Chapter Twenty-One

ALEX HAD VOWED to let Rachel make the next move and contact him.

He made it exactly two days.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. Other than fielding the flood of responses to the surprisingly successful Instagram barrage, he had nothing to do but write. Now that he’d completed the first phase of relaunching Rachel’s career, he should be able to focus. The words should be flowing onto the page.

And yet the only thing that was flowing was a river of panic. Every last bit of talent or inspiration he’d ever possessed was apparently gone.

Almost as if he were sending out an emergency beacon, his cell phone lit up, flashing Christine’s number on the screen. Cautiously, he answered.

“There you are!” she said by way of hello. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“Not avoiding. Procrastinating.”

“Yes, your time-honored method of creativity. Does that mean you’re finally writing?” Christine’s tone was patient, or maybe it was resigned to the hopelessly uncooperative nature of his creative process.

Alex hesitated. He still had no idea where the book was going. Or if it was a book. Or publishable. “Sort of.”

“How do you ‘sort of’ write?”

“Currently it’s a random handful of essays and ramblings that may or may not have a cohesive theme. I don’t know yet.”

“And here I thought my fiction writers were eccentric. I tell you what. Send me what you have. I’ll be the one to tell you if it’s any good and if it’s saleable.”

“Soon. Not quite yet.”

“You’re killing me, Alex. You’re literally throwing away the chance at a six-figure contract because of . . . what? Writer’s block? Insecurity?”

“I told you when I wrote the first book, I would only write another when I had something worthwhile to communicate. I don’t believe in putting work out into the world simply to have another publication to my name. And I’m still not sure if what I have to say will even be worth the paper it’s printed on.”

“Then we push the delivery date. But give me something to work with so we can at least get a contract in motion.”

Christine was right. If he delayed much longer, this window of opportunity would close. And she might be a little pushy, but that’s why he’d hired her in the first place —to have the killer instinct that he somehow lacked when it came to publishing. “I’ll do my best. That’s all I can promise.”

“Then it’s going to have to do. Just don’t mess this one up, Alex. You’re a gifted writer, but even gifted writers can sabotage their careers out of existence.”

“I’ll get you something in a couple of weeks and you can tell me if you can sell it. Deal?”

“Good enough. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Alex clicked off the line and set the phone beside his laptop, fiddling with it until it was perfectly parallel to the keyboard. Maybe Christine was right. Maybe he was sabotaging himself because he was afraid to have another bomb. His magazine writing was high-profile, but he didn’t carry the weight of sales on his name alone. If an article didn’t resonate, readers moved on to another one in the publication that did. But the thought of all those hardbound volumes languishing in a warehouse somewhere, unwanted by the reading public, was enough to give anyone writer’s block.

So maybe his writer’s block had nothing to do with Rachel in the first place.

And yet his eyes continually went to his cell phone, as if he could will it to ring.

He sighed, picked it up, and dialed Rachel’s number.

She answered after half a dozen rings, sounding breathless. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself. Am I interrupting something?”

“Not really. Just testing some recipes for next week and I couldn’t find the phone. What are you doing?”

Alex smiled. “Trying to work on a proposal and getting distracted by you.”

“Oh, really?” She gave what sounded like a nervous laugh, punctuated by the sound of sizzling in the background. Naturally she’d be multitasking. Rachel had an ability to focus that right now he envied.

She wasn’t giving him anything to work with, though. Bryan would mock him for his total lack of game, but women didn’t usually make him this tongue-tied.

“I was hoping you’d let me take you out sometime this week.” There. That wasn’t so bad . . . if he were a middle-schooler asking a girl to the movies. Nicely done.

“Like on a date?”

“Exactly like a date. With dinner and conversation and, if I play my cards right, a kiss that does not end with my sister barging into the room.”

Rachel laughed, and this time there was no question she sounded nervous. “Okay. Friday.”

“You’re going to make me wait all week to see you?”

“I’m busy until then. Besides, I have a feeling you’re used to getting your way. It won’t kill you to exercise some patience.”

“You promise?”

“If you die, you can absolutely say you told me so.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Okay, fine. Let’s say . . . seven on Friday? I’ll pick you up.”

“It’s a plan.”

“If I took you to coffee tomorrow morning, that wouldn’t count as a date.”

“Nice try.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m busy tomorrow.”

“All right, all right. Friday. I’ll try to be patient. But if you need someone to give an objective opinion on the menu —”

“Good-bye, Alex.”

He laughed again and hung up the phone. He liked this woman. Her sense of humor, the fact she never let anything undermine her focus. True, he would have liked it a lot better if she’d agreed to see him every day this week, but the care she was putting into this menu should teach him a lesson in diligence.

Yes. His proposal. He could at least write something, if only to get Christine off his back. Surely he could find something to be ironic and irritated about. He’d made a career off his natural contrariness.

Except when he put his fingers to the keyboard, the only thing he could think of was the way Rachel had thrown her arms around his neck, the taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his. Maybe the stuff of poetry, which he didn’t write, or sappy love songs, which he didn’t write either, but not a book of essays. There had to be some universal meaning to his work, something to which all readers could relate.

And then the idea sparked, just a bare filament of thought. He followed it, not sure where it would lead, until his fingers were tapping across the keyboard and the screen filled with line after line of words.

Before he knew it, he’d written a complete essay he hadn’t known he had in him.

He saved it and shut down the file. At least that was progress. He might not leave Christine and his publisher hanging indefinitely, though a single essay hardly qualified as a full proposal.

In the meantime, though, he had a date to plan. One he hoped would finally prove to Rachel that the only thing he wanted out of this arrangement was her trust.

*   *   *

Rachel set down the phone and turned her attention back to the fish she was searing in the hot pan.

Alex had asked her out on a proper date.

And for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she had said yes.

Why had she said yes? Since Saturday night, she’d convinced herself that she needed to keep this relationship friendly and businesslike. It was safer that way. Less messy. The fact Alex hadn’t made any kind of contact made it easy to believe he’d dismissed that kiss as a mistake, just as she had.

Rachel nibbled her nail. It had been a mistake, hadn’t it? Yes, she’d enjoyed it. But she’d also been relieved Dina had interrupted them before she needed to put a stop to it. There were things Alex wouldn’t understand. He’d take them personally. Wasn’t that why she’d given up dating before she’d ever really begun?

The acrid smell of burning oil jolted her out of her reverie, and she snapped her mind back to the fish with dismay. A perfectly good piece of halibut, ruined. She twisted off the burner with a savage motion and dumped the fish directly into the trash can. She was wiping out the pan to start anew when she finally gave up. She was too distracted to cook fish, and halibut was a stupid idea anyway.

So she did what any sensible single woman in her situation did: she texted her friends and asked them to bring ice cream.

Two hours later, Ana and Melody arrived together, the first bearing a bag of whole-bean coffee, the second a half gallon of rocky road ice cream.

“What happened?” Ana asked immediately. “Is it the supper club? Alex? He didn’t do something jerky, did he?”

Rachel stepped aside. “No, nothing like that. I had an emergency ice cream craving and I realized I haven’t even gotten to tell you about the supper club yet.”

Melody took the coffee from Ana and moved past Rachel to the kitchen. “We saw on Instagram. The food looked beautiful. Have you searched the hashtag? It was trending.”

Rachel flushed, remembering her reaction to that very fact. “I saw. By the way, there are strawberries and fresh whipped cream in the fridge.”

Melody helped herself to bowls while Ana found the grinder and the French press. Rachel leaned in the doorway, smiling. They’d known each other long enough for her friends to treat this like their own place, something she secretly loved. Seven minutes later, Ana was serving up hot cups of coffee, while Melody had made them big bowls of ice cream, artistically garnished with strawberries and whipped cream.

Melody practically dragged Rachel to the living room sofa and tucked her feet up under her long skirt. “Now spill, and make it quick, because I have to be at work in an hour. I don’t believe for a minute this is about needing an ice cream fix.”

Rachel dug into the sundae with her spoon and licked off the creamy, chocolaty deliciousness. God bless Melody. This was no supermarket ice cream. This was some serious artisanal, organic, small-batch, hand-churned heaven.

“So that’s how you’re going to play it?” Ana arched an eyebrow. “Just use us for coffee and ice cream?”

Rachel set down her spoon. “I kissed Alex.”

“What?” they asked in unison. Ana managed, “When?”

“On Saturday after everyone left the supper club.”

“Wait a second, you kissed him three days ago and you’re only now telling us?”

Rachel grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry. I was going to tell you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”

Ana looked at Melody. “She kissed the most unreasonably hot guy in the state of Colorado and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “You know why.”

“Hon, I know you’re nervous, understandably so.” Melody put her hand over Rachel’s. “But if you felt nothing in that man’s presence, I’d have to recommend professional help.”

“You guys are already Team Alex, and you don’t know anything about him.”

“I know he’s the first guy to tempt you from your nun-like state, and therefore I like him,” Ana said.

“If you’re not interested,” Melody said, “I’ll take his number.”

“Hey now!” Rachel protested. Ana and Melody started laughing.

“Anyway,” Melody said, “I want to know how the kiss was.”

Rachel took a bite of ice cream so she didn’t have to answer, but she couldn’t stop the heat that bloomed in her cheeks.

“That good, huh?” Melody rubbed her hands together.

Good enough to send a quiver of anticipation through her at the thought of being in his arms again. If she was honest, though, it wasn’t just the kiss. It was the guy. There was something about him that had pulled her in against her will, made her want to get closer, reject the notion that they should be merely friends and business partners.

“Am I crazy?” Rachel asked, spoon poised above her bowl.

“Yes,” Melody said immediately, “but not because of this.”

Ana jumped in with her take-charge, utterly reasonable tone. “Let’s look at this objectively. He’s good-looking. He works. He’s super nice.” She ticked off each trait on her fingers and looked to Melody for help.

“Obviously has a conscience considering how hard he’s trying to make things up to you,” Melody said.

“Conscience, check. Know anything about personal beliefs?”

“Used to be Russian Orthodox, now just unaffiliated Christian, I guess. Sounds like it was a big deal to his family.”

“You’ve already had the family and religion talk?” Melody’s eyebrows went up. “That’s usually a third date sort of topic for me.”

“That’s why you end up with jerks,” Ana said. “No offense.”

“None taken. But for the record, the religion question does not necessarily screen for jerks. Some of them talk a good game.”

Rachel looked between the two of them, some of her angst subsiding in the wake of the runaway conversation. “Not to be self-involved here, but we’re talking about whether I’m crazy to be interested in Alex.”

“Let’s see,” Ana said. “Good-looking, employed, super nice, and Christian? I’d say you’re crazy not to be. If he were interested in me, yeah, I’d give him a second look.”

“You know, Bryan is interested. And he seems to tick all those boxes.”

Ana shrugged. “He’s got to make an effort. He seems like the type to get by on his looks and his money, and as you know, I haven’t done so well with those lately.”

“How do you know he has money?” Was Ana’s radar really that keen?

Ana gave Rachel a patient look. “Honey, there is not a single person in this city —except for maybe you —who doesn’t know who Bryan Shaw is.”

“I didn’t,” Melody said.

“That’s because you’re like Rachel. If he’s not Jacques Pépin, you’re not impressed.”

“True,” Melody said. “But you spent the entire Fourth of July evening with Bryan. You must have had some interest in him.”

“When did this turn into a discussion of my love life? This is about Rachel locking lips with a hot writer.” Ana swiveled toward Rachel again. “So what are you going to do?”

“He’s taking me out on Friday.”

“On a date?” Melody and Ana asked simultaneously.

“Yes, on a date. I don’t even know why I said yes.”

“Because he’s beautiful and kind and obviously you feel safe with him, or you wouldn’t have made it this far. From the look on your face, you’re looking forward to this.”

She was. No sense in denying it. “I probably need to buy something to wear, don’t I?”

“Of course,” Ana said. “I think it might require a special trip. And a new dress.”

“Let’s not go crazy.” Inwardly, though, the prospect didn’t sound half bad. She’d spent most of her life downplaying the fact she was a woman. Now she wanted to feel pretty and feminine, like she had on the Fourth of July.

For once, she might actually feel safe enough to be herself.