Chapter 14
RACHEL
After taking the kids for breakfast at Tulah’s Diner and then dropping them off at the library for the Tuesday summer reading activity, I spent almost an hour of my morning chatting with Bailey Janikowski at Busy B’s Boutique.
Okay, so maybe I did a little more than catch up with an old friend.
I might’ve also done some damage to my credit card. Not as much as I could have, thanks to two years’ worth of Christmas gift cards from my dad, but enough to make me feel just the teensiest bit guilty when I put the bags in my car.
The truth is, I haven’t shopped for myself beyond the requisite new socks and shoes in I don’t even know how long. Long enough to be embarrassed that I’m still wearing the same cardigans and dresses for school as I was when my own children were in kindergarten, but I’d like to think that no one but me has paid attention.
“Mom, I’m going outside to toss the ball around with Cody!” Mason calls from the front of the house shortly after we arrive home.
“Okay, baby, have fun!”
“I’m going to paint my nails and then read my new book!” Emma hollers as soon as the screen door slams.
“Make sure your nails are dry before you touch that book, kiddo. Miss Kimberly won’t be happy if you bring it back full of polish.”
“Ugh, I know!”
Of course she did. Because little Miss Emmy Lou knows everything.
I laugh softly to myself as I begin pulling my new clothes from the bags. I didn’t go too crazy, but I did splurge on a couple of items that I normally would have passed over because of the price.
To be fair, I’ve never been a big shopper. But having kids and bills to pay more or less turned me into a non-shopper. At least, for myself. The kids never seem to stop growing and if we’re not buying new jeans because their current ones are too short, then we’re buying new shoes because their toes are poking through.
And there was Craig and his dirty, greasy clothes that never lasted more than a couple of months. And the fact that he blamed me for never getting them clean enough instead of acknowledging that maybe he could have tried harder to keep them clean in the first place.
I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m not doing that today,” I say to myself as I’ve begun to do more and more lately when negative thoughts like that pop up. In fact, it’s what I told myself earlier, too, when I got to the door of the boutique and almost turned and walked away because the mom guilt started to chatter in my head.
But then I heard Jinx’s voice telling me that I needed to take more time for me, and I shoved that guilt aside. Just thinking of him again makes my stomach flutter, and I pick up my phone on instinct.
Me: Can I get your opinion on something?
Jinx: Depends.
Me: On?
Jinx: Whether you want me to lie to you or be honest.
Me: What?
Jinx: I’m kidding. What’s up?
Ugh. Men.
Me: Okay, first of all, don’t lie to me. Even if you think it’s what I want to hear.
Jinx: Noted.
Me: Which dress looks better on me?
I send him the pictures I snapped in the boutique changing room earlier. The red dress first and then the navy one.The message read notice appears beneath them, but it takes two solid minutes before the three little dots dance on my screen.
Then disappear.
And start again.
Only to go away a second time.
My stomach clenches in dread. Does he hate them? Is he trying to figure out how to tell me they’re awful without hurting my feelings?
Me: Jeez, are they both that bad?
Jinx: No.
Okay, so…
Me: That’s it?
Jinx: I’m trying to find the right words.
Ugh. See?
Me: They’re just dresses.
Jinx: Dresses on YOU.
Oh. Oh.
Jinx: The red one is nice. But the blue one… holy fuck.
My cheeks are burning as I hold my thumbs over the keyboard. Now it’s my turn to struggle with finding the right words. I wasn’t fishing for compliments. At least not entirely.
Jinx: Permission to be totally honest?
Me: I already told you not to lie.
Jinx: Your tits look fucking amazing in the blue one. And the color is nice with your complexion. Draws out your freckles.
My face positively flames now.
Me: I hate my freckles.
Jinx: Why? They’re sexy as fuck.
My stomach flips, and I silently admonish my body for reacting to that comment. Now he’s just flattering me.
Me: They’re freckles.
I’m covered in freckles from head to toe, and I’ve hated them since I was old enough to notice that not everyone had them.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and his name appears on the screen.
Ugh. This was a bad idea. I never should have asked him.
“Yes?” I answer reluctantly, putting the call on speaker so I can hang my purchases in the closet.
“Buy the blue dress.” His tone is low and husky, and it sends goose bumps washing over my bare skin. “You look beautiful in both, but that blue one? The way it hugs every one of your curves…” He breaks off with what sounds like a bitten off curse. Or maybe it was a groan. “Don’t get me started on those freckles.”
“I have so many.”
“I’ve noticed. And I like them. A lot.” He clears his throat. “I don’t want to cross any lines here, but I’m going to say this anyway… Those are the kind of freckles that make a man wanna strip a woman bare and trace every single one with his tongue.”
Oh my god. Did he really just say that? To me?
With my heart in my throat, I force myself to ask, “Any man?”
His responding laugh is low and almost feral. “Me, Sunny. I’m talking about me.”
Not only is my face on fire, but my body has been engulfed in flames. I’m going to die. Right here in my closet. My children are going to find me with my phone and a bunch of flirty text messages from a man who is far too young for me.
Tamping down the mix of emotions coursing through me, I swallow and hope my tone is even, then say, “You’re crazy.”
“I’m a man who knows a beautiful woman when he sees one. And you told me to be honest.”
I did. I just didn’t expect that level of honesty.
“Then you’ll be happy to know that I already bought the blue one.”
He laughs. “Tease.”
“What? Why am I a tease?”
“You asked me for my opinion of a dress you already bought.”
“I wanted to make sure it was the right decision.” And maybe push the boundaries a bit, which I realize now was a mistake. I think.
“Mm-hmm. What’s this dress for, anyway?”
The answer to that is the other reason I texted him.
“It’s for me.”
“Obviously. But why?”
“Because I wanted it isn’t reason enough?”
I can practically hear him grin through the phone. “Hell yes. I’m proud of you, babe.”
Babe? “You’re too much.”
“I’m not enough,” he counters. “That dress is perfect for a date.”
“Whoa, there, cowboy. Who said anything about a date?”
“The day is going to come when someone in this town is gonna have the balls to ask you out. And it’s going to happen sooner rather than later. I promise you that.”
Will that be him? Because I’d probably say yes. My heart takes off at just the thought.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks.
Oh god. I didn’t mean, like, right now. “Uh, sure.”
“Why did you want my opinion?”
Phew. Also, I’m not sure that’s any easier to answer.
“Permission to be honest?” I repeat his words.
He chuckles softly. “Always.”
“Because I don’t have many male friends. And I trust you.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then, “So we’re friends now?”
“Of course we are.”
“Another question?”
“Justin…”
“Why would a man’s opinion matter when you already love the dress?”
Well, crap. I put my foot in my mouth there, didn’t I? Because he’s truly the only man whose opinion I was interested in. For the dress and for other things, too.
“Sunny,” he prompts when I don’t respond.
“I don’t care what men think. Not really.” I pinch my eyes closed and come out with it. “But your opinion matters to me.”
“My opinion?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” His voice takes on that husky quality again. The one that always makes me think he’s in bed and nearly naked. The one that sends tingles down my spine. “We can call it mutual respect if that makes you more comfortable.”
Mutual respect?
“I like you, too.”
Oh.
“And if you need an opinion about anything—especially if it involves you looking like a million fucking bucks in a sexy-ass dress—I’m your guy. You got me?”
At the moment, I don’t have anything, because I’m on the verge of combusting into a pile of ashes on my closet floor.
“O-okay,” I finally squeak.
“Good.” His voice drops another octave. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”
Except I’m more confused than ever.
What does he mean he likes me?
And why is this conversation making me blush like a middle schooler?
I’m older than him!
But he is clearly more experienced.
“All right, Sunny. Breaktime is over. I have to get back to work.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forget that not everyone is on summer break like me.”
He chuckles. “Not a problem. You’ve given me lots to think about this afternoon.”
“I have?”
“Mm-hmm. I’m gonna be thinking about all the other places you might have those sexy freckles.”
Oh boy.
“See ya later, Sunny.”
“Bye, Justin.”