Page 20 of Just Friends

“Rebecca,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she muttered into his shirt.

“You fell asleep, sweetie.”

What? She lifted off of him, she’d dozed off standing, leaned against him. Well, he was the only reason she’d remained upright.

“Come on. Lock up behind me and get some sleep.” He pulled her to the door. She considered pulling him the other way; they could be friends with benefits, right? Not a big deal. No, she shouldn’t go there. Did she want to? He stepped into the night air. The cold wind smacked her back into reality as did his kiss on her hand. “Goodnight,” he said.

Six

The following day she had zero time to contemplate what she was doing with Weasel or what she may have wanted to do to him. Rebecca arrived at Huntington Farms at ten, and two sous-chefs were waiting for her instructions. She went over the four-course menu and prep plans, and they got to cooking. Working with trained professionals again was freeing, those who could take directions and turn out the product asked of them. She’d only been a sous-chef through college, and here she was taking on the role of executive chef. The others referred to her as “chef.” She needed to table the impostor syndrome, or it’d derail the job because they were counting on her. She couldn’t let them down.

Eleven hours later, the reception was in full swing. The happy couple and their guests dancing away the night after they’d devoured dinner. From all accounts, everyone enjoyed the food. An ecstatic Brandon had been nearly in tears when he handed her the payment. He hugged her and thanked her for saving their ass. The number of zeros on the check in her hand, she should thank him.

After leaving the office, she wandered the gardens in the dark, the paths lit by solar-powered lights, and many of them were dim. Most of tonight’s visitors seemed to be still whooping it up on the dance floor, judging by the noises from the barn, and outside was quiet.

Her friends created pretty flower beds and trails around the Huntington Farms property and had interspersed enough evergreens that when the flowers died back in the fall, there was still foliage throughout the garden. The mums were still blooming. The venue might have been a little too romantic because on occasion they found wedding patrons getting frisky on the benches that scattered along the trails. She pulled the cell phone out and sat. There was one text from Weasel hours earlier that she hadn’t felt her phone alert.Out of pocket for work today, it read,You’ll do great tonight.

How long would he be working? She didn’t need to disturb him; it was probably vital. Maybe that DEA task force stuff was going on.

Also, a voice message from her mom. Sighing she tapped the play icon. “Hey, I just wanted to call you since I haven’t from you recently,” her mother said. “I want you to think about coming home for Thanksgiving next month. It’ll be my first Thanksgiving with Roger, and it would be nice if the whole family were here. Anyway, giving you plenty of notice to plan. Call me.”

She sighed and deleted the voicemail. The last thing she wanted was to see her mom and Roger have a big family holiday. Her parents divorced twelve years ago; she harbored no childish delusions of them ever getting back together. But her mom had gone out of her way to erase Stanley from her and Rebecca’s lives. Watching her mom play house with yet another replacement, well, she wasn’t mature enough to be all right with that.

Rebecca sighed and stood up, determined to head home for a good night’s sleep. As she started down the path, a face peered around the corner—a wedding guest probably. Then, she noticed the white face paint, red nose, and poofy wig.

The Clown.

She took a few steps backward, and he waved. On autopilot, she rushed in the opposite direction. Familiar with the layout, she doubled back and headed straight for the main house without looking back. She came to in the office with Brandon and Daniel holding her up by the armpits.

“What happened?” Dan asked.

She struggled through her heaving lungs. “Clown,” she managed, “in the garden.”

With that, Daniel disappeared and Brandon lowered her onto the couch then grabbed the phone.

Pounding on her apartment door pushed its way into her subconscious and woke her from the soundest slumber she’d had in days. She rolled out of bed growling and trudged to the door, pulling it open with the chain still attached. “What,” she snarled.

“You’re not answering your phone,” Weasel said.

She shut the door in his face, groaned; pulled the chain off and opened it again. He didn’t look amused.

“For the first time in weeks, I was sound asleep. Until now.”

“Sorry,” he grimaced, pushing past her into the living room. “I got back late last night and heard a clown attacked you.” He passed his palms over her body. “Are you injured?”

She slapped his hands aside. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m not hurt. Can’t the police get a report right? That creepy clown was back. He was in the garden at Huntington. He waved at me, and I ran away.”

“The same one at the Harvest Festival?”

She yawned. Her hair had to be a mess, and she was in her pajamas. “Yeah and…” She hadn’t told Weasel about the other sightings.

“And what?”

“And Dan went after him, but couldn’t find him.”

“That’s not what.”

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