Page 73 of For the Record

Adam: Don’t think you could make that go away.

Rachel: I like flirty Adam. Does he only come out at night?

Adam: And bank holidays. And the occasional Friday the 13th.

Rachel: Those are my new favorite days.

***

Voicemail from Adam, 2:37 am:

“Hey. Sorry it’s late again. I knew you wouldn’t answer, but I still had to try. I am, uh, really missing you. Like a lot. I feel like I get how some of the guys felt years back when they’d get pissed when the time came to get back out there. I get it now. It pisses me off that I can’t drive home to you now. But just one more week, right? We’ve survived worse. I have some things to tell you when I get back. I can’t say it over the phone, but damn, I want to. I’ve got to go to bed. I’m rambling. Good night, sweetheart.”

Currently playing: Close To You by Neon Trees

***

When I got a call from Calla with her screaming “We need all hands on deck now!” this was the last thing I pictured.

And yet here I stood, among all my siblings and their spouses, holding a drill, screwing together a working windmill for a miniature golf course. Over the last few weeks, Liam and Marigold had been working to put together a project for my nephews’ school. Apparently last night during the storm, it got completely ruined. Which was what led Calla to abruptly calling me and shouting in my ear about “grand gestures” and “second chances.”

I’d been working on getting this windmill going for about two hours. Crew cut out the wood for me, and I was making the logistics of it work. It wasn’t like I could do anything electrical to make it move, but it was supposed to be windy during the festival, so if I positioned everything just right, it should seem legit enough.

Though I’d been dropping screws and staring off into space since Rachel’s tiny car pulled in thirty minutes ago and she walked toward us in her denim overalls, lifting up her tiny portable speaker.

“I’ve got music and whatever is easiest.” She held her speaker in the air and shook it, not looking at me. I turned my back to her, knowing good and well that if I was to face her while working on this thing, then I wouldn’t get anything done.

Yet even my eyes weren’t safe. Because her voice, that beautiful raspy voice that I knew better than my own was all around me. Hence, why I had to screw this last piece in approximately six times.

She was off to the side, painting animals with Layla and Calla, laughing away like this wasn’t pure torment. Maybe it wasn’t for her. Maybe to her, this was entirely normal. Maybe she was over our mutual silence and didn’t care. That would make one of us.

After dinner on Wednesday night, we hadn’t spoken much. It’d only been a few days, and I still called when she was getting off work. Our mixed emotions didn’t mean I was willing to risk her safety. Her answers were always curt and dry. She didn’t want to talk, that much was apparent, but she could be upset with me all she wanted, as long as it meant I knew she wasn’t going to her apartment entirely alone.

“Speaking of work,” Calla said with this suggestive tone. “Rachel, have you thought any more about possibly going on a date with Mason?”

My hands froze, and I had this immediate urge to rub between my pecs. Rachel was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know.” She was smiling. I could hear it.

“Who’s Mason? Why haven’t I met him?” Layla asked.

“One of the players I work with. He’s so sweet. Here, let me find his Instagram.”

I could hear them shuffling and some silence before Layla gasped. Loudly. “Oh my gosh. Look at those legs!”

Calla laughed. “Well, he does work out constantly, considering it’s basically his full-time job.”

I looked down at my thighs. My black athletic shorts covered most of them, but I still flexed a little. Did I still have muscled legs? Muscled enough for what Rachel liked? She’d liked them the night we met. I knew that much. Maybe it wasn’t enough, though. Was I letting myself go? I was reaching my midthirties, but still. She was young. Young enough to be surrounded by muscled single men.

“Rachel.” Layla’s voice dropped in a serious tone. “You have got to at least meet him once!”

My mom chimed in. “Let me see this young man. Oh, wow. He is something. Do me a favor and bring him to family dinner sometime.”

Wow. Thanks, Mom.

My dad grumbled a curse beside me, and she spoke up again. “Kidding, hun. I still love your legs.”

All of my siblings and I simultaneously groaned.

“Well, Rach?” Calla egged on.

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