Small Change (12 page)

C
laire and David were having a great time in California. They'd done Disneyland and now were seeing the sights in San Francisco. “But they miss you,” Rachel's mother assured her when Rachel called to check in on Tuesday.

“They told you that?” Rachel asked, amazed.

“They didn't need to. I could tell.”

Good, old Mom. “In other words, they're too busy having fun to miss me. I hope they're behaving.”

“They're practically perfect. You've done a wonderful job with them. Thank God they live with you and not that horrible creature.” It was hard to know which horrible creature Mom meant until she added, “May her breasts fall off.”

“Well, I'd like to say Aaron is getting what he deserves, but he's too happy.”

“What goes around comes around,” said Mom. “So don't you worry. The children aren't up yet, but I'll have them check in later.”

“No, don't do that. I don't want to be one of those needy mothers. Just give them an extra kiss for me.”

“I will. But I'll also have them call. Meanwhile, don't waste this time to yourself. Go out and have a little fun already.”

“Don't worry, I am,” Rachel assured her. She'd had a little fun on the Fourth. And yesterday? Hmmm. Did tutoring Cara's daughter count?

Rachel said good-bye to her mother, then made herself a cup of coffee before going online to see if any teaching positions had miraculously appeared on the school district's Web site. No miracles there. She heaved a sigh. Her job situation, or rather lack of job situation was, to put it mildly, disheartening. “That which doesn't kill me makes me stronger,” she quoted to herself. Which meant, at the rate she was going, she could take down Arnold Schwarzenegger.

She ventured a look out her window but here was no sign of her own personal Mario Lopez today. Sigh.

She'd seen him in the crowd at the lake when she went with Jess and Michael to watch the fireworks on the Fourth. He had stood talking with two other men and a couple of Latina women, his hands stuffed in his back pockets. Those women had been drop-dead beautiful and she'd wondered if he was with one of them. Surely not; otherwise his hands wouldn't have been in his pockets. He must have felt her gaze on him because he'd turned his head and looked right into her eyes.

She'd felt a Roman candle–sized zing from her chest to her panties. Embarrassed over having been caught ogling, she'd quickly found a new direction to look, but it had been impossible to stop from sneaking another peak when she thought he wasn't watching.

It had also been impossible to resist imagining them sitting together on a blanket, her tucked safely against him with his arms around her. That had been a nice fantasy to put under her pillow for
sweet dreams, but it was daylight now. Time to come back to the real world. She turned her back on the nonview and went to her office to dig into her finance book and come up with ideas for how to save more money.

The more she worked the more inspired she became. In fact, she became so inspired she decided to start a blog. Why not chronicle what was happening with her and Jess and Tiff? After an hour of fingers flying over the keyboard she had her first entry on her new blog site, which she had titled Small Change, Big Difference. “Feel free to join the small change club,” she finished. “Let's start a movement.” She smiled. She was now the mother of a movement. It was probably easier than being the mother of children.

Speaking of motherhood, why hadn't her children called? Her mother was too smart to take her at her word and let them off the hook. She'd make Claire and David report in.

As if on cue, the phone rang. “Hi, Mom,” sang Claire.

“Hi, sweetie. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah. Grandma taught me how to make dumplings. And Misty took me to Chinatown.”

Naturally, Misty would make sure they shopped till they dropped wherever they were. Rachel felt her eyes turning green. “Did you get anything?”

“I got you a charm,” Claire said, proud of her thoughtfulness.

“That was sweet. Thanks. What else?”

“I got a cool necklace with a fish for me and Bethany.”

“Bethany and me,” Rachel corrected automatically.

“Bethany and me,” said Claire in a tone of voice that told Rachel her daughter was rolling her eyes.

“So, what else?”

“That's all. Next we go to New York.”

“Well, I'm glad you're having fun,” Rachel said.
You are,
she told herself. The kids were having a great summer adventure after all and she didn't have to pay for it. Really, that was a win-win situation. She sighed. Another cup of coffee would make her feel like more of a winner.

On her way to the kitchen her eyes strayed to the window again. This time she was rewarded with a glimpse of a paint can and a fine male posterior all wrapped up in denim going up a ladder. She casually drifted over for a better look. Señor Gorgeous was back. This would be a good day to weed. Did she have any cute weeding clothes?

Deciding to channel her inner Jess, she dug out a sleeveless red top (it wasn't as hot as Jess's style, but it at least had a scooped neck and hinted that she had breasts) and the shortest pair of shorts she could find. Sadly, they fell into the same lukewarm category as the top. Mom shorts. And they were white—great color for working in the dirt. Who was she kidding? She wasn't planning on doing much work. She was only going to go out long enough to smile and offer a neighborly glass of water to a thirsty working man. She cuffed her shorts to show off some leg, applied some red lipstick, and stepped out the door.

She could certainly be out here all day and never run out of things to do, she thought as she walked through her backyard. Her flower beds were a mess. Probably the only neighborhood eyesore bigger than hers was the house next door, and that was quickly changing. First the lawn, now a fresh coat of paint in a new color— somebody was clearly putting some money into that place.

She casually strolled around to the side of her house. The hunk was at the top of the ladder over there, not more than ten feet away and swinging that paintbrush like he meant it. And he was
shirtless—gloriously, lusciously shirtless. She licked her lips. Everyone who lived on the lake talked about their fabulous view, but right now she couldn't think of any view she'd rather enjoy.

He was much too busy to notice her, but he couldn't stay up there forever. He'd have to come down some time. When he did, she'd say a friendly hello. She casually dropped her foam gardening pad on the ground then knelt daintily in front of the side flower bed—at an angle so she could keep sneaking peeks at those rippling back muscles.

You're being ridiculous,
she scolded herself. What was she doing out here, channeling Danielle Steel? The last thing she needed was another man in her life, breaking her heart.

In disgust, she picked up her gardening pad and started back around the house.

“Hot day, isn't it?” called a voice.

She turned and looked over her shoulder to see Señor Gorgeous stepping off the ladder.

Maybe she wasn't done gardening after all. “It is,” she agreed. What the heck? There was no point in being rude. “Could I offer you a glass of water?”

One of those dark eyebrows rose cynically, making her wonder what she'd said wrong. “Sure. Why not?”

She nodded and walked into the house, the picture of sophistication, until she tripped over the front porch step. She forced herself not to look back to check if he'd seen. Hopefully, he'd been busy with his brushes.

In the kitchen she filled a glass with ice and took a cube to rub on her neck and cool down. This attitude (not to mention the accompanying behavior) was beyond silly for a woman who didn't
need a man in her life. She filled the glass with water and hurried out of the house.
You don't have to fall in love with him. You can use him for your own selfish pleasure. Get in touch with your inner Misty.

But once in front of the stranger she couldn't seem to get in touch with her vocal cords, let alone her inner Misty.

She held out the glass with a brain as blank as a new white-board.

“Thanks,” he said with a nod and took it.

She watched as he tossed down half the contents. Even his throat was gorgeous. “I live next door.” Had she just said that? Of all the inane … She cleared her throat. “My name's Rachel.” She held out her hand.

“Chad Alvarez,” he said, taking it.

Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She should have brought out some water for herself.
Never mind the water. Think of something to say!
“It's nice to see this place getting fixed up. Do you know who bought it?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Do they have children?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not. The owner's single.”

“Oh. Is he going to live in it?”

“He's going to rent it out. As soon as he finishes painting it.”

She nodded. As soon as he … “He? You?”

His smile was mildly mocking. “Yeah. He me.”

“I thought …” She stumbled to a stop.

The eyebrow went up again. “That I was the hired help?” He finished off the rest of the water, then handed back the glass. “Thanks for the drink.”

“I guess you didn't need it since you could just go inside and get one anytime you want.”

“It was a nice thought.”

“I get those sometimes. When I bother to think.” She managed an embarrassed smile.

He smiled back. “I appreciate the neighborly gesture.”

She managed a one-shouldered shrug. “What are neighbors for? I guess I'll get back to my weeding.”
And go swallow my tongue.

“Weeding can be thirsty work,” he observed. “Maybe I should bring you some lemonade later.”

“Lemonade definitely tops water,” she said.

He nodded. “I'll be ready for a break after I finish this side of the house. You can tell me about the neighborhood.”

She noticed he didn't say anything about telling him about herself. Maybe he figured he'd learned enough about her already.
Horny woman who hits on helpless manual laborers.
Pathetic.

But later, when they sat on her front porch, drinking bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade, he did show an interest in her. “So, you have children?”

“Two. They're with their father and his girlfriend for a few weeks.”
And I'm all alone in this big, old house. Subtle, Rachel. Very subtle.
“How about you? Oh, yeah. Single. No children. And you do your own painting?”

He smiled. “I like to do my own maintenance work. It keeps me in shape.”

“And what beautiful shape you're in.” Oh, no. Had she really just said that out loud? She looked into her half-empty bottle. “What's in here, truth serum?”

He chuckled. “It's refreshing to meet a woman who says what she thinks.”

“Especially when she thinks nice things about you?”

“Even when she doesn't.”

“Do women ever think things about you that aren't nice?”

“They've been known to.”

Of course. He was probably one of those love 'em and leave 'em types. Aaron: the Latino version. So, they'd make some more small talk, finish their lemonade, and then she'd retreat into the house to the safety of a novel where happy endings were guaranteed.

“What do you do besides make over houses?” she asked.

“Real estate.”

“So I guess you heard about this house from someone at your real estate office.”

“Something like that,” he agreed.

He must have sunk his fortune into the place and was now trying to make a go of it. “Kind of a gamble, isn't it?”

“Life's a gamble,” he said, and took a swig of lemonade.

“Well, I admire anyone who's out there trying,” Rachel said.

“What about you? Are you out there trying?”

“The best I can. I'm a teacher, learning how to live on next to nothing.”

“How are the lessons coming?”

“Not bad,” she said with a thoughtful nod.

“Yeah?” he prompted.

She still had some lemonade left. The sun was warm. There was really no hurry to hole up inside the house like a mole. She leaned back on her elbows and told him about what she was doing with Jess and Tiffany, finishing with the blog she was starting.

“I admire a woman who's willing to work for what she wants. Some women would be out there looking for a rich man to take care of them.”

Rachel gave a cynical snort. “Like we have a lot of those in Heart Lake.”

“Wealth is overrated anyway,” Chad said, pushing up from the porch step where he'd been sprawled.

“So I hear. But I'm coming to suspect that most of the people who say that sort of thing don't have to live on a budget.”

“Everyone lives on a budget, even rich people.”

“Define live.” She shook her head. “Don't mind me. I'm just your typical bitter divorcée.”

He didn't say anything to that. Instead, he downed the last of his drink. “Well, I'd better get back to my painting.”

“Thanks for the lemonade.”

“Sure,” he said. Then he turned and walked back to his house.

As she watched him go she wished she'd asked if he had any more lemonade. Except now that he knew she was a bitter divorcée he probably wouldn't give her another drink even if she paid for it.
Way to impress a man, Rachel. Whine. It's so attractive.
Oh, what did she care anyway?

She hauled herself inside the house—it was too hot to work out-side anymore—and started pulling together some more information for her next meeting with Jess and Tiff. That kept her busy for the next hour. Now what? Sitting inside the house with Chad Alvarez next door was like camping next to a diamond mine.

She found herself suddenly feeling restless, weighing her desire to peep against the mortification she'd feel if he caught her. Jess was back from her job at the gym. Maybe she wanted some company.