Page 27 of Under Locke & Key

(Or some because my mom has been curious about you for weeks and it’s driving me up the wall. Save me.)

I hold my breath when I shoot it off into the ether.

“She might be busy. Even though she doesn’t have friends in Dulaney yet, she’s got some really nice friends in D.C. They might have made plans.”

“Oh, you’ve met her friends?” My mom asks, eyebrow quirking up at my dad and his lips purse to hold back his laughter.

“Not like that. She’s my employee. It’s professional.

We tried out an escape room with Logan and Gabrielle, and Rachel’s friends.

” My tone is terser than I’d like and I regret it immediately.

After an exhausting day, in pain and frustrated at more than just the task ahead of me, it’s really hard to police how things come out of my mouth.

“We’re just teasing, son. You’ve been happier the last few months than we’ve seen you in quite a long time.

We only wondered if she was part of it. We won’t rib you for it again.

” My dad gives me a sad smile and I pull in a shaky breath with my nod.

Ready to remind them again that she might not say yes when her text comes through.

Rachel

Rachel to the rescue.

When and where? I’m starving.

My smile must speak for me because my dad leaves his pretzels behind and heads out of the kitchen with a, “I’ll get the keys.”

My mother peeks over at the phone I’ve left unguarded and I scramble to grab it before she can see what I said about her.

“Tell her we’ll meet her at Stacked in fifteen to twenty. Hopefully it’s enough notice for her. I know you mentioned at some point she doesn’t have a car so downtown is best, unless you want us to pick her up on the way somewhere else?”

My mom with unfettered access to Rachel—a captive audience—for an undetermined amount of time while we’re confined in a small space?

“Stacked is great.”

* * *

I surge to my feet when she enters the restaurant, slightly windswept, an apology already on her lips for being late when she’s perfectly on time. My parents are just over excited and early.

Her eyes are on mine, a question in them as she gets closer, and I don’t dare hug her even though I want to.

We’ve never crossed that line, not really, unless you count me catching her.

I’d rather not do it for the first time in front of my parents.

Instead, I step out from the table to stand beside her, my hand hovering over her lower back and wishing I could close that inch distance to touch her.

“Rachel, this is my mom, Theresa, and my dad, Frank.”

She turns her questioning gaze from me, morphing her expression into a bright smile that I’m close enough to tell doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she sticks her hand out to shake each of theirs.

“Nice to meet you!”

Pulling her chair out for her, I help her scoot in before I take my place beside her, facing my dad and I want to shake my head at the excitement glinting in his eyes.

Mom always said he was like Gene Kelly when she met him; he had that movie star sparkle in his gaze and a smooth mouth to go with it.

For an awkward and shy Theresa, it was just who she needed to step out of her shell.

“So, Rachel, Bryce tells me you’re a developer. How are you finding the change from D.C. to here? Not just in the job requirements but living as well?”

And I wish my mom had stayed shy Theresa because I can already tell she’s had these questions fired up and ready to go since I hired Rachel.

“It’s lovely here. I can definitely see the benefit of bringing something like the escape room into a community like this.

There’s a healthy amount of foot traffic by the old theater, especially on the weekends, so between people who are familiar with Dulaney and what it offers, and others who are popping in for a weekend escape, it’ll be a good venture.

I’ve been enjoying the charm.” It sounds almost practiced, and if I hadn’t just spent weeks with her I would have taken it at face value, but I’ve played the sound of her voice over and over in my mind and I can tell there’s something just a little too stiff about it.

In fact, her whole body seems kind of tense. Posture perfect, in an outfit far too nice for an American-style casual restaurant like Stacked and I haven’t seen her like this since the first time we met to do our interview.

She’s nervous , I realize.

“Rachel has an interest in history and antiques.” I offer it as a way to deflect their eyes off of her and I feel the catch in her breathing in how her arm brushes mine, by the time their attention is on her again she’s got her armor back and glinting prettier than ever.

“You’ll have to take her up to the antique mall.” My mom doesn’t wait for me to agree or ask whether I’d be open to it. She’s decided it’s the right move based on the situation in front of her. Interest plus opportunity plus attraction equals antique date.

“Oh, it’s not a bother, really. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged in it seriously, but it has been fun to see a lot of the history in town.”

“Speaking of history.” Dad winks at me as he pitches in to shift the conversation away from Rachel and I’ll never be upset at how well Frank Dawson can read the mood of a crowd, down to the last person.

Or maybe he’s just picking up on how tense I am worrying about Rachel.

“Theresa and I had our first date at the theater you all are renovating.”

Subject switched over and Rachel no longer in the hot seat, our food arrives and I am content to sit back and watch. My dad and Rachel do the majority of talking, jumping from thing to thing, eventually landing on music and I know my dad is in his element.

“A fun little fact I’ve learned over the last few weeks is that you put Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville into a minor key and it’s the most depressing thing you’ve ever heard in your life.” Rachel’s observation blows my dad’s mind.

“It’s a breezy beach song. How can it possibly be depressing?” As somewhat of a yacht rock aficionado, he’s running through all the lyrics he can remember. It’s like watching a kid learn that Santa isn’t real.

“He’s singing about wasting away in an alcohol-fueled haze after his wife left him on their vacation, and when you take away the steel drum and the beach vibes, it’s kind of a punch to the gut.”

My dad sputters at her statement and I chuckle.

It’s rare that he has nothing to say. Gift of the gab and all that, but Rachel’s disarmed him and my mom’s smug smile mirrors my own.

Neither one of us have been good at thwarting my dad when he’s on a roll.

My mom and I get too stuck on arguing our specific point, and dad just pirouettes around it onto something else, pivoting the argument as many times as needed to win.

“Didn’t peg you for a Jimmy Buffet kind of gal,” my dad eventually manages and she grins, a real one for the first time tonight, that devastating dimple cutting into her cheek.

“Oh, I’m not. The bar my best friend works at has a Tropical Tuesdays thing in the summer and because a lot of the Hill is in recess in August it gets quieter than usual, so I keep him company. It’s a lot of Margaritaville, and Escape, and drinks with umbrellas.”

“ángel?” I ask, trying not to bristle with an unfamiliar jealousy and Rachel nods.

It never hit me with Stephanie— jealousy.

At first, I think part of me was just so happy someone looked at me with interest after bumbling my way through most of high school and college.

There was a hint of being starstruck, until there wasn’t.

But I always thought I wasn’t enough of a prize to feel like I could, or wanted , a claim over her.

She transcended me and I put her up on a pedestal, and the distance between us only grew.

This thing with Rachel, this unnamed, hungry thing feels so different. I’ve wanted to touch Rachel, to know her, since the first time we met. And not because she batted her eyelashes at me to get what she needed out of the exchange. Rachel takes an interest in me as a person.

Anxious energy builds up in my body as I think about the moment outside her door and my fingers clench into a fist before I remember my mishap today. Needless to say, pain shoots through my injured hand and I hiss a strained breath.

“Oh no. What happened?” Rachel’s tone shifts, concern bleeding through the mirth left from her victory over my dad.

“It’s nothing,” I say, brushing it off and trying to hide my hand on my lap.

“He hurt his hand. I patched it up as best as I could.” My mom betrays me and I shoot her a look, hoping she knows exactly how unimpressed I am with her right then.

“Bryce?” It’s the pleading in her voice, the open worry in her eyes that has me lifting my hand for her to view.

It’s not the one next to her, slightly out of reach, but she leans over and cradles it carefully in both of hers. Inspecting it, though nothing is visible because of the bandages.

“When?”

“Today.”

Our clipped words might sound cold but I’m filled with a heat that won’t diffuse. Every second of her hands on mine, and something about the bite of pain and the softness of her touch, is torture in the best way.

“How?”

“Renovations. My hand slipped while I was working and . . .” I shrug, because what else is there to say when the result is evident.

“Was someone there with you?”

I can’t lie to her, and she sees it in my hesitation to answer anyway, so there’s no point even trying.

“ Bryce .” There are leagues wrapped up in that one word. Disappointment, worry, frustration, hurt. “If I’d have known you’ve been doing it all alone . . .”

“It’s my responsibility. There’s absolutely nothing in your contract about physical labor. I couldn’t possibly ask or expect?—”

Before I can keep defending my choices, she’s talking again.

“Screw the contract. You got hurt and I bet you drove yourself with that hand. It could have been broken. No.” She shakes her head, dark hair swinging with the movement and I want to touch it so badly, see if it feels as soft as it looks.

“No more. From now on if one of us is going to be at the theater, both of us will be there. I can help with the reno, or program while you’re working.

Heaven forbid you were up on a ladder and fell or something. ”

Her seriousness and stern words, the way she sounds almost protective nearly do me in and I have to deflect before the emotion overwhelms me.

“Oh, and you’d know all about ladders and falling.” My mouth quirks up on the side, the reference to her ill-advised decorating technique.

“That was one time.” She rolls her eyes and her mirth is back, light spilling through the crack in my chest.

“I think it’s a good idea, hon. You shouldn’t be there all alone.

And if you need help with anything, please let us know.

” My mother’s voice pulls me out of the moment and I realize with startling clarity that my hand is still within Rachel’s grasp and I had completely forgotten we were even in the middle of a dinner.

Rachel covers her shock better and carefully extracts her hands from mine, nodding at my mom, pleased to have backup.

“It’s settled then. You’ll take two weeks to rest your hand before you even think of doing more, and when you do, I’ll be there.” The promise and threat in there makes my stomach flip and I grin like a fool, covering it with a bite of my food when I catch my dad’s eyes on me.

“Next Monday,” I urge. I can’t afford to wait much longer than that.

“That’s only ten days.” I try to give him a stern look but he just smiles and I give in after a bit. “Only if you go to urgent care or something and have them do a proper X-Ray and tetanus shot. Think of the workman’s comp you’d have to pay out.”

This time I roll my eyes at her. “I’m the workman and the boss. I’d have to pay myself.”

“OSHA violation then.”

“I’ll go if you stop threatening me with lawsuits.”

“Next Monday it is.”

We share a smile and then the check’s arrived and we’re saying our goodbyes but I’m still thinking about the way my hand tingles from her touch. She shakes hands with my parents again, avoiding my injured one so it becomes some strange squeeze instead, closer to holding my hand than anything else.

She sweeps from the restaurant much the same way she entered it, only this time the air is thinner, less without her here. Or perhaps it’s just me deflating after all of the excitement.

Walking to the car, I’m lost in my mind. I buckle up in the back, ignoring the pain in my hand and catch my dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s not until we pull up to the urgent care in town that I know has late hours that the silence is broken.

“We really like her.” My mom says it so simply, as if remarking on the weather or something just as inane, but we all know it isn’t.

Her favor isn’t easily curried, and for her to feel sure enough to speak for my father as well, it means something.

The fact that she never said anything even close to this about Stephanie gives it even more weight.

“Not that it means anything, because she is just my employee ,” I stress as I get out of the car. “But that’s good to know.”

“If you step back for a moment, take in the big picture, you’ll notice that the lines you keep drawing in the sand between you are too small to mean much.

” My mom’s words halt me, halfway to the doors and tossed from the car window.

“Call her whatever you like, employee or not, maybe it’s time you think about just what it is holding you back.

Because your father and I both know it’s not some contract that’ll run out within six months. ”

Swallowing past the dryness in my throat, the tumbleweed of thoughts whirling within my mind, I have nothing to say. Because they’re not wrong, and I’m scared to look too closely at that. But maybe it’s time I stop being so scared. Who exactly am I holding back for?

“I’ll be out as soon as I’m done,” I say in lieu of an actual answer and step into harsh overhead lighting—antiseptic, and a throbbing in my hand, head, and the traitorous heart hidden behind the cracked mess in my chest. Terrified to feel its insistent beat, thrumming with the thought of Rachel and what could be. Quiet, but there nonetheless.