Chapter 5 #2
I like the idea of Rachel spoiling herself with her lawyer’s income.
I bet she deserves it. She’s so much more than a pretty face, and I think that’s what draws me to her more than anyone I’ve met in a long time.
She’s smart and witty, bold, but with a thread of kindness running beneath it.
I see it in the way she is with her friends, a softness in the way she speaks to Haley; her playful banter with Sam.
Her easy charm at the dinner table; the way when she talks to someone, they get her full attention like they’re the most important person in the room.
I want to be that person. Seeing her gentle way with the horses this morning tugged at my chest.
There’s so much more to Rachel MacDonald than meets the eye, and I’m desperate for the chance for her to see that about me, too.
I’m not just the pretty boy rotating women through my life as fast as a tempo change between verse and chorus.
I’ve been handed an opportunity. Now it’s up to me not to fuck it up.
She pauses at a doorway, peers inside and beckons me to follow.
The library room has wall-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with books, a fire burning in the hearth—gas, but it looks cosy—and large comfortable sofas.
I relax back into one, pull an ottoman across, and put my feet up.
My thighs scream from this morning’s ride, reminding me of muscles I haven’t used in years.
I’m sure there’s a bruise on my arse turning purple as we speak.
I should have asked for some ice, but I didn’t want to look a right dick in front of Rachel.
I’d already done enough by falling off that flighty damn horse.
“Any ideas which charity?” I ask as she settles her shapely butt—just as attractive in jeans as jods—into a large wingback chair. She looks like a queen on her throne, straight back, ankles crossed, her slender fingers ablaze with rings, and golden bangles jangling on her wrists.
Rachel sighs, leaning back in the chair, arms folded across her chest.
“Dozens. I can’t count the number of bloody charity galas I’ve endured over the past few years.
All good causes, I’m sure, but the people are insufferable.
Snooty bastards. Most of them don’t give a shit about the charity—only there to get their picture taken.
I love getting glammed up as much as the next girl, but if I never went to another fucking fundraiser in my life, I’d be happy. ”
I can imagine this woman in evening wear—glittering fabric hugging those narrow hips, a plunging neckline revealing the perfect cleavage promised by the tight jumper she’s wearing.
She’d outshine all the other girls. I’m already plotting how I can keep Rachel in my life long enough to parade her on the red carpet at the Brit awards in March.
That’s three months away. With my track record, there’s not much chance of something I start with a woman lasting that long, but hey a man can dream, can’t he?
“The thing is, Teddy, they were all deserving charities, but they’re the lucky ones. In the spotlight where the posh crowd throws money at them. What if we chose something different? Smaller, maybe? A charity where twenty thousand pounds will make a real difference.”
“And nothing if we lose.”
Her chin lifts. There’s a determined fire in her eyes. “Good thing we’re not going to lose.”
I know a group who could use twenty grand.
I swallow down the lump in my throat that rises whenever I think of my niece, Elodie, and how close we came to losing her.
Memories of a sixth birthday party we thought would be her last. Gratitude for the people who made something so ordinary as a family birthday celebration seem extraordinary.
I blink it back. My favourite kid is still with us.
“There’s this charity I’ve worked with—Memories That Matter. Not big, just a handful of core volunteers, really. Most people haven’t even heard of them. But they do amazing stuff for kids with cancer.”
“Oh?” Rachel tilts her head. “Like rides in fancy cars, or trips to Disneyland?”
“Nah, nothing flashy. Simple things. A birthday party. A family day at the beach. Making the memories that really count—” My throat tightens. My voice catches. “The ones families will remember most.”
Her expression softens, eyes like two gentle blue pools. She stretches out her hand, lays it on my knee. “Oh, Teddy. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, it’s not what you think,” I assure her. “We’re one of the lucky families. My niece—Elodie—she’s a real little fighter. We still get to make memories with her. Hopefully, for a long time.”
Her face brightens, but she leaves her hand on my knee, and I soak up the contact.
“That’s good to hear. And yeah, that charity sounds perfect.” A grin tugs at her lips. “Plus, extra motivation—you’ll fight harder if you’re chasing something you actually care about.”
I’m probably reading way too much into that quirked eyebrow. Is Rachel inviting me to pursue her? She didn’t shy away when I touched her this morning. But with a pat on my knee more friendly than flirty, she’s on her feet and moving. I instantly hate the loss of connection.
First back in the lounge, I chase more of it. I grab a seat next to Rachel and chance a casual arm along the back of the sofa, bringing her a little into my orbit.
The others file in, and one by one we announce our choice of charity.
No surprise that Haley and Christian have opted for Canine Haven Dog Rescue, which Haley used to work for before she left to study at vet school.
Sam and Ollie are playing for a support group for victims of violent crime.
Liv and Garrett’s choice is a mental health awareness charity.
When it comes to our turn, Rachel gives me a nod and a gentle nudge.
“We’re playing for Memories That Matter, the child cancer charity.” There’s a chorus of appreciative murmurs from my bandmates. They stood beside me when cancer tried to snatch Elodie from my family. They know how much that birthday party meant.
“Right, we can get started.” Loreena stands, placing a hand on one of the boxes.
“The first game needs a little building skill. Inside each box is everything you need to create a gingerbread house.” It’s going to be a mansion if the size of the box is anything to go by.
“Slabs of gingerbread, icing, sweets for decoration. You have three hours. You need to be back here at one with your completed house. Tommy and I will look them over and give you a score out of one hundred.”
Three hours seems a long time to slap some pieces of gingerbread together and stick sweets all over, but as it’s not something I’ve ever done before, I suppose I should be grateful for a generous time allowance.
Loreena dispatches us to our workplaces, various spaces across the estate set aside for us.
The cumbersome box digs into my fingers, forcing me to readjust my grip every few steps as I follow Rachel.
In the cottage next to the stables, Poppy has sacrificed her kitchen for the cause and is evidently brave enough to leave us unsupervised. “Just make sure you clean up after yourselves,” she calls through the open window of her Land Rover, engine rumbling outside. “I’m off to town.”
I should be focused on the competition, but as I watch Poppy drive away, all I can think of is the three uninterrupted hours alone with Rachel.