet at his? Actually, I have no idea where he lives. He doesn’t live with a girlfriend, does he?
The sudden thought makes my stomach sink.
I get up and grip the back of the chair, the office too small to pace in. What is my problem? Why am I being so weird about Nick? I haven’t thought about him in years and now all this?
It’s… I grasp for an answer. It must be because of what happened with Kyle. Yeah, that’s it. Getting cheated on would naturally make you wary of any man.
It’s not like this is a date, though.
No, of course it isn’t. Even less of a reason to be hesitant, then.
I pick up my phone again before I can second guess myself.
Me : My place?
I text my address, too, and when he responds with a thumbs up, I shut my phone in the desk drawer, unwilling to look at it for the rest of the day.
“Hey.”
I hold my front door open for Nick, my gaze lingering for a moment on his gray tee and faded jeans, paired with worn work boots. I’d purposely dressed down for this afternoon, forgoing any makeup, too. And look, he’s not dressed up, either. We’re on the same page.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mentally chastise myself. Why would he be dressed up? We’re here to discuss a charity fundraiser, not anything else. I’m the only one having anxiety over absolutely nothing.
Today means nothing to Nick. Not even a blip on his radar.
It doesn’t mean anything to me, either. Obviously.
“Thanks for having me over.”
“Yeah, of course.”
I wipe my palms on my leggings as I lead him to the living room, and take a seat in the armchair, while he sits on the couch.
“Your place is nice,” he says, glancing around. “It looks like you.”
I pause in attempting to get the sweat off my hands. “What do you mean?”
“You know, down to earth. Practical. Cozy. What’s that word? Uh…” He snaps his fingers. “Cottagecore.”
I stare at him, unable to help the smile sneaking over my lips. “You know about cottagecore?”
His chin dips, looking down at the floor. “I mean, surface level maybe. I’m not an expert or anything.”
Since Kyle moved out, I’ve worked hard to transform this place into something unrecognizable from when he was here, collecting pieces I enjoy that didn’t go with his aesthetic. It’s nice to hear my efforts have succeeded.
“Yeah, that’s the vibe I was going for.” I look around at the earthy tones, the chunky knit blanket draped over the back of the couch, the farmhouse sink and weathered wood table in the kitchen. “Are you into interior design?”
There’s a question I never thought I’d be asking Nick.
“Oh, no. It was one of those internet rabbit holes.” He rubs at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “You ever go down those?”
“I may have fallen a time or two.” I relax back into my chair, more at ease. “What’s your place like?”
His lips twist to the side. “I don’t think there’s a definable theme. It’s mostly my roommate’s furniture—mismatched stuff we’re still using a decade later.”
I nod. “Jae and I lived off campus our junior and senior years in Philadelphia. Our place was like that, too. Whatever we could get free or cheap from Craigslist.”
“Oh, I thought she just moved here. I didn’t realize you knew her from before.”
“Yeah, her and her husband wanted to live somewhere quieter but also stay in Pennsylvania. And she decided Aurora was the perfect place.”
“Because of you.” He says it as if it’s a fact, not a question. As if I’m reason enough for someone to upend their whole life.
“I’m sure that was part of it. She said she wants me to be Aunt Rachel to her future kids.”
He gives a soft smile. “You’ll be the one sneaking them sweets from the bakery?”
I chuckle. “Maybe. But I swear I’ll be a good influence, too.”
I realize then I’m fully reclined against the chair cushions, my legs tucked up underneath me. Wait, we’re supposed to be working, not chatting. Leaning forward, I grab my list of fundraiser ideas off the coffee table and hand it to Nick.
“I put together some ideas if you want to look them over.”
His brows raise. “You did all this already? Shit. I feel like a slacker.”
“No, no. I don’t mind researching stuff like this. Honestly.”
He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but turns his attention to the list, reading it through.
I peek over at him, my gaze snagging on his tattoo, fully visible in the shirt he’s wearing today.
The intricate knotwork coils around his arm in bold, black ink, perfectly aligned with the contours of his muscles.
Subtle shading gives it a three-dimensional effect, making the lines appear to twist and weave beneath his skin.
I have the sudden urge to stroke a hand over it, to discover what it feels like, and when I shake off the thought, I look up to find him watching me.
It’s that moment in high school all over again, a spark of intensity I can’t brush away as my imagination. Not when I feel it so acutely.
There’s awareness in his eyes. Of me. Of him. Alone together in my house.
I get up and head to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of cold water. I’m acting crazy. Certifiably insane.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask, trying to explain away my reaction. “I have water and Diet Coke.” I open the fridge, searching for something else. There’s only almond milk, which I doubt he wants.
“I’m fine,” he says, no trace of anything I was feeling in his voice.
“I was looking at your tattoo,” I say, gesturing toward his arm from the safety of the kitchen. “Does it have any special meaning?”
He glances down and shrugs. “No, I just thought it looked cool. I was eighteen when I got it.”
“It looks good on you.” I swallow hard, my throat full of cotton. “I mean, cool. I mean, not on you, specifically. The tattoo’s design is cool. It’s Celtic, right?”
Jesus Christ, what is up with me? I take a gulp of water, but it somehow goes down the wrong way and I splutter, then cough uncontrollably. It seems to echo through the house, tears springing to my eyes, my face flushing.
“Are you okay?” Nick asks, concern all over his face as he gets up from the couch and joins me in the kitchen.
I nod, incapable of speaking at the moment, and turn my back to him, unable to believe myself. Let me crawl in a hole and die right now.