Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,54

sink, but it still necessitated a trip into town.

Willy’s Electric and Plumbing was the primary source for projects, and Rachel liked them, because she knew them all, and they didn’t try to explain to her how a project needed to be done.

Sometimes, when she went into the chain hardware store that was a little bit larger, and had more product on hand, a random, spotty-faced male employee would try to instruct her on how a job should be done. And she would have to stand there and grit her teeth and not say—to the pencil-slim boy who probably still lived with his parents—that she knew more than him.

She never had to explain that to Mark or Jerry or Willy himself.

The store itself was almost entirely the color of oatmeal, from the floor to the ceiling, with a cartoon mechanic painted on the wall the only real character in the place. The shelves were mainly utilitarian boxes, black drawers and open bins, with small signs indicating what you were looking at. Plumbing or electric. Sinks, toilets. Commercial and residential.

Rachel knew exactly what she was after.

She slipped into one of the aisles and found the U joint in a bin of parts, picked it up and headed toward the counter.

It was Mark Bronson who was working today. A pleasant-looking man with graying brown hair and a beard. He was husky and tall, with a ready smile and dark eyes. He was maybe five or six years older than Rachel, if she had to guess.

“Hi, Rachel,” he said, his manner a little bit overly bright. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

She braced herself for sympathy.

“Hi,” she said. “And, yeah, I haven’t had anything break in a while. So I’m not all that sorry I haven’t been in a while.”

He laughed. A little too loudly. “For sure. This it for you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Plumbing problem?”

She chuckled. “Yes.”

“Look, I...”

Rachel’s amusement died as she braced herself for a litany of apologies.

“I understand that it’s a little bit quick. But the thing is, if I don’t say anything now, someone else will get there before me. And you don’t need to feel any pressure to say yes. But I just wanted to let you know... I’d like to go on a date with you sometime, if you are interested. When you’re interested. If you ever are.”

Rachel was completely stunned. Of all the things that she had expected... Well, she hadn’t expected that.

“A date,” she repeated.

“No pressure,” he said. “And it doesn’t have to be now. Or soon. But I wanted to give you my phone number. And you can call me. If you’re ever ready.”

Dating.

A date.

She was a little bit thrown by the fact that he wasn’t here to offer sympathy, but actually had seen a woman, and not an object of pity. That he had seen her, and not a widow.

“I—I don’t know,” she said.

“Like I said. Don’t feel you need to answer now. Or ever. But... I like you, Rachel. You’re an interesting woman. I’ve always thought so. But, you know. Anyway, I have a feeling a lot of men feel the same way that I do. And it’s only a matter of time... Probably a more appropriate amount of time before they ask you. But maybe when that happens, or maybe when you think...it might be nice to have dinner with someone, and just have a conversation, you’ll think of me.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I... Sure. I’ll take your phone number.”

He wrote his personal number down on the back of a business card, and put it in the bag with the U joint.

“I could help with whatever plumbing problem you’re having,” he said.

“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “I... I’m good at that. I’ve got that covered.”

“All right. It was good to see you, anyway.”

“Good to see you, too,” she said.

She walked out of the store clutching the paper bag to her chest, her heart beating wildly against it.

A date.

That kept playing in her head over and over again as she got into her car and started it.

You were supposed to wait to go on a date for at least a year, she was sure of that.

Of course, she didn’t know where she’d heard that.

Three and a half months wasn’t a year. She wasn’t really ready to...date someone. But it didn’t horrify her. No, horror wasn’t what she felt.

It was something of a revelation to have a man look at her and see a woman.

She’d been with Jacob since they were teenagers. Since before