Page 20 of Under Locke & Key

Rachel stands on the corner of a console, probably for her TV which sits haphazardly on the floor off to the side.

Reaching over, screws in her mouth and an old screwdriver in her hand, she’s trying to mount a curtain rod bracket without the proper equipment and is practically halfway to falling.

There’s too much weight on one foot, and she’s balanced precariously.

Rising up onto her toes, her back foot stretched out behind her as she braces herself on the wall to reach further, I feel my heart stutter.

The muscle in her calf flexes, clad in what I can only describe as if leggings were shorts, leaving most of her legs bare.

Fear and anger that she’d do something this foolhardy fill me.

“Are you out of your mind?” It comes out harsher than I intend, already stepping in to try and help.

My body knows it was a mistake before my mind catches up and it’s only for that reason that I’m close enough. Long legs eating up the distance between us in three lengthy strides, I’m near when she whips her head around, her body pivoting to give her a better view of who’s just spoken.

Screws fall from between her lips as her mouth drops open in shock, clinking against wood as they tumble and hit. Rachel’s spin causes her to lose her balance, her small hand reaching back and gripping the slightly textured drywall as if it’ll provide a means of stopping gravity.

I’ve never seen someone fall in slow motion but somehow she manages it. Enough time for me to reach out my arms and catch her before she lands head first, or more likely on her side, from a few feet off the ground.

Rachel’s breath leaves her chest in a little “oof” from the collision of her body dropping against mine. Face buried against my shoulder, her arms and legs tucked in slightly as if she’d tried to curl into a ball to lessen the impact of her fall, she’s warm and soft in my arms.

My brain is still lagging behind my body, it takes me a full five seconds to convince my hands and arms to let her go so she can stand on her own. Her body sliding against mine as I deposit her onto the floor is wicked, and her cheeks are flushed a deep red.

When she looks up at me it takes a moment for her eyes to switch from glassy to something sharp.

“Am I out of my mind? What kind of person startles someone in the middle of a dangerous task?” The breathiness of the statement undercuts the incredulity and anger she tries to inject into it.

“So you admit it’s dangerous?”

We’re so close I can feel her heaving breath against my neck where she’s staring up at me, her eyes trained on mine and I know I should take a step back but I can’t. Not when she’s in my space and smells earthy and fresh, citrus and sage, and something wholly her own that I can’t put a name to.

Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to formulate an answer, the wall behind her and me in front, and her eyes wide with indecision. “I—I don’t have a ladder.”

“So you opted to potentially crack your skull rather than ask for help?” I don’t know why I’m being so harsh.

I’ve never spoken this way to anyone before but the fear of what almost happened has stoked something dormant inside of me.

Coupled with the latent attraction and the fact that Rachel has been on my mind almost constantly since we met, it’s the perfect storm for irrational reactions.

“I’m not good at asking.” Her gaze drops, her eyes somewhere on the collar of my shirt, and she says it with dejection and a hefty dose of defensiveness.

“Next time, please try. I’d hate for you to get hurt, or struggle, when I’m right here. I know we're working together but I hope it's not too much of a stretch to consider us friends now.”

Her brows draw down over those dark expressive eyes, as if she’s measuring whether or not to speak.

I’ve spent so much of my life trying to read and decipher the things people don’t say.

Body language, facial expression, and tone of voice.

It’s been a constant study to read between the lines and I still feel like I’ll never quite get it right.

I want to ask her to please just say what she’s thinking.

The suspense is killing me and the proximity doesn’t help.

“I’m not sure your wife would appreciate me taking your time on a Sunday because I decided to hang some curtains.”

It’s like an electric shock. The words “ your wife ” clang inside my mind and I wonder what she knows.

“I don’t—I’m not sure—How?” It’s a mess of a sentence but somehow she understands what I’m trying to say.

“Ring. Left hand.”

I lift up the hand in question, the ring on my third finger glinting muted, it’s scuffed and a little worn after five years, and I haven’t had the energy to polish it.

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I haven’t had the courage to take it off for any extended period of time yet. It’s been there so long it feels like a part of me.

Rachel’s eyes rove over my face, and she must see some kind of devastation there because she sucks in a shuddering breath and rushes to speak. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring—I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t know. I?—”

I bark out a bitter chuckle, her concern shifting to confusion.

“Not dead. Divorced. Just haven’t gotten around to taking it off. We finalized it earlier this month after being separated for nearly a year.” It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud.

Everyone around me already knows, so I haven’t had to admit it verbally.

But with Rachel, it feels real for the first time.

The lonely months leading up to the end of my marriage, the late work nights and the cooling down between us .

. . all of it right through my nine months living in an empty house and questioning what comes next.

It finally feels like something other than a fever dream and I rock back on my heels at the revelation.

“Well.” The word feels layered with meaning I can only guess at.

Rachel places her hand smack in the middle of my chest to ease me backwards and steps out around me once she’s made that space—her touch gone but burnt into my skin and my head buzzing with thoughts too wild to pin down.

“Want some coffee or tea and we can talk about the location?”

Right. I forgot for a second why I’m here in the first place.

“Tea, please. Whatever you have. No milk or sugar.”

“I have something herbal, I think. Just give me a moment and I’ll be right back.

Feel free to make yourself at home.” She gestures at the space around us and I actually take stock of the room for the first time.

Rachel slips into the kitchen and though I can still kind of see her, it’s not as direct.

Thank goodness for that. My heart hasn’t beat calmly since I set foot in this apartment and I might be able to get it under control if she’s not in the same room.

The living room is in various stages of unpacking, although it’s mostly there.

Just a couple of boxes stacked up in one corner.

Rachel has a stunning green velvet sofa, and a deep set armchair that looks perfect for reading, facing the TV stand she just fell from.

Her hardwood floors are covered by a rug and she has a standing lamp between the couch and chair, further cementing the idea of a reading spot.

Lastly, she has a dark brown—possibly mahogany—bookshelf with various titles.

Some lay on their sides, others stacked and held in place with knicknacks to keep them from falling all the way over.

Two boxes wait at the foot of the shelf and it takes everything I have not to go over and snoop.

My restraint is good because she reappears a moment later, two mugs in hand and gestures for me to sit. She’s got a folder tucked under her arm and once I’ve taken my tea and sat down on what I’m always going to consider the reading chair from now on, she hands it to me.

“Signed contract. It all looked above board to me and I appreciate you being willing to consider those changes.” Her smile is open but there’s a tightness around it that makes me feel like she’s holding something back.

“I appreciate you getting it back to me so quickly. So.” I take a deep breath.

“I won’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to go ahead and let you know that I toured the last two spaces with Jim today, since I didn’t have high hopes for them and my worries were founded.

Neither were better than what we toured together and just looking at the budget and timeline I’m under, I think the movie theater might serve my purpose best?

” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question but I do want her opinion.

Several thoughts seem to flash across her face as I talk but she nods by the end of it.

“Although it was dark and dusty, it did seem to be the easiest to convert into something else.”

“It’s also the most accessible of the buildings and right downtown. It’s just going to take some elbow grease.”

She raises one of those dark brows at me and I jump in quickly with, “Mine. Not yours. What I’ll need help with from you is brainstorming room ideas.

Once we have a set few I’ll ask you to take a look at what kind of equipment you’ll need to outfit each room to suit the ambiance and other tech necessary to pull it off. ”

“What do you need from me now? I feel kind of useless not knowing what to do and I don’t want to just sit on my hands. I need to earn my keep.” Taking a sip of her drink, her throat bobs, both her hands wrapped around the mug like she needs something to do with them or she’ll fidget.

“Besides figuring out renovation, which again is my problem, I would like to visit a few escape rooms over the next few weeks in the area to get a feel for what they’re doing—what works and doesn’t and where there’s a gap in the market for specific ideas—that sort of thing.

I’d appreciate it if you could come with me.

Once we have a plan for where we’d like to go, I’d appreciate it if you could document our ideas, perhaps brainstorm some cool ways to integrate those with the software and app. ”

Rachel nods. “So, when do you need me?”

Something traitorous inside my mind thinks of how soft and warm she was pressed against me, long dormant stirrings coming to life, and I have to take a sip of my own scalding tea—trying not to wince—before I can speak.

It’s been so long since I’ve touched or been touched by anyone other than my loved ones.

“Tuesday? I’ve already monopolized the day off I promised.

We could probably hit two or three rooms a week so we have time to debrief without having them all blend together.

It might be best if I rope some other people in once we get closer to having something concrete so we can have a sounding board.

You’re welcome to invite anyone along that you think might be able to help out. I’ll cover the costs.”

“That sounds great, even if it feels a little bit like spying.” She waits for me to sputter before she laughs at me.

“Don’t worry. I’m not above spying. I have a few friends that I think might be helpful.

One is another developer and he’s with a board game designer so they’d be perfect.

My best friend is blunt as hell, so he’d be useful as well.

” Rachel smiles as she mentions them, a softness to her, and I find I’m strangely nervous at the prospect of meeting the people that are meaningful to her.

“I’ll get in touch with them and see what works best. Maybe the end of the month or the beginning of next? May still gives us a good amount of time before the deadline,” she says.

“That would be great. I’ll probably drag my best friend Logan and his wife along.

He’s a marketer and would be an asset when it comes to what might sound most appealing and easiest to sell.

” I’ll just have to make sure Logan and Gabrielle are on their best behavior.

The last thing I need is them meddling where they don’t belong.

“Perfect!”

“I’ll . . . I’ll pick you up Tuesday around ten?” It’s halting and I wonder if I’ll ever get good at talking to her, to anyone, and having it sound smooth.

“I’ll be ready.”

I down the rest of my drink, the herbal tea burning all the way down and rise, taking one last look at the space and her before I turn to leave.

“Bryce!” she calls out once my hand is on the door, ready to leave.

I twist around to look at her, a deep breath stuck between my ribs.

“Thanks for catching me.” Rachel’s smile is small but sweet, genuine.

“I’d say anytime but I really hope you don’t make a habit out of almost killing yourself. I’ll bring a ladder by. No more balancing acts, okay?” Our shared laugh spreads through me like sunlight and I’m a cat curled up in the beam. “I’ll see you soon, Rachel.”

“Soon,” she agrees.

Somehow I make it back to my car, and then home, and then onto the internet for the first local spot I can find to nab whatever tickets they have left for Tuesday.

It’s not until later, with my tasks completed and my mind still abuzz with what happened at her apartment that I twist my ring off my finger and set it down onto my nightstand.