Chapter 7 #2
I mentally brace myself for whatever she’s about to say. Sure, we have history—a good one, mostly—but the past four years haven’t exactly been kind to us. If she decides to use this moment to let me have it, I wouldn’t blame her.
Rachel pretends to think, eyes narrowing to line up her shot. “Alright. Top three things about Rhett Hayes…”
She holds up a finger. “Number one: annoyingly confident. You think you’re always right, even when you’re definitely not.”
“That one’s obvious,” I say with a grin, though her tone cuts a little closer to the bone than I expected.
“Number two,” she continues, sharper now. “Funny. You can make me laugh even when I really, really don’t want to. Which is infuriating, by the way. Clearly still works even after all this time.”
That one hits lower. I keep my smile in place anyway.
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
Her voice softens, but it cuts deeper than all the rest. “And three, annoyingly hard to shake. I can’t seem to pretend you don’t matter, no matter how much I try.”
For once, I don’t have a smartass comeback. The words hang between us, and I can’t quite look away from her. My grin falters, just a little.
“You make that sound like a crime.”
“It definitely comes with a price I pay,” she mumbles.
I open my mouth, close it again. I catch the flicker of sadness in her eyes and decide to pivot. “Guess I’ll just have to live with being unforgettable.”
That earns me a tiny eye roll and the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth. But I’ll take it.
“All I’m saying,” she adds, “is the jury’s still out on ‘delightful.’”
I tilt my head. “Want to hear your top three?”
Rachel raises an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like this could go very wrong for you?”
“Oh, I’m sure it absolutely will,” I say, smiling. “But it’ll be fun.”
“Alright. I’m bracing myself.”
“Number one,” I say, lifting a finger. “You’re quick. Witty. Always have been. Even when you were nineteen and trying very hard to pretend I wasn’t the funniest person in your general vicinity.”
She laughs, more amused than defensive. “Bold of you to assume I noticed you at all at nineteen.”
“As I said, you’re a terrible liar, Sunny.” She rolls her eyes at my statement.
“Two,” I continue, “you are generous. You’ve always been good at knowing what people need and taking care of them, even though you don’t always do the same for yourself.”
She doesn’t respond, just smiles faintly and takes a sip of her latte.
“And three…” I say, grinning. I lean in a little because subtlety has never been my strength. “You have this way of making everything feel brighter. Like warmth you didn’t realize you’d been missing until it shows up again.”
Her stare snaps to mine.
“Even now,” I add quietly. “You still have that effect.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers still around her cup. Her smirk fades into something softer, more careful. I wonder if I stepped over a line with the last one. I’ve not been anything but direct and honest with Rachel before. Now doesn’t feel like a time to change that.
I clear my throat and sit back, breaking the quiet. “It’s been really good to see you, Rachel, to catch up a little bit.”
She looks up, and this time there’s no hesitation in her gaze. “Yeah, you too.”
I believe her. Her smile is small, but it reaches her eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. I watch it settle there and try not to think about how long it’s been since I’ve seen it.
Rachel cradles her latte with both hands, elbows resting on the small café table between us.
“You still a mess in the kitchen?”
“I’m getting by. Haven’t started any fires lately.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “That’s an improvement. Hey, at least now you’re technically qualified to save yourself.”
“You used to hover every time I cooked, like you didn’t trust me to make toast.”
“Rhett, I didn’t trust you to make toast,” she says, laughing. “You burned it every single time. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d trust you now.” She shakes her head. “You set off the fire alarm constantly.”
I smirk and take a sip of my coffee. “Fair.”
She leans back, her shoulders loosening the longer we talk. “Are you all moved into your new place yet?”
“Mostly. Still got a few boxes in the truck. Figured I’d deal with it this weekend.”
“Living alone?”
“For now,” I answer. “It’s a small place. Quiet. I think you’d like it.”
“What part of town?” she asks, lifting her cup.
“North Metro. Not far from the station.”
Her brow lifts. “That’s a good area, Rhett.”
“Yeah. Close to everything, but still feels like a neighborhood.”
She taps her fingernail against her cup, hesitating just a beat. “Are you—uh, planning on sticking around?”
I don’t blame her for asking.
“Well, Sunny, I didn’t buy my house and move all my crap in to move again. So yeah, I’m staying.”
She smiles faintly but doesn’t respond. I watch her for a second, remembering how she used to talk with her hands, quick and expressive.
It was captivating to watch. It was almost as if her thoughts were moving faster than her mouth.
She is quieter now. I don’t know if it’s because of me or if this is who she’s become. I hope it’s not the second one.
We keep talking about nothing and everything at the same time.
I can’t help but let it fill me with nostalgia.
We bounce from work stories to mutual friends.
We even make it to the dumb shows we used to watch when we were broke college kids sharing takeout and passing time.
Slowly but surely, the hard shell she once had starts to fade.
I can’t stop my gaze from dipping to her lips as she takes a slow sip of her latte, the steam curling around her face.
It has the right idea, trying to stay close to her.
My chest pulls tight, that familiar ache pressing in.
The wanting of something I have no business reaching for.
It is too easy to picture leaning across the table, and taking my time tasting the warmth of coffee on her mouth.
I blink hard and drag my eyes back up. Force the thought down where it belongs.
“Wait,” she says, brushing her hair behind one ear. “Did you ever replace that old couch you used to have?”
“I mean, I did eventually have to. The thing was like a decade old,” I say, smirking. “But I only replaced it a year ago, because the leg broke when my buddy Micah sat on it drunk and ate it trying to reach for a slice of pizza.”
Rachel snorts, then claps a hand over her mouth like the sound shouldn’t have come out of her mouth. But I’m pretty sure I’d pay her to hear it again.
“That couch was already a death trap when I knew you, but still I loved that couch.”
“It was a good couch.” I let out a sigh, reminiscing on the past. “A lot of good memories with it. Hell, you practically lived on it during finals week.”
She grins over her cup, meeting my eyes again. Maybe she won’t be mad at me forever for leaving.
I glance at my watch. Two hours have gone by like nothing.
I should let her go—back to her life, away from me—even though every part of me wants to stay right here.
If I want her back in my life, I know I can’t rush this.
I know I’m going to have to be patient. For her, I will be.
What’s a couple more months after years of waiting?
I stand and grab my now-empty coffee. “I should probably head back and deal with those boxes before they officially become furniture.”
She laughs, and what she says next surprises the hell out of me. “Need any help?”
I blink. “With the boxes?”
She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “I’ve got a couple hours before I need to be anywhere.”
I’d be an idiot to say no.
“Yeah, alright. I hope you’re ready to judge my questionable furniture choices.”
She follows me out, tossing her cup in the bin. “Nothing can be worse than that old couch.”
When I don’t answer, she squints at me. “Rhett. Please tell me it’s not worse than the couch.”
I grin, already reaching for the door. “Guess you’ll see.”