Chapter 7
RACHEL
The one constant in Rachel’s life over the past nine years had been change.
Change in her relationships with her family—her parents hadn’t been happy she decided to move to Denver permanently so the boys could be closer to their dad. Her siblings hadn’t been thrilled, either.
Change in her body—the postpartum phase should’ve lasted a few months, she figured, but eight years in and her metabolism was still messed up.
And change in her goals—it used to be she wanted to be a big shot like her brother Jack, work in a Los Angeles high-rise, and make lotsa money. Now, she settled for her own personal office under the staircase, the kitchen table, sometimes even her bed…wherever her laptop took her.
Life changed. Things flowed in different directions. She got that, embraced it most times.
But Travis bringing her margaritas? Yes, she would embrace it because they were delicious.
She could admit his margaritas were better than hers.
However, they’d spent time together last night like friends. Like she was hanging out with a male friend. A male friend who showed up late with an extra helping of five o’clock shadow that sometimes made her tummy flip and… other things.
That could not happen again, because if it did she might start to feel things more than a tummy flip, and she didn’t have time for more than a tummy flip. Especially not with someone like Travis. If she was going to have tummy flip time with a man, he needed to be a helluva lot more stable.
Filled coffee mug in hand, she opened the refrigerator to grab milk for her coffee and cereal. She stilled.
Travis had left her a whole pitcher of margaritas.
With a note. In bold handwriting slashes from a black ballpoint pen in all capital letters, he apologized for not bringing cocktails sooner.
What did she do with that?
Her lungs released a shaky breath.
Yes, life changed, but would it really be so hard for it to freaking at least try to fit into some semblance of the design she endlessly had to adjust?
The alert chime on her front door beeped. She looked up.
“Just us,” Molly said, letting herself in and striding through the living room to the kitchen with her son Oliver.
“I came early to help you clean up.” She pulled the tablet from her purse and handed it to Oliver.
He grinned like it was Christmas morning, since Rachel happened to know that Molly was stingy with screen time.
Which was odd, if you asked Rachel, given her profession as a YouTube personality.
Sunday mornings were for their “special” working mom meeting at the neighborhood park.
Special because they all brought mimosas.
Also, the moms each owned a business of some sort, but this was not a work meeting.
This was a let-the-kids-play-while-the-moms-catch-up-on-all-the-things-that-happened-that-week meeting.
Oliver settled on the sofa and Molly turned her focus to Rachel standing in the kitchen.
She paused, probably because the kitchen was clean. Not just after-party-exhausted clean, but Rachel clean. And Molly knew Rachel well enough to know that after the party she’d have crashed and left the details for the next day.
“Did the house-cleaning, margarita fairy visit your house last night?” Molly eyeballed the half-empty remnants of Rachel’s last-night cocktail. “Or do you have a new best friend you forgot to mention?”
“How could I possibly replace you? You’d never allow that.” Rachel grinned.
“So it was a margarita fairy,” Molly said.
“Yes. Well, mostly.” He’d cleaned up after himself and even used the special spray that Rachel liked because it smelled like lavender.
Not that he’d known it was her favorite—it was the only cleaning spray in the kitchen—but what kind of guy even used cleaner? Didn’t they usually just go for a wet paper towel and call it good? Or was that only her experience?
“He?” Molly’s eyes turned to slits. “Like a mystical man creature who fills your cup with cocktails?”
Well, that was one way to put it.
“Something like that.” Rachel poured a dollop of milk into her coffee.
“Who…” Molly placed both palms on the counter, totally serious. “Is he?”
“Pretty sure he’s like the Tooth fairy, and he’d prefer to stay anonymous.” Rachel shrugged.
Molly pursed her lips like she did when she was thinking too hard. “Was it Dane? I bet it was Dane.”
Rachel poured cereal into a bowl. “It wasn’t Dane.”
“Gavin?” Molly didn’t seem certain about this guess, but she tossed it out anyway. “Did Dakota keep the boys so your ex-husband could bring you drinks because they realized they take advantage of your awesomeness and therefore don’t deserve your goodness?”
Rachel sipped her coffee. Fine, she chugged her coffee. “Travis.”
She wasn’t good at keeping secrets. Why would she in this case, anyway?
Molly needed to help her dissect why he’d returned after everyone had left.
Why he’d come bearing gifts. Why he’d cleaned up the rest of the kitchen when Rachel fell asleep.
And why he’d covered her with a blanket before he left. Why? All the whys?
“Travis?” Molly stared. “Is this a joke?”
Rachel gave her head a slight shake and said, “Have I ever joked about Travis?”
Molly’s mouth fell comically open, then she used the back of her hand to push it closed. This was Molly and her flare for dramatics and propensity toward slapstick—both of which made her YouTube channel so popular.
“Stop, it’s not a big deal.” Rachel spoke with certainty. “He felt bad because I’d had a rough week.”
Molly lifted the cocktail from where Rachel had set it beside the sink. She examined it.
“That’s from last night. I wouldn’t—” Molly took a slug of the cocktail.
Clearly, Molly had no issue with day-old cocktails first thing in the morning.
Her eyes widened, nearly as soon as the margarita had hit her taste buds.
“Travis gives good margarita,” she said.
He did.
“He left a full pitcher of them in the fridge.” Two hands around her favorite yellow FiestaWare mug, the big kind that held a solid two cups of Joe, Rachel nodded toward the refrigerator.
Molly marched across the kitchen, flung open the door, and if her eyes were wide before, this time they got so big, they resembled that of a Molly-inspired dragonfly. She closed the door, turned, leaned against it, and said, “Marry him or I will.”
Ha. No.
“I’m not getting married.” Again. Ever. Done that.
Hated it. Wouldn’t repeat.
Rachel did try to learn from the mistakes of her past, the marriage one being a biggie.
Even if she considered it, Travis would absolutely not be in contention.
“Well, we’re taking this with us to the park.” Molly grabbed the pitcher from the shelf and immediately started rummaging through the cupboard, pulling out Rachel’s stock of to-go coffee cups one by one. “Who needs Sunday morning mimosas when we have Sunday morning tequila?”
Rachel sat at one of the kitchen barstools and ate her cereal while Molly ransacked the cupboards for travel mugs.
“Works for me,” Rachel said. “I need it out of the refrigerator before the boys get back this afternoon, anyway. They’ll think it’s punch and that won’t end well for any of us.”
She shivered.
Molly gave the pitcher a stir and dumped the liquid into the waiting to-go cups she’d already, and very efficiently, filled with ice.
Rachel hurried to finish her cold cereal and warm-ish coffee so they could head to the park and Oliver wouldn’t have to wait.
She glanced at Oliver lounging on her sofa.
He’d been born around the same time as her boys—a few months earlier.
The difference? Molly and her ex had never even tried the marriage thing.
Once Ollie was born, his dad disappeared, and Molly sued him for substantial child support. She won and never looked back.
She also never seemed quite content, despite all of her theatrics.
If anything, Rachel guessed the theatrics hid how badly Molly wished she could find a someone to love.
Rachel did not have that same desire. She had two boys to shower with adoration, and that was enough.
“Let’s roll,” Molly announced after she’d loaded the travel mugs into a cooler with wheels Rachel kept in the pantry.
Placing her bowl in the sink and rinsing it before loading it in the dishwasher, Rachel grabbed her park bag, and they headed out.