She knew how much work he’d have done to make his daughter’s space into the room of her dreams. The amusement and love in his voice overwhelmed her. Single-dad Beckett overwhelmed her.
“You did an awesome job,” Rachel told her. “You’re a great interior designer.” She loved Holly’s enthusiasm.
When had she first had an interest in art and design? She’d always loved drawing since she’d been able to hold a crayon, but she was probably around ten or so when she first started getting interested in the way rooms came together and the way different fabrics changed how rooms and furniture looked. At first, her parents were amused when she came home with decorating magazines and books from the library. They thought it was a phase she was going through. The joke was on them.
What she wouldn’t have done to be able to design her own childhood bedroom, to make it colorful, a reflection of her personality. Rachel ran her fingers over the lovely, handmade quilt covering Holly’s bed, so different from the white bedspread she’d had for as long as she remembered. “You’re so lucky to have someone who loves you so much.”
Large letters spelling out the little girl’s name hung on one of the walls. It had been against the rules to hang anything on the walls in Rachel’s bedroom. Even her own art projects. She’d finally stacked up her school books and colorful library books on her desk to give her room the splash of color she’d realized she needed even back then.
“You must be around ten years old?”
“How did you know? I’ll be ten in two more months.”
“Lucky guess.” Rachel cleared her throat and turned to Beckett. “Something smells delicious.”
“Holly mentioned my mom’s chili yesterday? She wouldn’t eat it last night, wanted to save it until you came over.”
“So we had pizza. I like pizza with pineapple. Do you like pizza with pineapple? My best friend Emmie thinks it’s gross and has only cheese on her pizza. I think that’s crazy, I mean she’s missing out on so many great tastes, don’t you think?”
“Um, yes, I do. I especially like pineapple on my pizza.”
“Did you hear that, Dad? Rachel Bradford likes my bedroom and she likes pineapple on pizza. I like her.”
“I like her too, sweetie.”
He said it so effortlessly, like it was the truth. For a moment, Rachel’s heart skipped in her chest. Just because they’d called a tentative truce didn’t mean they liked each other. That they’d ever like each other. She slid a glance to him and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Did that mean he said it only to please his daughter? He seemed to be a straight-shooter with Holly. Their easy rapport was so different from what Rachel had with her parents, she wasn’t sure how to take it.
Maybe it was a reminder that he knew they didn’t like each other but they’d pretend to for the duration of this project?
Or did he really like her?
She was overthinking this.
“I’m hungry. Dad, do you think the chili is ready yet?”
“It just needed to be heated up and yeah, it’s had plenty of time for that.” He glanced at Rachel and his blank expression didn’t give her any more insights. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
…
Rachel shouldn’t have looked so good sitting at the round table in the corner of the kitchen. Not like she belonged. Hell, she was wearing white linen pants and a shiny purple blouse that was probably silk or some shit. He and Holly were in cotton shorts and tees. Comfort, they dressed for comfort around here.
He doubted Rachel’s kitchen where she grew up or wherever she was living now had knotty pine cabinets, white appliances with no fancy bells and whistles, or a Masonite countertop.
He’d bought this house when Holly was a baby, and updating it had never been on his list of things to do. Everything worked. Nothing was leaking or broken. But now that Holly was obsessed with The Rachel Touch, all she seemed to talk about was painting walls and new appliances and complaining that their curtains didn’t pick up the color of the furniture. Like that mattered. At all.
He didn’t care what Rachel thought.
Beck barely tasted the chili as he listened to Holly chatter on like she always did. At least that meant he didn’t have to try to keep up a conversation with Rachel. He’d run out of topics during lunch. Things between them were awkward enough. What did they have in common except the bar? Their lives had always been as different as night and day, still were. Rachel kept up her side of the conversation with his almost-ten-year-old while he watched his little girl smile and bombard her hero with questions he’d never thought she’d want to ask.
Then somehow his gaze turned to focus on Rachel. She was more attractive now than she’d ever been in high school. Her turned-up nose and crazy hair. Her wide eyes that were so expressive. Her laugh. God, her laugh.
“Don’t you think so, Dad?” Holly punched him in the shoulder. “Dad.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You haven’t been listening to our conversation at all, have you?” Rachel asked with a smile.
“Sorry. Guess my mind wandered. What are we talking about?”
“The living room.”
“Our living room?”
“Duh, Dad. Don’t you think it needs a change? It’s been the same way for as long as I can remember.”
There she went again. He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course they’d start to talk about all the work his daughter thought should be done to the house. “Rachel’s here to work on my bar, not our living room.”
“But I can ask her for ideas, can’t I? Then you and I can do the rest of the work after she’s gone.”
Like he’d need more work. Once the bar opened, he’d be juggling two jobs on top of the third, namely single dad. When would he find time to renovate their house?
Not to mention he didn’t want Holly getting any closer to Rachel than she already was. The last thing he wanted was his little girl bonding with a woman who was leaving as soon as she could. “Let’s let Rachel focus on one project at a time right now.”
Holly knew he didn’t like it when she slouched and pouted, but apparently, she thought tonight was an exception to the rule. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t reprimand her with Rachel sitting at the table with them. Thankfully, all it took was his Dad-glare to get her to straighten up and lose the attitude.
Holly let out a deep dramatic sigh. What was she going to be like when she was a teenager? “Okay, but maybe later? It’ll be so much pleasanter.” She winced and started again. “The living room would be so much more pleasant to spend time in. You’ll be able to relax more when you get home from a busy day at work.”
Beck shook his head. “Have you been working on that speech for a while?”
“Maybe. So can I maybe work on it with Rachel later?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t mind.” Rachel glanced from a beaming Holly to Beck. “If it’s okay with you, of course.”
Really? Beck couldn’t help but stare at Rachel. What was she trying to prove? Was she trying to get on his good side by agreeing to help his daughter?
“Please, Dad?”
Those big blue Holly-eyes. She’d been batting them at him almost since the day she was born. When she turned them on him, he was a goner. And she knew it. But how much did he want to let Rachel Bradford into their personal lives? Messing with his business was bad enough. But influencing his daughter? That’s where he drew the line.
“We’ll see.” He focused that Dad-glare on Holly again. “You are not to bother Rachel. Is that understood?”
“Of course. I would never do that. Promise.” She jumped from her seat and gathered the empty bowls from the table and brought them over to the sink. “I’ll do the dishes.”
She obviously hoped to rack up extra points, but Beckett stopped her before she grabbed mo
re dishes from the table. “You still have your last book review of the year to write.”
Holly huffed, then obviously remembered that her idol was in the room. “Okay, Dad, sure thing.” She turned to Rachel. “Please don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“I won’t.”
Holly dashed down the hall, leaving him alone with Rachel. Somehow seeing her in his home, at his table, made things feel more intimate than they had up until now. Their eyes met and it was as if they were searching for answers from each other, but Beck didn’t even know what the questions were.
Heat built around them, warmer than the summer air, hotter than the chili they’d enjoyed for dinner. Beck dragged his gaze away from her. But he still couldn’t come up with any words.
Rachel cleared her throat. “You have a lovely daughter.”
He took a deep breath before he could finally speak. “Thanks. She’s pretty special.”
“You have a nice home, too.”
Beck let out a bark of a laugh. “It’s old and outdated, I know.”
Her smile was warm. “No, I mean the sense of home, the family you’ve made for yourself and Holly.” She blinked rapidly. Were those tears glistening in her eyes? “You even let her hang pictures on the refrigerator.”
“I was scared to death the first time I held her, but the second she opened her eyes, she stared at me with the most intent look, like she knew everything was going to be okay.”
He swallowed against the lump in his throat. Why did he tell Rachel all that? He’d never said anything like that out loud before. He hopped from his chair. “Want some coffee or a beer? Or water? I think I might even have a bottle of wine Anita left here once. I’ll clear these dishes real quick and then we can talk design.”
Rachel rose. “I’ll help.”
He gathered up more dishes. “You’re our guest. You don’t have to do that.”
She stared him down. “I’ll help.”
“Thanks.” He turned the hot water tap and let it run. “Takes a minute for the hot water to get here.”
He chuckled. “Holly used to pull a chair up to the sink when she was little. She helped rinse the dishes when she was only two. Now we take turns washing and drying.” He started filling the sink, squeezing in a generous amount of soap out of habit. Holly loved the bubbles.
When Rachel didn’t reply, he glanced over his shoulder to see her staring at him, her arms full of the last of the dishes from the table. “What?”
“I don’t recognize you.” She set down the dishes beside the sink.
“What are you talking about?”
“The Beckett Colburn in my mind for the past twenty-some years. I never would have imagined that cocky jerk turned into this sensitive single dad.”
“Sensitive? Let’s not go crazy here.” He tossed her a drying towel and started on the dirty dishes.
Rachel grabbed the first bowl. “So it’s a secret then?”
“You know how rumors spread in Lakeside.” He hoped she wouldn’t bring up the past, and this time she didn’t.
“I have a feeling people here know what a great dad you are.”
He shrugged. “I learned from the best, I guess. I never doubted my parents loved me, but I sure gave them a lot of headaches over the years.”
“Yeah, I gave my parents a lot of headaches, too. Still do.”
He turned to look at her, his hands deep in the soapy water. “But you’re a success. A famous celebrity. How could that upset your parents?”
“Wasn’t the kind of success they wanted for me. According to them, I should have gone into law or finance. Not art.” She picked up a wet dish and dried it vigorously. “Never art. Never television.”
Beck continued washing dishes in silence while she nearly rubbed the design off his plate. He thought she’d had the perfect life growing up. She’d always had the newest and best of everything and didn’t hesitate to let everyone know it. As the youngest of three boys, Beckett had to be satisfied with hand-me-downs. Hadn’t he warned Holly not to jump to conclusions? He needed to take his own advice.
“I was a disappointment to them,” she murmured. “I tried so hard…” She stayed focused on the dish she kept drying. “I can’t believe I even agreed to study pre-law. God, I would have been so miserable.” She finally looked up at him with an embarrassed grin. “I’d forgotten how satisfying it can be to wash dishes by hand.”
He chuckled. “I’ll tell Holly that next time she begs for a dishwasher.”
“There were a lot of years when I didn’t have all the amenities, you know. My parents refused to help me when I changed my course of study to art. Then there were the struggling-young-designer years they warned me about. They thought cutting me off would make me change my mind, but I loved being on my own. Making it my way.”
Beck could relate to those struggling years. But he knew his parents would have helped him in a heartbeat. He and Rachel had both been on their own, but for entirely different reasons.
They worked in silence for the next few minutes. She caught his eye and smiled back. There was that warm feeling again.
When the glasses began to clatter as he placed them in the drying rack, Mocha scurried into the kitchen, looking for the treat Holly always gave him. The dog dove between Beck’s legs, tripping him as he was placing the last glass. He lost his balance, spun and staggered toward Rachel, at the same time trying not to step on the excited dog under his feet. He dropped the glass back into the soapy water and scrabbled for the counter, but Rachel caught him before he could tumble all the way over.
Her hands grasped his biceps, their faces only inches away. Her lips parted with her gasp and he ached to taste her even as he struggled to remain standing. The heat between the two of them could have heated the remaining chili in the pan on the stove. And that was so wrong.
Wasn’t it?
“Mocha,” he barked as he straightened, surefooted again. Rachel pulled her hands back as if he’d burned her palms. Maybe he had. “Sit.” The little dog dropped her butt, her little tail frantically sweeping the floor behind her. “Holly always gives her a treat when we’re doing dishes. Guess I forgot tonight.”
He reached into the cupboard and pulled out one of her tiny dog biscuits. Rachel surprised him by holding out her hand. “May I?”
“Sure.” Beck handed it to her. Mocha had bounced up and was running circles around Rachel’s feet. “Make sure she sits first.”
“Got it. Sit, Mocha.” The dog’s fluffy butt landed on the floor like the obedient pet she usually was. Rachel giggled, actually giggled as she gave Mocha the biscuit. “I’ve never had a dog. My parents didn’t allow any animals in our house. The apartments I’ve lived in never allowed pets. And I’m gone so often that it wouldn’t be fair to the dog, anyway.”
“You’re welcome to visit Mocha anytime you like.” The words were out of his mouth before he thought about it.
There was that smile again. “Thanks.”
The rest of the dishes were taken care of in a matter of minutes. Washed. Dried. Put away. It was time to get down to business. “Want to sit here at the table,” he asked, “or would you rather sit on the couch to talk about plans?”
“The sofa looks more comfortable.”
“All right, then. Let’s get to it. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
Chapter Five
Rachel chuckled as she watched Beckett’s face turn pink. “Design ideas,” he rushed to say. “I was talking about design ideas. For the bar.”
It was fun to see the cocky guy get embarrassed. “I never thought anything else.”
She’d left her tablet sitting on the corner of the coffee table. Beckett gathered up the papers that had been spread out there and left the room. A moment later he came back without the papers but with a laptop. His back was stiff. He was nervous. What did he think s
he was going to do, laugh at his ideas and show him some shitty paint scheme?
Maybe it would be better to talk about something else first. A relaxed client was a more receptive client. Could they get things back to the comfortable atmosphere they’d had in the kitchen?
The kitchen.
Oh my God, when Beckett stumbled she’d reached out automatically and grabbed onto his upper arms to steady him. Her hands tingled as she thought about those muscles. She’d never felt such steel under warm skin before. She’d wanted to keep holding him, stroking him, but she let him go because that’s what she had to do.
Didn’t she?
She sat on the sofa and sank into its softness. Beck joined her, setting his laptop beside her tablet. She turned to him and smiled. “You did a great job on Holly’s room. I can tell she loves it. That had to take you a while.”
“I was sure sick of tulips and butterflies by the time I finished all that stenciling.”
Rachel chuckled. “I bet. But now she has this great memory of working with her dad on the room of her dreams.” Rachel’s memories of her parents were limited to the pressure to perform, demands of excellence, and a stream of babysitters and nannies. Her bedroom walls remained white until she left town. They probably still were.
She was surprised how comfortable she felt in Beckett’s home. The nerves she’d had on the way here tonight were gone. She could hardly believe she’d offered to help Holly with ideas for the living room, but the idea of encouraging a budding designer was too good to pass up. At least, that’s what she told herself. It had nothing to do with the little girl’s father.
Beckett Colburn didn’t fit the image she’d had of him all those years. This guy who was raising a bright and spunky little girl, who spent hours stenciling flowers all over her bedroom, and who bought a tiny ball of fluff for the family dog, wasn’t anything like the arrogant jerk she knew before.
Hadn’t they both changed a lot from the kids they were at eighteen? Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as she’d hoped, though. What did it say that she was still as ambitious as anything, still determined to show the world that she could be successful on her own, without the Bradford name to ride on, with her own talent and tenacity, away from the hometown that had threatened to hold her down?
The Goodbye Guy (The Men of Lakeside) Page 7
