Part 2 (1/2)
Rachel recalled the boys in grade school who teased her for her freckles and red hair. A few years later, after she'd used a myriad of beauty products to change her appearance, her high school boyfriend dumped her for someone more popular because she didn't party enough. Then when she went to college and pa.s.sed herself off as ”the party girl,” her college sweetheart took her for granted. That's when she'd initiated the two-date limit to keep her relations.h.i.+ps fresh and exciting and her heart intact. So far, it had worked.
”Rachel?”
She snapped out of her revelry, glanced toward the front door, where Andi and Kim stood waving goodbye to the party guests, and refocused on the masked magician in front of her. ”Did you say something?”
”I asked for your phone number, but you look like you've seen a ghost.”
Funny how memories can haunt you, she thought. She c.o.c.ked her head, relis.h.i.+ng the thought of a temporary diversion. ”You want my phone number?”
”Of course,” he said, and his mouth twitched into a subtle grin. ”Unless you don't want to give it to me.”
”Depends,” Rachel teased. ”Will you call to ask me to be the one you saw in half at your next magic show, or will you use it to ask me out?”
”I'm asking you out now. I only need your phone number to confirm the details.”
Rachel gave him a big smile, turned toward her friends, and called out, ”Andi, Kim, where's a pen?”
TEN O'CLOCK MONDAY morning, Rachel sprawled across her quilted patchwork bed, her cell phone to her ear, and waited for the coordinator of the Crab, Seafood, and Wine Festival to answer.
”The deadline for sign-ups was three months ago,” the woman told her.
Rachel's spirits sank, but then there was another voice in the background speaking to the woman in charge.
”You may be in luck,” the woman continued. ”It seems one of our other food vendors has an emergency and needs to pull out. I can let you have his s.p.a.ce.”
”Great. How much?”
”A ten-by-ten aisle s.p.a.ce rents for four hundred dollars.”
Rachel thought of Creative Cupcakes' limited bank account and then Gaston's smug face. The event brought thousands of people into town each year, many from neighboring states, and with them came a boatload of money. She hadn't a.s.sociated cupcakes with crab, seafood, and wine, but, hey, why not? Cupcakes tasted good no matter where you ate them, didn't they?
A large percentage of the locals took on double-, sometimes triple-duty temporary jobs during the weekend festival to both help out and earn extra cash. Last year her postman drove one of the school buses transporting people back and forth from the various hotels in town to the fairgrounds. Andi had once worked as a hired hand serving crab in the main dining hall. And she herself had once stood near the entrance stamping hands and collecting the fairgoers' festival fee.
Still, $400 was a lot of money.
”Can I discuss this with my business partners and get back to you on this?” Rachel asked.
”Only if you can get back to me within the next ten minutes,” the woman replied. ”I know others who would be interested in taking the s.p.a.ce.”
Rachel called Andi at home. No answer. Next, she called Kim at the cupcake shop and didn't get a hold of her either. She called Jake at his day job working at the office of the Astoria Sun, but he was out on a.s.signment. And not one of them answered when she called their cell phones.
What should she do? She hated making a decision without consulting her friends, but this was an opportunity too big to miss. Hoping she wouldn't regret her choice, she called back the woman in charge of the Astoria Crab, Seafood, and Wine Festival.
”Yes,” Rachel said, her voice resolute. ”We'll take it.”
If they didn't make any money at the festival, Rachel would take responsibility and suffer the loss from her own earnings from the cupcake shop. She might not be able to afford gas for her car, but Kim didn't have a vehicle and managed to get around. She could do the same.
She flipped open the latest issue of Beauty, Fas.h.i.+on, and Glamour magazine to an article t.i.tled, ”Top Ten Tips: How to Make Men Fall Irresistibly in Love with You.”
Her cell phone buzzed, and she wondered which of her business partners had finally received her message. Instead, it was a text from the magician, Mike Palmer.
Are you available for dinner tonight?
They had agreed on dinner at the new seafood restaurant on pier 39 in the renovated b.u.mble Bee Hanthorn Cannery but hadn't decided what night would suit both of their schedules.
Smiling, she rolled over on the bed and punched in her reply. Need to work. How bout this weekend? Oops. Scratch that. Our shop @ the Crab & Wine fest.
Mike responded a few seconds later. Next Wednesday?
She tried to imagine what he might look like without the mysterious black mask. Would he live up to her expectations? After checking her calendar, she sent back: It's a date.
The deep rumble of her mother's car sounded in the driveway, and Rachel pushed aside the flimsy lace curtain to look out her second-story garage apartment window. Tossing her cell phone on the dresser filled with perfume, nail polish, and makeup, she hurried down the steps.
”You're home early,” Rachel said, as her mom got out of the beat-up minivan.
”I had to take your grandfather to his doctor's appointment.”
”How did it go?”
”As well as it could.”
Her mother's face appeared more haggard than usual. Could be from the two jobs she took on to pay her grandfather's medical bills.
”Rachel, help me get your grandfather into the house, please.”
She obeyed and opened the pa.s.senger side of the car. Grandpa Lewy had his wispy white head tilted back, and he was snoring with his mouth wide open. Her mother gave him a gentle shake, and the old man woke with a start.
”I told you I like my eggs hard-boiled,” he scolded.
Rachel and her mother pulled him out of the seat, and balancing his weight between them, they managed to lead him into the house.
”When were you hired? You aren't the regular nurse who comes in,” Rachel's grandpa said, looking up into her face. ”Do I know you?”
”Yes,” Rachel answered, meeting her mother's gaze as they helped him into his rocker. ”I'm your granddaughter.”
”I'm related to you?” The old man laughed. ”Your hair is as red as a twelve-pound radis.h.!.+”
”So was yours back in the day,” Rachel's mom chided.
A few minutes later, Grandpa Lewy was comfortably snoring once again.
”Would you like breakfast?” Rachel followed her mother down the hall. ”Or should I get out the leftover chicken-and-rice ca.s.serole from last night?”
”I'm not hungry.”