There was no way I had any business looking at Rachel as anything other than a competent and friendly server at the diner. I didn’t date, and I didn’t do one-night stands either. Not that I thought Rachel was dying to have a fling in the stock room or anything. She seemed pretty busy as well. And like she was exactly the sort of person who was entirely self-sufficient and didn’t need anyone for anything. As far as I could tell, she ran the entire diner singlehandedly. She was gorgeous and funny and talented. What would she want with a lumberjack checking her out while she worked? I meant no disrespect. I just couldn’t help noticing the way she moved, her grace and energy.
Rachel was not someone I should be thinking of when I was alone in the evening, feeling weary and a bit wistful that I didn’t have that person, that partner to share my daughter and my days with. Sometimes it felt urgent, tragic even that there was no other witness than me to the way Sadie changed and grew, to the things she said. That no one else under the sun shared that knowledge or understood her or loved her as well as I did. It was an honor, but a lonesome one. I was just tired. It was natural that since Rachel had been kind to Sadie, I’d have thoughts of her mixed up with being lonely in my cabin at night, fifteen miles from Rockford Falls, without another soul nearby except my sleeping child. A passing attraction for her was nothing to take note of. It would wane and I’d forget all about her. Maybe we’d quit going into the diner every week. Sadie liked routine and looked forward to seeing Rachel and checking the progress of the daffodils and having some pie. But, if my interest in Rachel grew, I’d have to quit going in there. We’d just start a new tradition that didn’t have me thinking longingly of a smart-mouthed blonde with a ponytail, a killer piecrust recipe, and a sweet rapport with my daughter.
3 Rachel
Margaritas with Laura and Trixie were exactly what I needed. It was nice to sit down someplace and let another human bring me a drink for a change. I didn’t mind waiting tables but relaxing with my friends on a rare night out was a huge treat. Laura and Trixie appreciated it because, with their little ones at home, they hardly ever got out except to go to work. Otherwise, it was the grocery run with a toddler sitting in the cart kicking their shoes off or fussing because it was past naptime. Still, here they sat, showing pics of their kids to me, flipping through jam-packed camera rolls full of cute, chubby babies who chewed on silly things or sat in a chair upside down or put shoes on their hands.
“This morning, Brenna cried because I gave her Fruit Loops. Which she wants for breakfast every single day and will have a massive tantrum if I try to feed her anything else. But today, the damn toucan failed me. She screamed for toast, and then I cut it the wrong way. My mom makes it in squares, and I did it in triangles. I mean, this was a nuclear fallout level meltdown. The last time it got this bad was when we had to leave the park,” Laura said, shaking her head. The woman had faced down—and gunned down—a serial killer. She shuddered at the thought of her two-year-old angel-faced daughter’s tantrum.
“You bring that baby to me. I’ll cut that toast however she wants. She doesn’t have to see a Fruit Loop ever again,” I said, “No wonder she cried when she could be having Aunt Rachel’s blueberry pie for breakfast instead of some rainbow-colored crap in a bowl.”
“Yeah, I give her crap all the time,” Laura snarked. “Way to show solidarity.”
“I don’t have kids. I don’t even have time for a cat. What solidarity? I work all the time,” I countered.
“Ashton’s getting another tooth. It’s brutal. I swear he’s been teething since he was seven months old. Like one after another, and it’s miserable. I just hate to see him suffer,” Trixie added.
“Teething’s a bitch. We gave Brenna a frozen strawberry in one of those mesh fruit feeder things to gnaw on and it helped the pain. Looks like she’s dribbling blood down her chin, but whatever helps, right?” Laura said.
“So, do they just keep getting teeth over and over? It’s not a thing where they get the first four and then the next four and then boom, you’re done? It’s ongoing?” I asked.
“It’s a never-ending hell of screaming, crying, and snot,” Laura supplied.
“Ashton doesn’t cry. He whimpers and it breaks my heart. Damon was leaving for work and kissed him, and Ashton whined a little and Damon goes, ‘I fucking hate teeth. Who can we pay to make all the teeth come in at once with no pain?’ and I’m like… God? I don’t know. That’s not really a thing.”
“Dads can’t take it,” Laura agreed. “Brody damn near cried when Brenna had an ear infection the first time. We didn’t know how to make her feel better and she just cried and clung to me. I didn’t want to put her down for the doctor to examine her. I made them do it while I held her, and I thought he was going to lose it and have to be escorted from the building.”
“And men go to war,” I shook my head. “How do they handle a battlefield scenario when a pediatrician’s office can undo them?”
“It’s the helplessness,” Trixie said. “On a
