Page 41 of Under Locke & Key

“Good. But for what it’s worth, Rachel isn’t Stephanie.

And you aren’t the man you were with Steph.

You’ve grown. I’ve never seen you this confident or sure of yourself.

Even when doubting this endeavor, you’re pushing through.

I’m proud of you.” My dad looks suspiciously emotional, a bit of moisture shining behind those glasses of his.

“Okay, okay. Enough mushiness. My food is getting cold and I need to get over to the theater as soon as possible if we’re going to kick this thing into high gear.”

The rest of the meal is less heavy, small comments and plans that have no big bearing on anything. The stress of it all is already clawing up my throat and I can’t let myself panic two days in a row. Once I’ve helped my mother load the dishes, and freshened up, I drive back over to the theater.

Hey, I’m back over at work if you’d like to join.

I understand if you don’t. It was a rough morning.

But I’d love to see your face. It’s been too long already.

Rachel

Give me thirty to get ready and head over!

I try to keep my cool while I unbolt the chain on the doors and get set up for the day, preparing to finish gutting the second room.

I’ve got a little under two months to pull this all together before money falls prey to time and I can’t afford not to finish.

By the time I’ve ripped up another row of seats, Rachel arrives with a cooler bag full of water bottles and snacks.

“I figured we were going to be here for a while, so I brought provisions.” Her cheeks heat as she holds the bag up, the first thing either of us have said since I left her bed this morning.

“You’re amazing. I’d hug you but my hands are dirty.” I hold up the evidence, black streaks and dust on my hands and forearms.

“Not just your hands. You’ve got some on your forehead from wiping sweat.” She laughs at me, sets the bag down, and gives me a quick peck on the mouth before straightening up with her game face on.

“So, what’s the plan?” Rachel asks, prying more of the glued down wall covering. This time she’s got the stripper and scraper ready to go.

“According to the financials we have just under two months to pull stuff together if I’m going to be able to keep things going.

We won’t do all the rooms now. Just two or three to start and then as we gain more interest and earn money to cover operating costs, there will be a chance to expand per our original plan. ”

Rachel considers this for a moment, her hand stilling midair before she continues with her task. “Which three do you think we should focus on? If you and I can narrow that down I’ll be able to start looking for locks, props, and mapping the puzzles to fit the room specs.”

“I liked the idea of a historic Dulaney one, but Logan brought up a good point a while ago as well. We could theme a few of the rooms to movies, like a nod to the theater itself, and that could be a good draw.”

“What if we use the theater’s history? I think I saw that this used to be a stage theater before it got chopped into smaller rooms for movies.

What if we fabricate a mystery around the theater itself and that way we can add Dulaney touches but still have it feel unique to this space?

” Her brows are furrowed low over those gorgeous dark eyes and I am transfixed by watching her brain work.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” My words pull her out of her ruminating and she gifts me a blinding smile.

“That’s why you hired me.”

“I’ll see about recruiting some other people to help me with the reno so you can focus on that. We need to narrow down our theme ideas. They were all so great but if we’re scaling down they really have to pack a punch.”

Despite being on opposite ends of the room at this point, the emptiness of it makes our voices carry easier so it feels like she’s right beside me when she answers.

“I can take some of the room ideas we had and try to cross reference them with movies. We likely won’t be able to mention them outright due to legalities but I’m sure we can come up with some kind of work around. That way it’s on theme and feels cohesive from the start—even scaled down.”

We agree and Rachel sets up a little Bluetooth speaker to fill the silence while we work.

It’s strangely companionable. Comfort in quiet.

Steph never met a silence she couldn’t fill and at the time I thought that was a good thing because that way I was off the hook.

But this, being in the same room with Rachel even if we’re not talking, feels peaceful in a way I can’t describe—grounding.

As day succumbs to night, our bodies dotted with sweat from the summer heat outside and the exertion of work, we finally finish gutting the second room around seven PM.

“You want to grab something to eat?” I ask, Rachel and I sitting against the wall and greedily gulping down the water that’s barely chilled at this point but refreshing nonetheless. We’re packed up for the day and ready to go but I don’t want it to be over yet.

“Looking like this?” She gestures to her work clothes, gunk and glue and dust making them look rough.

I don’t even want to think about how bad I look—or smell right now.

“Fair point.” One I can’t dispute and I wish I knew how to ask her what I really want to. But I’ve never been good at that. My needs are low on the list when compared to those of others.

Once I would have considered that noble, self-sacrificing for the sake of the person I was trying to help.

Now, I know it’s just fear. Fear of rejection, fear of ridicule.

I’ve kept so much of myself boxed up because I was terrified that when I finally built up the courage to ask I’d be let down.

Can’t have unmet expectations when you won’t name them in the first place.

But in doing so, shoving more and more of me down to be this blank slate of a person there only for the desires of others… I became complacent.

There is no right way to please everyone all of the time. I just wish I’d learned that lesson sooner. I might have saved myself a lot of time and energy.

“On the other hand . . .” Rachel says and pulls me from my wallowing literally and figuratively. Her small hand held out in front of me to help me up from my spot on the floor, she slides it into mine once I’m standing and we head through the exit.

“Yes?” I hope, waiting beside my car to know whether I’m staying or going.

“We could always pick something up along the way to my place, take a shower, and veg out?”

“I’d like that. Although I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Rachel smirks up at me and my chest tightens at the look on her face. “I have a washing machine, plus I’ve already seen you naked.”

“Once again, fair point. This is why you are the brains of the operation.”

I hold the car door for her and just before I shut the door she says my name. Resting my forearm on the roof of the car, I bend down slightly to give her my full attention.

“It might be worth bringing some clothes along for next time.” Her statement is simple, no underlying tone to it that tells me it might be a joke and my stomach clenches.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Next time .

Heart hammering in my chest, I close the distance between us, kissing her deeply for a moment, not caring that we’re downtown and the cars that are out on the road are having to slightly swerve to avoid me.

I shut the door and we make the short trek over to the Greek pop-up stall at the Orthodox church down the street from her apartment. Later, showered and clad only in a towel, we eat our gyros in the kitchen and spend the rest of the night tangled together.

Next time .

The words pulse through me like a heartbeat as I hold her close to my body.

Her soft breathing and the window unit are the perfect white noise but I can’t give in to sleep.

Not yet. Not when I’m lost because I’ve never ached so badly for more than right at this moment.

More time. More touch. More of Rachel and all the next times she’s willing to give.

* * *

Logan drops by every afternoon he can, the two of us working side-by-side to clear out the final room. Gabrielle joins when she can and by the end of July, two weeks after we had to move up the deadline, the rooms are ready for paint and the structural design elements that will make up each space.

Rachel’s got the Dulaney room all figured out, as well as outlines for the other two and she’s ready to present it to us all, my friends and parents included, once the last of the paint has dried.

We’re gathered on folding chairs in what will be the Dulaney room—the largest of the bunch—and Rachel takes a deep breath before launching into the first idea.

“The plan is to have each room themed after a movie, or in the case of the main attraction, the theater and Dulaney itself. We’ve settled on an adventure room, loosely based on movies like Indiana Jones and The Mummy for the first of the movie rooms. The basic premise is a trap.

Not so much solving a mystery as trying to find your way out of the room before it’s too late.

We’ll be playing with things like lighting to give the illusion of the room closing in, and torches being extinguished, as time progresses.

With each ten minutes a torch will blow out and it will become more challenging to escape.

This one will have a disclaimer and be geared toward more serious escapees who have done this sort of thing before.

” Rachel hands out a stack of stapled papers to each of us with the basic premise of the room, ideas for puzzles, and how the tech will be incorporated into the experience.

“What about the other rooms?” Logan asks, flipping through the pages.

“The room we’re in right now has been nicknamed the Dulaney room and will evoke a murder mystery vibe.

We’re basing it on a fictional murder that took place when this was still a stage theater in the forties and caused the place to shut down.

Participants will have to scour the theater for clues on who committed the murder before the killer figures out they’re looking, or they will be next .

” Rachel adds a bit of drama to the end of the sentence, the fake danger in her tone making the group laugh.

“Lastly, we've got a more entry-level room.

This one is based around a heist and the participants get to be the criminals.

Sometimes being bad is more fun. We're taking notes from Steven Soderbergh movies like Ocean's Eleven and Logan Lucky.

They'll have to gather all the intel on breaking in, disable the alarms and cameras, and bypass all the security codes before the system comes back online.”

I can't help the pride that sweeps through me as Rachel lays it all out for them—the closest people in my life and those who believe in me even when I don't believe in myself. It finally feels within reach.

This endeavor might have started as a way to prove to Steph and myself that I am more than she saw me as, but it's become so much more.

This business, this time with Rachel—it's been so healing.

Outside the bubble of Philadelphia and Stephanie, and the soul-sucking office nightmare that was the “family business,” I feel so much more alive.

Life isn't just happening to me.

“So, what do you all think?” Rachel asks and I can see by the determined set of her jaw and the fear in her eyes that she's hoping for praise and terrified that her weeks of work won't garner the response she wants and deserves.

“You're a marvel. I don't know how Bryce swindled you into all this but you are killing it.” Gabrielle is the first to speak and Rachel's stiffness eases under the words.

“Thank you for making this dream come to life.

I know it's sappy to say but I've never seen Bryce happier and more fulfilled.

No matter the outcome, you've had a tremendous impact on my son, by extension all the people in his life, and this town.” My mother approaches Rachel, tugging her into a quick hug that says even more than her words do.

Mom isn't a hugger. Her physical affection is reserved for family. Heck, even Logan just gets a cheek pat, a little fake smack in greeting or when he says something ridiculous. So it just drives home how much my parents must like her.

Rachel's face flames and she nods at my mom before carrying on. “Bryce has given me your availability and I've made up a tentative schedule and duty list. Between the six of us, we should be able to pull this off in time.”

Dispersing, the chatter of my loved ones discussing what they're excited for, I let myself bask in the warmth of this moment.

It's happening. A year ago I was devastated by Steph changing the world as I knew it.

The checklist I hid behind in order to keep me safe was pointless and in her pushing us in the right direction it became glaringly obvious just how unfulfilled I was.

I'm so grateful for it—for the spite that turned into a sort of confidence. For the pain that kept me centered. For the ability to see what's actually good for me instead of what I have to pretend my way through.

I'm grateful for Rachel and her small hand tucked into mine as we walk past the tea shop and up into her apartment. Even though it's only been a couple weeks since this thing between us finally burst free, there's a quiet comfort I don't take for granted.

It's there . . . the feeling I'm still too scared to name.

It's there through every heartbeat of hers I can feel against my skin, and the soft puff of her breathing against my neck as she sleeps.

Rachel Mackey, without even trying, has flooded every single fracture in my chest with her light. She's left an indelible mark on me that is all the more beautiful for who made it. With her touch I am a kintsugi piece of pain and growth, acceptance and affection.

And a tender fledgling love that I hope to coax into something strong and enduring.

Placing a kiss against the top of her head, I breathe in the scent of her shampoo. I'm not sure how yet, but all I know is that when this contract is up I have to find a way to convince her to stay.