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Chapter 5
Rachel
It wasn’t a good Thursday, that was for sure.
Rachel was out of champagne, chocolate, and was just about ready to lose her mind if she had to spend one more day on the sofa. She’d read through all of the magazines she had in her apartment, made more new Pinterest boards than she could count, and stalked everyone she ever knew on social media.
Rachel Winters was not the kind of girl to just sit around—but sit around she must, if she wanted her ankle to heal.
She’d considered trying some new Pinterest recipes she found that promised faster healing for sprains, but that would mean she’d have to hobble downstairs to hail a cab, wander into the grocery store, and then make it back, all on her crutches. She didn’t want to risk another disaster. Plus, the thought of smelling like a spicy salad didn’t sound appealing, especially when the results seemed sketchy. Maybe she should just let things heal naturally—but the slow process of that was truly aggravating. She needed to be back at work, singing her heart out. She hated the thought of someone else having her lines—even if she only really had six lines to speak. Still, those were six lines she’d worked for.
She thought about ignoring the doctor’s warning. How bad could the ankle really be? It hadn’t been that terrible of a fall, really. She felt fine, absolutely fine. Still, when she’d called her mother for their weekly phone conversation yesterday, she’d heard otherwise.
Her mother was a nurse and also very stubborn. When Rachel whined that certainly a sprain couldn’t be so bad, she’d sworn to Rachel that if she so much as put the foot on the ground, she’d be over so fast her head would spin. She also vowed that if she had to get on a plane and fly to New York just to make sure Rachel was taking care of her ankle, she might never leave. Rachel knew it was the truth. Even at thirty-one, Rachel was still terrified of her zany, unpredictable mother. Pamela Winters was not a woman you wanted to question, mess with, or lie to. And you never called her bluff. Rachel shuddered at the prospect of her mother moving in for even a couple of days let alone forever, so she decided to just heed her mother’s warning.
If her ankle situation wasn’t bad enough, Rachel was also feeling pretty down about the fact she was missing her weekly No Brides Club meeting, the highlight of every single week. She looked at all of the texts on her phone, feeling a little bit better that the girls were all keeping her in the loop and sending love, texting her how much they missed her. Still, it wasn’t the same as being there with that amazing group of women she’d befriended. It wasn’t the same as sipping on cocktails at the Briarwood Tavern, laughing, and sharing hilarious stories from their week’s adventures. They were all walking such different paths in life, but they still had a lot in common. Of course, there was the whole dedication to careers over marriage that they had each chosen. But there was more than that, too. Those women just got Rachel, appreciated her, understood her.
And if there was ever a time she needed that sense of friendship, it was right now. Go figure, the week she could make it to the meeting on time—she was often a bit late due to the afternoon performance on Thursdays—she physically couldn’t go.
Rachel flipped through a magazine for the third time, sulking a bit and feeling sorry for herself, when there was a clamoring at the door.
For a split second, Rachel’s mind went to Zander. He’d called yesterday—he’d gotten her number from Michael. She’d definitely have to have a conversation with Michael about giving her number out to random men. That was a concern in itself, but she wasn’t one to be complaining to the director of the play about anything these days.
And in truth, she was happy to hear from Zander for whatever reason. Whether it was loneliness or the fact Zander had seen her through the ordeal at the hospital, it was nice to hear from the guy with the gorgeous eyes and quirky sense of humor. He’d asked if she needed anything, and she’d said no, fighting the urge to ask him to come over—and to bring pizza and wine.
She didn’t need a man to take care of her, and she certainly wasn’t going to boss a stranger around. Or, well, he wasn’t really a stranger anymore. He was… oh, heck, that was just too complicated to think about.
There was more commotion at the door followed by some giggles. Rachel hobbled up from the sofa, ready to trudge to the door on her crutches, when the door opened.
“Darling, get your butt on the couch,” Georgie demanded. She’d let herself in with her key, of course.
Rachel was more stunned to see them than if it had been Zander.
Behind Georgie, the whole gang came bubbling through the door, a laughing clamor crashing into her apartment and bringing life back to the dried up, boring place.
“What are you all doing here?” Rachel asked, the smile widening at the sight of them.
“Why, bringing the meeting to you, of course. Did you really think we’d let you sit here with a bum ankle all by yourself and miss out? We brought you your favorite crab dip, some of that divine triple chocolate cheesecake, and a bottle of wine to share with us. Now get back on the couch right now,” Kinsley ordered, carrying the bag of all of the delicious foods she’d just ticked off. Rachel could cry she was so happy.
They filed in, gathering around, all talking at once as was usual when they got together. Rachel looked around at the women who had really become her family in the city. She should’ve known they wouldn’t just leave her hanging.
“So, how is it going? Are you holding up okay?” Kate asked, scooching over beside her on the couch as Georgie and Kinsley headed to the kitchen to get all of the snacks and wine ready.
“I’m going crazy here. I hate just having to sit around. I hate not being on stage. I’m so afraid I’m just going to be left behind, you know?”
“Come on. You know that’s not going to happen. You’re so talented, and Michael clearly sees that or he wouldn’t have asked you to run the workshop in the first place. We’ve been over this,” Kate argued.
It was what Georgie had reassured her on Sunday. It was what each of them had assured her on the phone when they’d called throughout the week to check on her after hearing the whole story from Georgie. Here they were again, stopping by to make sure she was okay. That’s what they did, though, this lovely group of women. They helped each other and checked on each other. They put aside responsibilities when they needed to in order to make sure they were all okay. That was the thing about these women. They were all busy building their careers, their lives, but they still made time to make the friendships a priority. That was what this group was really about, and Rachel was so proud to be a part of it.
Before she could respond with a gushy sentiment of the sort, though, Kinsley spoke up, “Hey, Rachel, I see Zander Riley was here.” Kinsley was staring at the bouquet of roses, the note Zander had left beside it prominently displaying his name and his number in case she needed anything. Kinsley stretched her neck from the kitchen to get a good view of Rachel. Rachel felt her cheeks warm as she tried to wave off the red roses the group was now ogling.
“Oh, yeah. He swung by. The kids made me cards and he wanted to drop them off,” Rachel replied. “It was nothing.”
“He came here to see you? Uh-oh,” Kate replied, a smirk on her face.
“No, not uh-oh,” Rachel argued, shaking her head. “Like I said, the kids made me cards and he brought them by. He’s just a nice guy.”
“A nice guy with eyes to see how gorgeous you are. Come on. I’m sure the kids didn’t pick up the dozen red roses and leave behind his number,” Georgie argued, and the other women gathered around.
