Small Change (13 page)

Chad was nowhere in sight when Rachel came out. He'd probably moved his ladder to another side of the house. That was just as well. Out of sight, out of mind.

He was so out of mind that the first thing she said when she stepped inside Jess's door was, “I met the new neighbor.”

“Really? Was she over there and I missed it?”

“He,” Rachel corrected, “and he's a total hunk. He looks like Mario Lopez, only better.”

Jess's eyes got big. “No way.”

“Way,” said Rachel, following her into the family room. On the other side of the sliding glass door stood Jess's son Michael, shirtless and wearing old cutoff jeans, busy painting the side of the house. “I see you're keeping your slave busy,” she teased.

“It's part of Mikey's unemployment package. Work in exchange for free room and board.”

“I can tell he's pleased with the deal,” said Rachel, noting Mikey's somber expression.

A corner of Jess's mouth slipped up and she sang the last line from “Summertime Blues.” She went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea. “By the time he's done with Mom's Work Release Program he'll be at Crazy Eric's, begging them to let him flip burgers.”

“You're a real motivator,” Rachel teased.

“I try,” said Jess. She gave Rachel a glass and settled on the sofa next to her with a sigh. “I feel sorry for him, really. Life was going great until he got the rug pulled out from under him.”

“It happens,” said Rachel, thinking of her own life.

“Boy, does it.” Jess heaved a sigh. “But, back to the main subject. Tell me about Mario.”

“His name is Chad Alvarez and he bought the house as an investment.”

“Never mind that part. Is he single?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Rachel held up a hand. “But before you start singing, let me tell you nothing's going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I can't bring myself to use him.”

“Oh, try.”

Rachel gave a rueful smile. “Too late for that. I think I scared him away.”

“You've talked to him?”

“Oh, yeah. First I mistook him for the gardener. Then I told him I was a bitter divorcée.”

Jess leaned back against the couch cushions. “Wow, girl, you really know how to make an impression.”

“I don't want a man, anyway.”

“Correction. You don't want a man like Aaron,” Jess said. “You don't really want to lock up your heart, do you? That leaves you a lot of years of lonely.”

“I'm not lonely. I've got my children.”

“Who will grow up and leave you. Theoretically,” Jess added, frowning at the figure moving around outside.

“And I have my girlfriends.”

Jess propped a foot with frosty pink toenails on the coffee table. “There are some things we can't do for you.”

Rachel stared into her empty glass. “I guess I'm not ready.”

“Not every man is going to send you to the Heartbreak Hotel,” Jess said gently. “You can't lose your faith in people.”

“I haven't lost my faith in people, just men.”

“You haven't been divorced that long. Give yourself some time. Your mojo will come back,” Jess predicted. “You have to keep reminding yourself that not every man is an Aaron. Look at mine. Look at Brian. And take another look at your new neighbor. You never know. God could be rewarding you for all the suffering you went through. So, if this man asks you out, go.”

“Like I said—”

“I know, I know, you don't want a man. But if you don't get
out and live a little you
will
become a bitter divorcée, so don't be stupid.”

With those pithy instructions, Jess sent Rachel back across the street to be available in case Mario Lopez the Second knocked on her door.

He didn't. She knew he wouldn't. She watched from the living room window as he loaded up his ladder and paint cans. “I don't need a man,” she repeated, turning back to her book. “I've got Danielle Steel.”

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him walking across the lawn toward her front door. Her hormones rose from the dead and that awakened her heart, which began to flutter around in her chest. Oh, stop, she told them both.

The doorbell rang and her heart went berserk. She forced herself to walk to the door.
He probably wants to …
What could he possibly want? She took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Hot day out,” he observed.

Obviously. He had a nice sheen going on that gorgeous caramel skin. “It is,” Rachel agreed. “Would you like a glass of water?”

He smiled, appreciating her humor. “No, I was thinking more like a drink. If you don't have anything going on this evening.”

Of course she had something going. She had a book to read. And she probably should clip her toenails. “I think I can fit you in.”

“How about at the lake?”

“They serve drinks at the lake?”

“I do. I thought you might like a picnic.”

Of course, the man was in hock up to his eyeballs. He wouldn't exactly be a big spender. But that was okay with Rachel. She'd done the man-with-money thing. She'd rather have a man with heart.

“You know, that sounds like fun.”

“How about meeting me at the public dock at six?” he suggested.

“I could do that.”

He nodded like they'd accomplished something, then smiled at her and left for his truck.

She let out a calming breath as she watched him walk away and her heart settled from a gallop to a trot. A picnic at the lake with the most gorgeous man she'd ever met. “What was I thinking?”

She shut the door, ran to the phone, and called Jess. “I've got a date.”

“All right! Way to work it,” Jess approved.

“What was I thinking? Do you know how long it's been since I've gone out with a man?”

“It'll all come back to you,” Jess assured her. “Like riding a bi-cycle.”

Rachel tried not to think of all the times she'd fallen off her bike as a child. Well, too late now. She'd accepted so she had to go. After all, she wanted to be on good terms with the new neighbor.

Very good terms, added her hormones.

T
iffany 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 was 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-clack
ing 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.”