Tiffany was on her way home from the salon when the call came through. “Rachel has a date,” said Jess, her voice filled with urgency.
“Oh, my gosh. With who?”
“With the gorgeous guy who bought the house next door.”
“Oh, no,” said Tiffany. “She doesn't have anything to wear.”
“Tell me about it. We need to do a wardrobe consult.”
“Wardrobe consult? She needs a whole makeover. What time is her date?” asked Tiffany.
“In an hour.”
“Oh, my gosh! I'll be right there. Don't let her leave the house.” Tiffany pushed her foot down on the pedal and prayed that no cop would be within striking distance.
Almost everything from Rachel's closet now lay on her bed. They were nice clothes, purchased back when she'd had some money to blow. Looking at them now, though, nothing seemed worthy of a date with a gorgeous man. She frowned at the sweater sets, slacks, and jeans. The weather was too hot for jeans, which was too bad, because she would have looked great in those. It looked like the white mom shorts were the best she could do, and they weren't doing much. This is who you are, she reminded herself. Anyway, it's only a picnic at the park. No big deal.
Why the heck didn't she have hotter taste in clothes?!
“I'm here,” Jess called from the foot of the stairs.
“Come on up,” Rachel called back. At least Jess could help her pick out something from this mess she'd pulled out of the closet.
Jess blew into the room, her head hardly visible behind a mountain of clothing that winked with sequins. She was barely through the door when a glittery black flip-flop hopped off the top of the pile and landed on Rachel's cream-colored carpet. “Have no fear. Your personal wardrobe consultant is here to save the day.”
“You realize none of that is going to fit,” Rachel said. “And my feet are a whole size bigger than yours.”
“These are big on me,” said Jess. “They might fit, and if they do then at least your feet will look hot.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Which will really only benefit me if this man has a foot fetish. This is silly.” It was ridiculous to try and package herself as something she wasn't, and she definitely wasn't a sequins and glitter kind of woman.
“You have to put your best foot forward,” Jess insisted. She held out a red top with a scooped neck. “Try this on. Brunettes always look great in red, and men love red.”
Rachel slipped it on. The scoop scooped down to her nipples.
Jess looked momentarily perplexed. “Oh.”
“I don't have enough chest to fill out the fabric,” Rachel said. She shook her head. “None of your tops are going to fit.”
“Hello,” called a new voice from downstairs.
“The rest of the makeover crew?” Rachel inquired.
“You need help,” Jess explained.
Now they could hear Tiffany running up the stairs. She burst breathlessly into the room and announced, “I came as soon as I could.” She, too, had her arms full of clothes.” Her mouth dropped at the sight of Jess's baggy top. “Oh, my gosh. This is worse than I thought.”
“Don't bother. Those are obviously not going to fit either.”
“They might,” Tiffany said. “My boobs aren't as big as Jess's.”
“Nobody's boobs are as big as Jess's,” said Rachel, pulling off the top.
“Thanks,” Jess said grumpily, and plopped on Rachel's bed.
“I only say that with the purest envy,” Rachel informed her.
“Here,” said Tiffany holding out a pale blue camisole and a top to go over it. “Try this.”
Rachel heaved a long-suffering sigh, but obeyed. “I don't know why we're worrying about what I'm wearing. This isn't going to go anywhere anyway.” She didn't even know why she was going other than the fact that Chad Alvarez was gorgeous and the kids were gone and she'd been reading too many romance novels lately.
“You never know,” said Tiffany. “It could.”
“It should,” added Jess.
They both studied her. Rachel looked down at herself. Tiffany's offering was certainly an improvement over Jess's. At least the girls were covered. “It doesn't look bad.”
“You know, I don't think that's your color,” Tiffany said. She produced a black ribbed sleeveless top. “Try this. I was going to sell it in a lot on eBay.”
“I can't take your eBay merchandise,” Rachel protested.
“Sure, you can. I'll sell it after you've worn it.”
Rachel put on the top.
Jess nodded approvingly. “Now, that looks good. But what is she going to wear for shorts?” She held up the mom shorts Rachel had worn earlier and frowned. “Is this really the best you can do? My God, with legs like that you're wearing things like this. You should be ashamed.”
“If my wardrobe is so bad how come neither one of you said anything before now?” Rachel demanded.
“Duh,” said Tiffany. “You didn't have a date with a hot guy.” She pulled a pair of shorts from her pile of clothes. “Try these.”
“You're a petite. No way am I going to fit in those,” said Rachel.
“Just try them and see.”
Rachel struggled into the shorts. Of course, they were too small. “My crotch is numb.”
Jess nodded approvingly. “Tight shorts are a good look for you. You need to start showing off your assets.”
“My assets are about to split these shorts at the seams,” said Rachel.
“You look great,” Tiffany assured her.
“I won't look great if my face turns purple,” Rachel said, peeling them off. “I can barely breathe.” She reached for her own shorts, making Tiffany shake her head in disgust.
Tiffany picked up Jess's flip-flops and held them out. “At least put these on.”
“Those are not me,” said Rachel crossing her arms over her chest.
“I hope those ugly things I saw you in on the Fourth aren't you,” said Jess in disgust as she cuffed up the shorts. She shook her head. “. I swear. How long have you been watching What Not to Wear? You haven't learned a thing.”
“I have, too,” Rachel insisted.
Jess took the flip-flops and shoved them at her. “Put them on.”
“They're going to be too small,” Rachel predicted, but she obliged.
Jess and Tiffany both checked out her feet. Both sighed.
“Told you,” muttered Rachel.
“Well, you can't wear those ugly sandals of yours.” Tiffany said it with such finality that Rachel couldn't help but believe her.
“I don't have anything else.” Suddenly, that seemed downright tragic.
“Then Jess's flip-flops will have to do until we can get you a consignment shop makeover,” said Tiffany.
That decided, they did a hair consult, refusing to let Rachel gather her hair in a ponytail. Then they made sure she put on gobs of mascara and lipstick and finally sent her out the door, assuring her that she looked date-ready.
“Have fun,” said Jess. “And try to be a little mysterious. That's always good on a first date.”
“And don't act like a teacher,” added Tiff.
“What does a teacher act like?”
“Smart.”
“You two sound like time travelers from the Fifties,” Rachel said in disgust.
“You so have to call us when you get back and tell us how it went,” Tiffany finished, unrepentant.
“I will,” Rachel promised. Then, feeling a little like a high-school girl getting sent off to the prom by proud parents, she climbed into her minivan and left for the lake.
Chad was already waiting for her at the dock, holding a canvas Safeway grocery bag that bulged with goodies. He stood talking with the man who ran the boat rentals, a grizzled senior citizen wearing a baseball cap, plaid Bermuda shorts, and a Hawaiian print shirt. Chad was the picture of virility in his cutoff jeans and shirt, which hung open over the kind of chest that simply cried out for a month on a calendar. And he wa
s wearing a plain pair of guy-sized flip-flops. Obviously, anyone who was anyone wore the things. Why hadn't she bought any?
“Hi,” he greeted her. “How about a cruise?” He motioned to the row of swan-shaped paddleboats moored behind him.
“A cruise?” she repeated stupidly. Every time she looked at this man her brain cells short-circuited. She made an effort to mentally recharge. “What girl doesn't like a cruise?”
“I guess we're good to go,” Chad said to the man. He walked to the nearest boat and deposited his bag of goodies, then climbed in after. The thing bounced in response like an oversized rubber duck.
It had taken Rachel most of her teen years to learn to manage her long legs. Even now, as an adult, she'd been known to trip over a root or two when hiking. The little bobbing boat looked like a recipe for disaster. “Where's the land version of this?”
He smiled and held out a hand to help her in. “These are impossible to tip.”
She took a deep breath, grabbed his hand, and hopped into the boat. It rocked and she lost her balance, tipping into her Sir Galahad and sending him backward. They both landed on one of the turquoise plastic seats with an “oomph,” her stretched out on him like a clumsy lap dancer.
“Sorry,” she said, scrambling off, her face flaming.
“Don't be sorry on my account,” he said with a smile.
The old man slipped the boat from its moorings. “You two have fun.”
“We will,” Chad said, and smiled at Rachel.
“If I can keep from crushing you,” she added, placing her feet on the pedals.
“Believe me, I didn't mind.” He started pedaling. She followed suit, and the little boat eased away from the dock, the paddles clack-clacking as they went.
This was getting off to a Lucy Ricardo start. Rachel decided to steer them in a more sophisticated direction, beginning with some witty banter. “Do you always take girls on a cruise on the first date?” Wait, was this a date? Maybe that hadn't been such a witty thing to say.
“Only the ones who I know will appreciate it.”
All right, it was a date. The sun was shining, the lake was sapphire blue, and someone—oh, what a someone!—had deemed her date-worthy. Take that, Aaron! She enjoyed a full moment of self-satisfaction before wondering what to say next. Maybe, by not talking, she was coming off as mysterious.
Or maybe she was coming across as a brain-dead woman who didn't have anything to say.
“So, are you staying around here while you fix up the house?” she asked. Hardly brilliant, but a good conversation starter.
“I've got a friend with a place on the lake.”
Nice to have friends like that. She waited a moment for him to say more about his lake friends but he didn't, so she started in a new conversational direction. “When do you think I'll have some new renters next door?”
“Maybe by the end of summer. I'm going to spruce the place up on the inside a little, and it will take some time to find good renters. I'm pretty particular.”
“You've done this before?” She'd thought this was his first investment.
“A couple of times,” he said. Now they were out in the middle of the lake. Someone on the far end was water-skiing. He pointed to the skier. “Do you do that?”
“Only when I have a death wish,” she said. “We went to Lake Chelan a couple of summers ago. The kids and my husband—ex”— she corrected herself quickly. Why was she mentioning him anyway?!—“did some water-skiing.”
“And you didn't?”
“It took a long time to get a license to operate these things on the sidewalk,” she said, sticking out her legs. “I wasn't sure how well they'd work on water.”
He gave them an admiring look. “It would be a shame to damage something so fine. But you never know. You might be good at water-skiing.”
She could feel herself blushing like a kid at the compliment. “Maybe. I've never broken anything though”—except her heart— “and I wouldn't want to start now.”
“Sometimes you just have to take a risk. Otherwise you miss out on the thrills.”
He stopped pedaling, so she did, too, and watched as he picked up his canvas bag and pulled out a bottle of wine and two plastic glasses. He gave her the glasses to hold while he grabbed a wine opener and went to work. “I hope you like pinot grigio.”
“Love it,” she said, and held out the glasses so he could pour. Next came a baguette.
“A loaf of bread, a jug of wine?” she teased.
He grinned. “Something like that. Except I added cheese and grapes.”
It was a veritable feast, but Rachel found she couldn't eat much. She had too many butterflies dancing around in her stomach to leave much room for anything else. So she sipped her wine and listened as Chad told her about growing up in eastern Washington, picking apples in the fall and cherries in the summer to pay for his college education.
“A degree in business, that's got to be good to have during hard economic times,” she said.
He freshened their wineglasses. “I think the best thing to have during hard times is a lot of common sense, a good work ethic, and a certain amount of distrust.”
“Distrust?” Now, that was strange. Or not. Although Chad hadn't told her his age, he looked like he had a couple of years on her, which gave him plenty of time to develop a history and a wary attitude.
“If you don't protect what you have you'll lose it,” he said. “It's as simple as that.”
She studied him. “Isn't that a little cynical?”
“No, it's smart. Did you trust your husband?”
Heat raced across her cheeks and she took a healthy slug of wine before answering. “Yes.”
He shrugged as if to say, “See?”
“Not everyone is like my ex,” Rachel said.
“When it comes to money most people are like your ex. I believe in being careful because you never know.”
“I take it you learned that from personal experience?”
“I have an ex, like you,” he admitted.
Hence the healthy sense of distrust. Had the ex taken him to the proverbial cleaners? Was that why they were on the lake in a paddleboat instead of in an expensive restaurant? Not that Rachel cared. A man who appreciated the simple things in life was more her style now.
“I suppose the only way to protect yourself from heartbreak is to become a hermit,” she mused.
“I don't think I'm ready to do that,” he said. “Women are like fine wine. A man could live without them, but who wants to?” He smiled at her, making her heart do a flip, and they touched wineglasses.
“I don't want be used,” she blurted. She looked into her half-empty glass. Way to be mysterious, Rachel. No more truth serum for you.
“Me, either,” he said. “So it looks like we're on the same page.”
What did he mean by that? Was he looking for a serious relationship or simply friendship? And if all he wanted was friendship, did he want to be friends with benefits? Maybe she should have said, “Define use.” But he was offering her grapes now and asking her how long she'd lived in Heart Lake, and the moment had passed. And, anyway, they were simply enjoying a paddleboat on the lake and drinking some wine. Nobody was making a commitment here.
Except her heart, which was already running way ahead of her brain, looking for the rose petal road to happily-ever-after.
• 16 •
The longer Rachel and Chad sat in the paddleboat, bobbing on the lake, the more perfect he became. That little gremlin must have been off on vacation somewhere, or else the universe had decided it was her turn to get something good.
They talked about movies. Of course, being male, he loved anything with action and great special effects, but he also enjoyed films that were thoughtful and funny—just like she did. They talked about books. Chad enjoyed reading, and not just Tom Clancy. He was a big fan of the classics, especially Alexandre Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo.
They moved on to other topics, the conversa
tion flowing easily as they pedaled leisurely along. This was what had been missing with Aaron for a long, long time. In fact, had she ever felt this connected to Aaron? Oh, she'd been dazzled by his Prince Charming behavior when they first met. And they'd certainly found enough to keep them happy as they planned their wedding, honeymooned, and then reproduced. But somewhere along the way conversations had become routine and sex had happened by appointment and wound up feeling obligatory. No wonder Misty had looked so attractive to Aaron.
“That was a big sigh,” Chad observed.
Oh, no. Had she actually sighed? “I was thinking about my marriage and how easily we drifted into … nothing. I've been blaming him all this time but, well, it does take two, doesn't it?”
“Not always,” said Chad with a frown. “Don't beat your-self up.”
She hadn't been. The one she'd preferred to beat on all this time had been Aaron. Well, it was a brand-new day, and there was no sense wasting it mulling over the past.
She smiled at Chad. “This has been perfect.”
He smiled back. “Yes it has.” As they made their way back to the dock, he added, “We need to have drinks again. Or maybe dinner.”
“I know the perfect place,” said Rachel.
“Yeah?”
“My house. Next time you're over working on your place I'll feed you.”
“A home-cooked meal, that sounds good.”
And so, just like that, she had another date with a gorgeous man. She could hardly wait to tell Jess and Tiff.
A perfect man, a perfect date, a perfect day.
It would have remained so, too, if she hadn't decided to hop off the paddleboat and help moor the thing. At the time, the decision had made perfect sense. Her side was now closest to the dock. But just when she was congratulating herself on her grace, one of her Cinderella-sized flip-flops did a slip-slop and she lost her footing and went down. Not on the dock, which would have been humiliating enough, but into the water, with an undignified screech that turned to “urghlugggg” once she went below the surface.
She came up spluttering and barely able to see through a wall of wet hair. She made a clumsy grab for the two pairs of hands reaching for her and was caught and hauled back up to dry land.
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