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What had happened to her life and her routine? What happened to her most basic rules, the ones she organized her life by? These weren’t new rules, but the ones that had guided her since college:
1. Set high, but achievable, goals
2. Work diligently toward goals
3. Regularly evaluate expectations
4. Weed out unrealistic expectations
She hadn’t been vigilant about setting goals or maintaining realistic expectations since arriving in Montana, and because of that she’d not just fallen for Atticus, she’d set herself up for disappointment tonight, and tonight was nothing short of a disaster. Rachel blinked back tears, determined not to feel sorry for herself, but tonight’s failure stung. She’d been so excited about the open house, certain this would be the event that relaunched Paradise Books. Naively, she’d imagined everyone would come. She’d thought that was how small towns worked—community and support. Everyone being there for everyone else.
She’d rushed into the party, and should have taken more time to prepare. She should have asked her few Marietta acquaintances to invite their friends. She should have taken an invite to the other businesses on Main, and made up a flyer for the library, not just for Taylor. Maybe she should have put a notice in the Copper Mountain Courier. The mistake was assuming people would come. The mistake was not having goals. The mistake was forgetting the importance of realistic expectations.
Chapter Seven
Rachel had just blown out the large cinnamon scented candle when the front door opened and Atticus stepped into the store carrying a shopping bag.
“Cleaning up is always easier with a separate pair of hands,” he said, setting the paper bag on the counter.
“I’m fine.”
He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “I don’t think that’s actually true.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“For what?”
“For cheering up, or pity, or positive thinking. I know tonight was a massive failure. Please don’t try to convince me it wasn’t.”
“Tonight you had stiff competition. A band from Missoula was performing across the street at Grey’s. They’re pretty popular around here.” He emptied the shopping bags. “Plastic containers. We don’t want to waste all that food.”
She blinked, eyes burning. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“What were you going to put the food in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither did I. So let me help. No one enjoys cleaning up after a party all by themselves.”
The lump in her throat grew. She swallowed hard, fighting exhausted tears. “It wasn’t much of a party.”
“I should have done more to get people here.”
“It wasn’t your party. You don’t need to feel responsible.”
“I know.”
Her chin lifted and she met his gaze. “Atticus, don’t complicate things, please. We’re not on the same team.”
“We’re not enemies, either,” he said quietly. “Just because I’m fighting for this spot, doesn’t mean I’m fighting you. I don’t like seeing you hurt. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Her pride in tatters, she gave a short nod. “Okay.”
“Where should I start?”
Rachel turned to face the platters overflowing with cookies and cakes and cheese and crackers and fruit, and then there was the chafing dish of meatballs. “Maybe there?” she asked, nodding at the chafing dish.
“You have a lot of meatballs.”
“I went overboard.”
“At least we know you commit. Commitment is a good thing.”
“Unless you are committing to the wrong thing, and then it’s a problem.”
“I don’t see that being something you would do. You’re pretty savvy.”
“I wish I was. But the truth is, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know what I mean to do with the store. I have a really good job in California and there’s no way I can run Paradise Books from there. And, let’s face it, the store does not have enough revenue to pay for staff, not unless I get very creative very fast.”
“You do have that apartment upstairs. You can always rent that out. It’d provide some income, and maybe pay for staffing for the store.”
“So keep my real job and keep the bookstore?”
“Why not? It’s doable, if you can get the mail-order business going.”
She hated all the emotions washing through her. It was too much emotion. She felt like she was losing control. “I thought you wanted this place.”
“I do, but I don’t want to get it by being underhanded. Far better to acquire the bookstore when you’re ready to sell than to push you into something you’ll later regret.”
She sniffled. “You think I’ll regret selling the store?”
“I think it matters more to you than you care to admit.”
Her chest ached with emotion. Her eyes were hot and gritty. Something inside her felt slightly unhinged and she looked away, focused on the Christmas tree. At least it was a nice tree. “I’m glad you insisted on a big tree. It’s beautiful.”
“Your party was beautiful.”
“What about your next Galveston? Aren’t you starting to get a little impatient with this whole thing?”
“The restaurants I have are doing quite well. My future doesn’t hinge on this one location.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said after a long moment. “You should be making this harder for me, not easier.”
“Is that what friends do?”
Her heart thumped. Her throat ached. She wanted so many things just then that the need overwhelmed her. “You’re a good friend,” she answered huskily. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now let’s divide and conquer or we’ll be doing this all night.”
It took them forty minutes to carry everything up and package the food. Her refrigerator and freezer were small so she could only store perishables like the fruit, the artichoke spinach dip and her meatballs, and so she stacked the plastic containers of baked goods in the corner on the counter. Atticus rolled up his shirt sleeves and washed the now empty dishes and platters while she dried. They didn’t speak but the silence only served to make it feel even more intimate. Rachel tried to think of something to say, but it wasn’t until they’d finished the last dish that she found her voice.
“Thank you,” she said, trying not to be flustered by the intimacy of their domestic tasks. Atticus was a good partner. He had a way of making her feel supported… even cherished. “I’m glad you insisted on helping. I would have been miserable doing this by myself.”
He finished wiping down the counters before returning the sponge to the sink. “I wouldn’t have left you to do this on your own. It was a big job.”
“My commitment to meatballs and all,” she said wryly.
He flashed her a smile. “And I find your commitment commendable.”
“You’re very good at this sort of thing.”
He wiped his hands dry on a dish towel. “I have spent a lot of time in restaurant kitchens. You learn a thing or two over the years.”
She shook her head, blushing. “I didn’t mean the tidying up, although you do that very well. I meant, dealing with me and all my emotions.”
“You’re not hard to deal with, and you’re not that emotional.”
“I was upset tonight.”
“You were disappointed.”
“I hate being disappointed.” She leaned against the counter and looked away. “I work very hard to make sure I’m not disappointed.”
“You can’t escape disappointment. It’s just part of life.”
The heaviness in her chest made her aware of all the emotions she was battling to suppress but the emotions were bubbling up, and it wasn’t just tonight that was undoing her, but the past month and how hurt she’d been after being passed over for the last promotion. What had happened to her sense of accomplishment? She felt horrifyingly fragile… vulnerable… and she di
dn’t like those feelings, at all.
“Would you want a glass of wine?” she asked. “We have an awful lot.”
“I’ll take a glass of the red that we’d opened earlier.”
She grabbed two of the freshly washed glasses and the shiraz and hesitated, glancing to the couch in the small living area. It was a small area, and a small couch but it was the only furniture in the sitting area. “Do you mind if we sit? It’s a cozy couch.”
“I’m ready to relax. It’s been a busy day.”
“Yes, and my feet are killing me.”
Once they sat, he did the honors of pouring and she squished herself into the farthest end of the couch and watched him. He was lovely to look at. Lovely to be near. This was a problem. “Do you cook?” she asked, trying to fill the silence.
