Page 33 of Under Locke & Key
We’re so close I can feel her heaving breath against my neck where she’s staring up at me, her eyes trained on mine and I know I should take a step back but I can’t. Not when she’s in my space and smells earthy and fresh, citrus and sage, and something wholly her own that I can’t put a name to.
Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to formulate an answer, the wall behind her and me in front, and her eyes wide with indecision. “I—I don’t have a ladder.”
“So you opted to potentially crack your skull rather than ask for help?” I don’t know why I’m being so harsh. I’ve never spoken this way to anyone before but the fear of what almost happened has stoked something dormant inside of me. Coupled with the latent attraction and the fact that Rachel has been on my mind almost constantly since we met, it’s the perfect storm for irrational reactions.
“I’m not good at asking.” Her gaze drops, her eyes somewhere on the collar of my shirt, and she says it with dejection and a hefty dose of defensiveness.
“Next time, please try. I’d hate for you to get hurt, or struggle, when I’m right here. I know we're working together but I hope it's not too much of a stretch to consider us friends now.”
Her brows draw down over those dark expressive eyes, as if she’s measuring whether or not to speak. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to read and decipher the things peopledon’tsay. Body language, facial expression, and tone of voice. It’s been a constant study to read between the lines and I still feel like I’ll never quite get it right. I want to ask her to please just say what she’s thinking. The suspense is killing me and the proximity doesn’t help.
“I’m not sure your wife would appreciate me taking your time on a Sunday because I decided to hang some curtains.”
It’s like an electric shock. The words “your wife” clang inside my mind and I wonder what she knows.
“I don’t—I’m not sure—How?” It’s a mess of a sentence but somehow she understands what I’m trying to say.
“Ring. Left hand.”
I lift up the hand in question, the ring on my third finger glinting muted, it’s scuffed and a little worn after five years, and I haven’t had the energy to polish it.
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I haven’t had the courage to take it off for any extended period of time yet. It’s been there so long it feels like a part of me.
Rachel’s eyes rove over my face, and she must see some kind of devastation there because she sucks in a shuddering breath and rushes to speak. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring—I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t know. I?—”
I bark out a bitter chuckle, her concern shifting to confusion.
“Not dead. Divorced. Just haven’t gotten around to taking it off. We finalized it earlier this month after being separated for nearly a year.” It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud.
Everyone around me already knows, so I haven’t had to admit it verbally. But with Rachel, it feels real for the first time. The lonely months leading up to the end of my marriage, the late work nights and the cooling down between us . . . all of it right through my nine months living in an empty house and questioning what comes next. It finally feels like something other than a fever dream and I rock back on my heels at the revelation.
“Well.” The word feels layered with meaning I can only guess at. Rachel places her hand smack in the middle of my chest to ease me backwards and steps out around me once she’s made that space—her touch gone but burnt into my skin and my head buzzing with thoughts too wild to pin down. “Want some coffee or tea and we can talk about the location?”
Right. I forgot for a second why I’m here in the first place.
“Tea, please. Whatever you have. No milk or sugar.”
“I have something herbal, I think. Just give me a moment and I’ll be right back. Feel free to make yourself at home.” She gestures at the space around us and I actually take stock of the room for the first time. Rachel slips into the kitchen and though I can still kind of see her, it’s not as direct.
Thank goodness for that. My heart hasn’t beat calmly since I set foot in this apartment and I might be able to get it under control if she’s not in the same room. The living room is in various stages of unpacking, although it’s mostly there. Just a couple of boxes stacked up in one corner. Rachel has a stunning green velvet sofa, and a deep set armchair that looks perfect for reading, facing the TV stand she just fell from.
Her hardwood floors are covered by a rug and she has a standing lamp between the couch and chair, further cementing the idea of a reading spot. Lastly, she has a dark brown—possibly mahogany—bookshelf with various titles. Some lay on their sides, others stacked and held in place with knicknacks to keep them from falling all the way over. Two boxes wait at the foot of the shelf and it takes everything I have not to go over and snoop.
My restraint is good because she reappears a moment later, two mugs in hand and gestures for me to sit. She’s got a folder tucked under her arm and once I’ve taken my tea and sat down on what I’m always going to consider the reading chair from now on, she hands it to me.
“Signed contract. It all looked above board to me and I appreciate you being willing to consider those changes.” Her smile is open but there’s a tightness around it that makes me feel like she’s holding something back.
“I appreciate you getting it back to me so quickly. So.” I take a deep breath. “I won’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to go ahead and let you know that I toured the last two spaces with Jim today, since I didn’t have high hopes for them and my worries were founded. Neither were better than what we toured together and just looking at the budget and timeline I’m under, I think the movie theater might serve my purpose best?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question but I do want her opinion.
Several thoughts seem to flash across her face as I talk but she nods by the end of it.
“Although it was dark and dusty, it did seem to be the easiest to convert into something else.”
“It’s also the most accessible of the buildings and right downtown. It’s just going to take some elbow grease.”
She raises one of those dark brows at me and I jump in quickly with, “Mine. Not yours. What I’ll need help with from you is brainstorming room ideas. Once we have a set few I’ll ask you to take a look at what kind of equipment you’ll need to outfit each room to suit the ambiance and other tech necessary to pull it off.”
“What do you need from me now? I feel kind of useless not knowing what to do and I don’t want to just sit on my hands. I need to earn my keep.” Taking a sip of her drink, her throat bobs, both her hands wrapped around the mug like she needs something to do with them or she’ll fidget.
