Not Quite Crazy (Not Quite Series Book 6)

by Catherine Bybee

  It only took a few steps for Jason to reach her. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking away the rest of the door that bit me.”

  He assessed her work. “You could just rip the whole thing out and put in new wood.”

  “I could. If I owned the right kind of saw to cut it, or had a truck to carry the supplies I’d need from the hardware store.” She glanced up. “And no, that wasn’t a request to use your truck again. What I’m doing works fine. It takes longer, but it’s something I can do without all the aforementioned tools.”

  “I told you she likes to do it all herself,” Owen said.

  “Hey,” she scolded him. “I didn’t hang the lights.”

  “You would have,” Jason said under his breath.

  She couldn’t argue that.

  Brushing the flaky paint from her palms, she stood. “Ready for that coffee?”

  Before Jason opened his mouth, Owen said, “No, but hot chocolate sounds dope.”

  “Dope?”

  “Yeah, like awesome, only better.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She glanced at Jason. “Coffee?”

  He hesitated. “Actually, hot chocolate does sound dope.”

  “Right?” Owen asked.

  “You’re both incorrigible. Fine, two hot chocolates and one adult coffee coming right up.”

  Owen took that as his exit line and turned back to the living room. He plopped on the couch and sank into his cell phone.

  Jason followed her into the kitchen.

  “Thanks again,” she said over her shoulder as she took milk from her refrigerator and moved to the pantry to find the chocolate stash.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I seem to be saying that a lot to you this week.”

  “I’m glad I can help.”

  Jason was a big presence in the tiny kitchen space. She had to move around him to reach the cupboard with her mugs. She lowered her voice. “So did he give you any gift ideas?”

  “As a matter of fact,” he whispered, “there’s this—”

  “Hey, why is it so quiet in there?”

  “We’re not being quiet,” Rachel said, louder than she intended.

  “You’re not making out or anything, are you?”

  Rachel knew her face shot bright red. “Of course not.”

  “No such luck,” Jason said.

  Rachel was close enough to push at Jason’s shoulder. “Stop it. Don’t encourage him.”

  “Why? It’s a nice switch from him grabbing a butcher knife the night I ditched my car.”

  Rachel moved around him again to reach the stove and warm the milk. “You can tell me later,” she managed to say softly enough to avoid Owen overhearing her.

  Jason seemed to like the fact that she had to spin around him, since he didn’t volunteer to move out of her way. Finally, when she’d veered to the left and then to the right one final time, she placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him to stand against the threshold. “There. This is a one-butt kitchen, and yours is one too many.”

  He laughed. “One-butt? I’ve never heard that before.”

  She turned on the flame, poured in the milk. “Only one butt can cook in this kitchen at the same time or you’ll fall over each other. Which is why I took out the door. If Owen is walking in and out, it makes it even harder to get around.”

  Jason looked around the space as if sizing it up. “I wonder if you can take some of this wall down? Open it up a little.”

  “That’s what I thought. It would certainly feel less cramped in here. But I won’t have as much cupboard space if I did.”

  He walked to the back of the room and around the wall to the mudroom and the doorway to the garage and the basement.

  “What’s this lead to?”

  “Basement.”

  “Finished?”

  “No. I wish. I hate it down there. Saw one too many B horror flicks growing up.”

  Jason smiled. “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  He disappeared down the basement stairs, the smell of the musty space wafting from the open door.

  She was pouring the milk into the mugs when he reappeared. “You have a lot of space under this house.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t know. I run down, put a load of laundry in, and run up before the boogeyman gets me.”

  Jason started laughing.

  “Laugh all you want. The chick always dies in the basement, usually tied to a pole in her swimming suit.”

  He laughed harder.

  “Do you want to drink this or wear it?”

  “With threats like that, the boogeyman wouldn’t come anywhere near here.”

  She topped the drink off with marshmallows for Owen, then looked at Jason. He eyed the white, fluffy sugar drops like a puppy stares down a treat.

  She topped Jason’s drink off, too.

  After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she put a dash of cream in and then took Owen his cup.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Thank you both for putting up the rest of the lights.”

  Owen sipped his drink, leaving marshmallows on his lips. “Have to make a good impression on the weather killers.”

  Rachel cringed.

  “Weather killers?” Jason asked.

  “My grandparents,” Owen said before Rachel found her voice.

  “Why do you call them weather killers?”

  Owen pushed on. “Because if it wasn’t for them, we’d be enjoying a seventy-degree Christmas in California. But no, we had to move here, killing our perfect weather.”

  Rachel glanced at Jason before focusing on Owen. “They just want to get to know you.”

  “Whatever! When are they coming tonight, anyway?”

  “Six.”

  Owen closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Rachel took no joy in his pain. Neither of them could avoid the couple. She just hoped it would get easier the longer they were close by.

  Jason questioned her with a look.

  “Dinner with Owen’s grandparents. It will be the first time they’ve come here since we moved in. We’ve met them once a month since the move.”

  Jason digested the information with a single nod. “Is it so bad, Owen?”

  “They’re rich snobs. I can’t believe I’m related to them.”

  “They’re not that bad.” Well . . . they were. But downplaying their faults was something she had to try. The longer things were peaceful, the better.

  “They walk around with their noses in the air.”

  Again, Jason’s eyes questioned her.

  She answered with a single nod and a half smile. The Colemans did sniff the room before walking in.

  “I bet they find something to bitch about tonight.”

  “They can’t find fault with our lights,” Jason said.

  Owen looked at Jason. “Or the tree, but they’ll find something.”

  Rachel didn’t argue.

  “That bad?” Jason asked her.

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” she answered.

  “Ten bucks says they complain about something within ten minutes of getting here.”

  “Stop.”

  “See, Jason, Rachel won’t even bet against me. She knows I’m right.”

  “Have you tried pouring the sugar on when they get that way?” Jason asked.

  “Like what?”

  Jason set his cup aside, leaned forward with his hands resting on his knees. “My mom used to tell me to compliment the hell out of complainers. Every time they complain, tell them you like the color shirt they’re wearing or how it matches their eyes. Anything to distract and force them off the negativity path.”

  “That works?” he asked.

  “Most of the time. When it doesn’t, everyone else in the room starts to catch on, and before you know it, you’ve made a game out of calling out the person putting a downer on the party. Compliments get you everywhere, Owen.”

  “Only if the per
son you’re complimenting is slow on catching on,” Rachel said.

  Jason picked up his cup again, took a sip. “This is really good, by the way. Did you get a lot of practice in LA with all that sunny weather?”

  “It was cold on occasion.”

  “Well, this is perfect.”

  She cared that he liked it.

  Then she noticed both Owen and Jason staring at her.

  “Oh . . . you just . . . I’m not slow.”

  Jason sipped his drink again. “Hard to stay negative when someone’s pouring sugar. But this is really good.”

  “Touché.”

  Owen finished his hot chocolate and set his cup aside. “I’ll try it tonight and let you know if it works.”

  “I will expect a full report on my desk by Monday.”

  Rachel almost made a comment about the report she did owe him on Monday but decided now was not a good time to tell Owen that Jason was her boss. Not that there would be a good time.

  “That sounds like homework.”

  “Speaking of, don’t you have finals this week?”

  “Next week.” He stood. “But I probably should pick up my room. Wouldn’t want Grandma Frown Face to pop a blood vessel behind an eyeball, looking at a dirty room.”

  Jason commented once Owen was halfway up the stairs, “He really doesn’t like them.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “Are they that bad?”

  “I haven’t been looking for the positive, to be honest. I’ll pour my own sugar tonight and come up with something.”

  “At least the black eye is nearly gone and they won’t speculate on the cause.”

  “You wouldn’t believe the looks I got this week. A lady at the mall handed me a business card with a domestic abuse hotline on it.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Big sunglasses when it’s raining aren’t exactly inconspicuous either.”

  “At least your boss didn’t think you took up bar fighting and question your character.”

  He had the sexiest smile when he tried to tease her.

  “He was too busy putting up my lights to notice my stocked liquor cabinet.”

  Jason stared at her lips, and without trying, made her moisten them with her tongue. Her heart jumped just looking at him watching her.

  Her boss.

  She shook her head. “Well, I should probably get back to my doorway.”

  “Want some help?”

  “No,” she said too quickly. “No, I have it. Then I need to run to the grocery store and figure out dinner.”

  He pushed off the couch. “That’s my cue to leave.”

  She walked him to the door. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  He tilted his head. “You could go out to dinner with me.”

  “I could . . .”

  Jason did a double take.

  “But then we’d end up with a drink or two. I’d let my guard down and find you holding my hand, maybe you’d even let your arm linger on my waistline after opening the door for me.” The image caught in her head, and her stomach warmed.

  “The food would be spectacular, especially since I didn’t have to cook it,” she continued. She closed her eyes and imagined buttery scallops and vegetables that melted in your mouth. Fresh bread. “Candlelight . . .”

  “I can make all that happen,” Jason quietly said.

  “We’d probably do more than hold hands.”

  The touch of Jason’s fingertips on her arm made her open her eyes. The warmth in his face hadn’t been there a moment before.

  Rachel swallowed and let reality in. “Then we’d start seeing each other more at work. People would start to talk. Next thing you know, I’m getting called out for you playing favorites. I mean, if I missed my deadlines because of you, you’d probably understand.”

  “I’m an understanding guy.”

  “Next thing you know, we’re fighting over work, or schedules . . . or toothpaste.”

  Jason smirked.

  “Or maybe you find someone that suits you better, or an old flame returns.”

  “I doubt—”

  “Feelings change. Most romantic relationships float in and out of our lives. No harm, no foul. But feelings always get hurt in the end, and then I’ll be in need of a new job. And I like my job.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  She lifted two fingers in the air and cut him off. “Unemployment is exactly what the Colemans would use to gain custody of Owen. If I’m unable to provide for him, the courts wouldn’t favor me.”

  Jason dropped his arm.

  “I’m sorry, Jason. You’re thoughtful, charming . . . superhot, even when licking marshmallows off your lips.” Why had she said that?

  “But . . . ,” he said.

  “Owen comes first. I promised Emily.”

  They stood there staring at each other for a full minute. “I understand,” he finally said.

  Disappointment sat in her chest. The first decent guy to ask her out in forever just had to come with serious strings.

  “No dating.”

  “No dating,” she agreed.

  “No hand-holding.”

  She glanced at his long fingers and sighed. “No.”

  “Coming over for hot chocolate and decorating for Christmas is okay?”

  “Of course. I’m happy to advise you on the company Christmas party and drive you away from ditched cars in return.”

  He turned and placed his hand on the door. “Got it. Friends and favors.” He opened the door and looked back.

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “Let me know how dinner with Frown Face works out.”

  “I will.”

  With a single nod, he bundled into his coat and walked to his truck.

  She watched as he pulled out of her driveway and down the street.

  “Damn.”

  Chapter Ten

  Deyadria Coleman was a tall, willowy woman who apparently didn’t stand in line when they were handing out curves. Deyadria’s slight height advantage over Rachel had her picking an outfit with a pair of boots with a couple of extra inches. That way she was eye to eye with the weather-killing woman when she walked through the door.

  “Welcome,” Rachel greeted the couple. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

  Tereck helped his wife with her coat. “No problem at all,” he said. The kinder of the two, Tereck had more salt than pepper in his hair, probably a result of being married to his wife for a few decades. The man was not a slave to a gym and carried a few extra pounds around his stomach.

  “Where is my grandson?” Deyadria asked before Rachel could take her coat.

  “Owen?” Rachel called up the stairs, knowing damn well he was waiting until the last possible second to join them.

  Somewhat satisfied that Owen was in the house, Deyadria moved deeper into the room. “Very quaint.” Compliment or insult, Rachel wasn’t sure how to take her comment.

  “We like it.”

  Deyadria lifted her nose and turned.

  Insult, Rachel decided.

  “It’s very nice,” Tereck said.

  “Isn’t it a bit small?”

  “Owen and I fit perfectly,” Rachel told the woman.

  Deyadria dismissed the Christmas tree with a sniff and glanced at the stairway.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Arsenic, eye of newt?

  “Perrier with lime,” Deyadria requested, as if she were in a restaurant.

  Rachel tried hard not to cringe. “Fresh out of sparkling water, I’m afraid. I have wine, coffee, tea, soda . . . bottled water with lemon?”

  “Herbal?”

  “Mint or chamomile?”

  Deyadria huffed. “Chamomile, I suppose.”

  “Just coffee for me,” Tereck said, glaring at his wife.

  “I’ll see what’s taking Owen so long.” With that, Rachel double-timed it upstairs and found Owen in his room with his earbuds in. “Dude!”

  He pul
led the cord and looked up from his phone. “What?”

  “The weather killers are downstairs. Help me,” she said in a curt whisper.

  “That bad already?” Owen swung his legs off his bed.

  “She asked for Perrier.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Never mind. Just help. I have to make tea.”

  She left his room, Owen on her heels.

  “I hate this,” he said.

  “Shhh, they’ll hear you.” With a painted on smile, she forced her shoulders back and made nice.

  What is Perrier?

  Jason stared at the text for a full minute before figuring out who was asking the question.

  Owen?

  It took two minutes for a response.

  Yeah.

  Carbonated water.

  Owen responded with two letters, TX.

  Jason waited to see if Owen would elaborate on why he asked the question. Apparently the kid wasn’t long-winded.

  Why do you ask?

  Frown Face asked for it, and now Rachel is mumbling Perrier under her breath in the kitchen.

  Her lips were going to crack before they sat down to eat.

  Rachel placed Deyadria’s herbal tea on the coffee table and handed Tereck his coffee.

  Owen sat in a chair, his cell phone in his hand. No one was talking when she entered the room.

  “Thank you,” Tereck offered.

  “Do you have honey?”

  Rachel’s ass had touched the sofa before she popped back up. “Of course.”

  Once behind the kitchen wall, her smile fell. “Perrier, honey.”

  Owen walked in behind her. “Don’t leave me with them,” he whispered.

  “Don’t leave them alone.”

  He grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked out. Rachel found the honey, lifted her chin, and entered the torture chamber.

  “Here you go.”

  Rachel was proud of herself for not tossing the honey at the woman.

  “How are you doing in school, Owen?” Tereck asked.

  Owen shrugged.

  Rachel glared.

  “It’s okay.”

  “He’s getting A’s and B’s,” Rachel added.

  Deyadria placed a tiny drop of honey in her tea and proceeded to stir. “What is that B in?”

  “Math and science.”

  She stopped stirring long enough to stare. “Both?”

  “I hate math and science.”