Page 14 of Under Locke & Key

“You heading out? All ready?” My dad calls from his spot in the backyard as he watches me get into the car, wiping his forearm against the sweat gathered on his brow.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The ride downtown seems to take forever and I hit every red light on the way there. By the time I’m parked with the meter paid and outside the steps of the Old National, Rachel is already there.

And chatting up a storm with Jim—the real estate agent I’ve reached out to for help—one of my dad’s not-quite-friends-but-friendly-acquaintances people.

“Ah, Bryce!” He steps forward and gives my hand an enthusiastic shake.

“I was just telling Miss Mackey here that we’ve got an exciting lineup.

I’ve got you scheduled for the three you mentioned and if those don’t work for you, I can set up some others for another day.

There are two options I know of on my end.

It’ll be a packed morning but your dad emphasized how important it is to get a jump start on this, so I hope you both are ready. ”

Rachel gives him a smile, one that has the tiniest flash of dimple, but not all the way there yet. When she turns that smile to me I almost choke.

She’s not in heels. She’s not in anything stuck up at all.

Jim swings the heavy doors inward and she follows close behind in loafers, her shapely legs clad in blue jeans, and a button down loosely tucked into them.

It should look semi-professional but something about the oversized shirt on her petite body, the collar slightly askew and the buttons around her throat undone that is a little too—rumpled for me to get my mind off.

And boy is my mind having a field day wondering what she’d look like in one of my shirts.

“It’ll need a lot of work but there’s some offices off to the side, two conference rooms upstairs, and the vault is a pretty fun touch!” Jim’s voice bounces through the cavernous space, the super high ceilings and emptiness stretching and throwing his words around.

The space could be beautiful. Marble and heavy steel and possibilities.

But there’s ugly eighties industrial carpeting curling up off the floor, yellow glue tacked underneath it and covering whatever tile or wood lay beneath.

The offices and conference spaces are separated by glass and cubicle-type walls.

None of this is conducive to creating a “locked-in” feel and it would be a bitch to keep clean, not to mention heated in the winter.

“What do you think?” Jim asks and Rachel looks up at me, all big bright eyes and questions behind them.

“It’s lovely but I’m not sure it’s the right space.

I don’t mind the double levels but it does make it much harder to see multiple rooms happening at once.

I think I’d prefer something a little closer with definite separate rooms or the capability to easily make them.

” I say to both of them and she nods, as if mentally notating what I’m saying.

Jim walks us the two blocks to the old movie theater, chatting to Rachel about the history of the town and she soaks it all up.

“Dulaney was settled in the 1700’s by a family from Ireland.

Since then it’s been home to slavery, war, ghost stories, and so many German immigrants that it has a sister-city back in Bavaria.

A lot of families have been here a long time and you’ll hear a lot of people with the same names as our streets.

We had a big flood in the nineties that damaged a lot of downtown.

Since then it’s been bits and spurts of progress.

We’re finally getting to a point where people are starting to move back and revitalize the town. ”

Jim looks back over his shoulder at me and gives me an approving nod. “People like Bryce here, for instance. I can tell you, my grandkids will absolutely love this place, especially since the ice rink closed down ten years ago. It’ll be good to keep people entertained and out of trouble.”

As if to emphasize the words “closed down”, we round the corner to the theater and Jim gets us inside. There’s little light here, the opposite of the bank, and so dusty that it sticks at the back of my throat. I clear it once, twice, and give up.

The theater isn’t a bad option at all. There are well defined rooms where each screen used to be set up.

Even though the ceilings are still quite high, and the chairs will all need ripping up—along with the carpet— god , so much carpet.

The walls are covered in graffiti and there’s a lot of random trash littering the place.

But there’s a long passage up above between the projector rooms, which I didn’t know as a kid, that will serve us well.

I thought each little window in the back was its own room.

Instead it’s a long hallway with little nooks for each, no bigger than a bathroom or coat closet.

Throughout our little trek Rachel thinks to ask Jim how many outlets are in the room, and how long the place has stood empty. Jim recommends a good inspector and makes an offhand comment about the electric being older than dirt and off for years.

Overwhelm sneaks up on me. Between the stuffy rooms, the dust clinging to my skin and throat, and the dark I have to squint through to get an idea of what I’m looking at, it’s beginning to grate.

This might be a good option but I’m ready to quit it now.

I make a show of looking down at my smartwatch.

“Hey, Jim. I like this place better than the bank but I have Rachel in a bit of a time crunch and I’d love to be able to narrow it down some more.”

She looks up at me, her face half shadowed, mouth open to contradict what I’m saying but something akin to understanding flashes across her face and she just nods instead.

“You got it. I’ll just lock up but you guys feel free to head on over to the mill in the meantime. I’ll meet you there.”

We step back out on the curb. Jim’s parked on the opposite side of the block from me and is fussing with the heavy chains someone’s added in addition to the regular locks—no doubt thanks to the graffiti.

Rachel stands out on the corner and soaks up the street around her, just starting to brim with people walking their dogs and browsing the shops that have opened since our quest began.

“I’ll meet you over there?” I ask and her attention snaps back to me.

Biting down on her bottom lip she takes a deep breath before speaking. “It might take me a minute to get there.”

“I get it. The area is still new to you and it can be hard to navigate the one-way streets downtown.”

“Actually, it’s more the fact that I’ll be walking.” She hoists her bag a little higher onto her shoulder as if preparing to do just that.

“Walking?” I ask.

“Yeah. I don’t own a car.” It’s a little sheepish but not ashamed.

“Oh.”

Oh .

Really? That’s the best I can manage? But there are too many questions sparked by that one sentence and I’m not sure which to go with. Luckily the rational part of my brain wins out over the curious one.

“You’re welcome to drive with me. I’m parked just down the street.” I point, as if it were necessary.

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you. I’d hate to slow you and Jim down.

Since we’re on a time crunch and all.” It’s said tongue-in-cheek, as if she’s uncovered my secret and wants in on it.

Her smirk is there then gone when I don’t immediately respond, my mind whirling trying to figure out how much of it is teasing.

Rachel looks up at me expectantly, so much shorter than my six four now that she’s in flats, and I realize that despite my pointing she has no idea which car is actually mine nor does she have a means to get in without me.

My strides eat up the difference but she keeps up, her hair bobbing along in its ponytail as she walks alongside me. My dad’s voice is in my ear when we get to the car and I open the passenger door for her.

“Thank you.” This time the dimple creases her cheek and I find myself giving her an answering smile of my own.

The radio hums quietly as we chug down Main toward the outer parts of downtown.

“Hey, I know we don’t know each other very well, and it might be presumptuous to say this to my new boss on day one of working but .

. . I’m here to help. Let me know if I can.

I don’t want to overstep or anything so if my questions with Jim were pissing you off I’d rather you let me know outright.

” She’s turned to face me, and I can practically feel her eyes on the side of my head.

“No. No! That’s not it at all.” I steal a glance at her at a red light, hoping she can see the sincerity on my face, and pretending I’m not trying to pick out the shades of warm earth in her eyes.

“I’m—not very good at this stuff. I’ve never been anyone’s boss and I’ve never run a company, and I’m worried I’m in over my head. ”

Rachel is puzzling me over, the same way I’d like to do to her. “So, you weren’t mad that I was kind of getting into the thick of it there? I’m not trying to be bossy or overbearing.”

Part of me wants to ask why there’s a tinge of worry, a negative turn to her words as if she’s been accused of them before and is waiting for some kind of inevitable.

“Not at all. Please, ask whatever you can think of. I value your input. The only reason I wanted to leave was because it was starting to get to me. I don’t do very well in the dark.

Plus with the dust . . . it just felt like the place was looming, shrinking around me.

” I’m not usually this honest, and never with people who don’t know me and how I can be, but the last thing I want is her thinking she’s done something wrong.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel, leather creaking a little as they do and I remind myself to do that deep breathing exercise they had us practice at the company’s one-month-stint of office-wide morning yoga sessions.