Take Me Home Tonight

“Well, well, look who’s here,” Paige sang as Harper walked into the waiting area at Meat & Potatoes, one of Pittsburgh’s most popular new restaurants. It shared an entrance with a cabaret theater, complete with a lobby of low couches and chairs. Behind windows, the dining area sparkled darkly.

“Never heard of her,” Liam said. He was Paige’s un-boyfriend. They were perfect for each other in every way except zero mutual attraction. Harper always thought something would spark between them but three years later, nothing. Before they could properly hug hello, the hostess was calling them to table. A circular bar occupied the center of the room, surrounded by tables. Dark wall hangings, crystal chandeliers and warm, glowing wall sconces gave the restaurant an air of late-night glamour straight out of Gatsby. They were seated at a small round table near the front windows.

“So, where have you been?” Liam asked when drinks had been ordered.

“Uh, here in Pittsburgh,” Harper pointed at Paige. “She was away, not me.”

“Yeah but I’ve seen her since, that’s old news. And she told me you got a new gig for a rich guy with no taste, so you must be having a decor-gasm. I want a sitrep.”

Harper had to laugh. Sometimes she thought Paige and Liam were too alike to be right for each other. It would be like dating yourself. At least it meant she didn’t have to tread lightly around one or the other - they would just tell each other everything anyway.

Since the week before, when she and James had a near-moment of almost-something in his living room, Harper had been all business. Playing with fire was not something she had planned. Getting too close to James - well, it had been in the name of research but Harper would have to rely more on her design skills than her people skills for this job. For his part, James seemed in agreement; he hadn’t turned up at her house with a surprise bagel, she hadn’t panic-invited him to any dark movie theaters. They’d installed the rest of his living room furniture, declared it right and then moved it all into the garage so painting could be completed. The red stripe around the top of the walls had been done today and they’d moved all the furniture back into place. By tomorrow, the first whole room would be done.

“Are you thinking about it now?” Paige asked when Harper was quiet too long. Her voice got increasingly breathy as she listed: “Egyptian cotton and stainless steel appliances and energy efficient light bulbs?”

“Are you going to have a When Harry Met Sally Moment?” Liam looked far too excited at the prospect of watching her fake an orgasm at the table.

“Oh shut up,” Harper told him. “I only get that excited about cashmere and low-flow toilets.”

Instead Harper opted for the truth she had left out of her previously conversation with Paige. She told them about the house, how the living room had turned out and what plans she had for the rest. Except instead of saying, “I am planning” or “I’ve got this idea,” she kept saying “we.”

“Who is we? Are you working with someone?” Liam finally asked.

“No, it’s the client.” She took a breath. “He plays for the Penguins.”

“IS IT CROSBY?!” Liam barked loudly. At least two tables looked over. He slouched in his seat but eyes still blazed. “He’s been building some new house forever, like fucking Howard Hughes, I never thought he’d let anyone in it! Tell me everything. Are there pictures of Mario everywhere?”

Paige was choking on her mojito. “You are the gayest straight guy who ever lived. Tell me everything!” she mimicked. “What does his dirty laundry smell like?!”

“WhatIamnot.” Liam shoved her chair away. “I just have a vested interest in our captain’s mental health status, okay?”

Paige made a very rude gesture and turned back to Harper. “Is it Crosby?”

“No, no.” Harper shook her head. “It’s James Neal.”

Harper hadn’t know much of anything about the Penguins before meeting James. Everyone knew Crosby, she could pick Malkin out of a lineup and of course she knew Craig Adams from decorating his house. Beyond that, she had been pretty oblivious to the team’s presence in Pittsburgh. Since meeting James though, Harper had noticed the Penguins everywhere - and considered at length what that would be like for James. But none of what she’d thought matched Paige and Liam’s faces.

“Neal?” Paige said.

Liam just said, “Woah.”

“What?”

Harper thought Paige would die. Surely she’d seen what James looked like, right? And Liam, well his reaction to Crosby about matched his feelings for the entire team. He’d been over the moon about her decorating for Craig Adams, and while Harper didn’t really get what Craig’s fourth-line status meant, she knew it wasn’t as good as second-line.

“Well, Neal is...,” Paige shrugged. She was no hockey authority, but she got out more than Harper. Her big law firm had season tickets and was ninety percent men, so news of the local sports teams was rather inescapable. Lawyers gossiped too.

“He’s what?” Harper pressed.

“He’s a douche,” Liam interjected. “At least he seems like one, I mean, I don’t know the guy. But he’s got a crazy streak, takes some bad penalties.”

Paige noticed the look on Harper’s face and jumped in. “Maybe douche is the wrong word. Brat, that’s better.”

“Nah, he just loses his temper at the wrong times. Got suspended for some pretty bad stuff in the playoffs two seasons ago. Horrible with the press on top of that. But hey, he scored forty goals so as long as he keeps his shit together, I love the guy. You know? He can be an asshole but he’s our asshole?”

Harper’s mouth was dry. James was a douche? James had a temper? That didn’t match at all with the guy she’d come to know. Her James barely had the confidence to pick out a pillow and had nearly fainted in a fabric store.

“Really?”

Liam shrugged. “Guy’s got a ton of talent and a short fuse. He’s not the only one on this team. He’s streaky though, goes big gaps without scoring, and you can feel his frustration. It’s just... predictably unpredictable, sometimes. Gets a lot of coverage for it. Is he cool to you?”

“Yeah, he’s...,” Harper stopped. James was nicer than a nice guy, sweet even. He’d never even really hit on her, in truth. Just all the times she thought about saying yes if he did, and that one time they almost kissed. He’d been a gentleman even when she sort of wished he hadn’t.

“Does he... date a lot?”

Paige winced. Liam didn’t bother flinching. “They all get around, Harp. Neal probably more so than the rest. I’ve been out a few nights when they’ve been in VIP, rolling three or four girls deep a piece. And quality talent.” Paige punched Liam in the arm so hard he whoofed out a breath. “What the fuck?” he yelped. Paige tipped her head pointedly at Harper - twice - before Liam got the message.

“Oh, shit. Are you guys dating?” he whispered at top volume.

“No!” Harper’s voice was cut glass. “Of course not. I’m working for him, that’s it. But he’s a nice guy, I never got the idea he had a temper or anything like that.”

Liam slugged back the rest of his drink. “He doesn’t really, until all of a sudden he does. Truth be told though, no one seems more surprised than he does. But the girls - that’s a given, right? Superstar in a small town?”

“He really hasn’t hit on you?” Paige asked. Her tone was joking but her eyes still full of concern. “You must be slipping, Harper.”
____

Harper could not sleep. She lay in bed looking at her perfectly decorated room, wondering what James was looking at right now. He was home. She could call him. She could wake him up even, he probably wouldn’t care, but why? Why on Earth would she be reaching out to him in the middle of the night when all they did was work together?

Another option lurked: the internet. Anything she wanted to know about James was there, but it sounded like there was also plenty she didn’t want to see. Stats would tell her one thing - forty goal scorer, she knew that. Videos might tell her another, if Liam and Paige were to be believed. If she’d searched James online before meeting him, that first day would have gone much differently. Instead James - those eyes, that smile - had caught her off guard. Now a lack of research was allowing James to catch Harper off guard again. A hothead? That didn’t seem right. But then again, nothing about James seemed quite right.

Hurt, that’s what Harper felt when she looked at him. Something broken, not beyond repair but far from healed. Maybe whatever happened on the ice had caused it - she didn’t know enough about hockey. Perhaps such a physical job unleashed something he couldn’t control, and James spent the rest of his time fearing it, like The Hulk. Maybe losing in the playoffs had broken his heart. Liam said it had been bad the last two seasons. But Harper’s instincts told her it was something else that made James shy. Something personal.

Whatever it was, it made Liam and Paige want to step back. Harper wanted to step forward - and that was worse. More dangerous.
____

James checked out the scene at 17th Street Cafe. He’d finally been invited to one of these grown up dinners guys like Crosby and Kunitz went to on off-nights. So far, it wasn’t so bad. They had two tables pulled together, a cute waitress and a host of surreptitious glances from the other diners. His sweet potato crusted walleye entree was delicious, the wine perfectly suited and there were a few girls at the bar that he might have to talk to on the way out.

“So,” Crosby broke off discussing skate laces or something with Dupuis and turned to James. What ever happened with that girl over the summer?”

James had seen Sid once all summer, at Olympic orientation camp. It had been a rough time for him, after admitting that Meghan never was and never would be his. James’ relationship with his captain had always been a bit strained - Crosby was a lot of perfection to measure up to: on the ice, with the media and in real life. His golden boy persona made being a Penguin hard for James. As a result, James had never really warmed to Crosby as a friend. During Olympic camp, he’d decided that might be too harsh. It was ironic now that James found himself more interested in the quiet life Sid led than the one he’d known before.

As he had at Olympic camp, James told Sid the truth. “That girl is happily loved up and living with her boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Crosby frowned.

“Her boyfriend John Tavares,” James added.

Sid’s jaw dropped open. It was still crooked from being broken the previous spring, giving him an air of extra surprise. “Tavares?”

James grimaced.

“Woah. Shit. Sorry, man.” Crosby put down his fork and patted James’ shoulder.

As much as James appreciated the gesture, he needed to go another step toward being open and cultivating his relationship with the captain. Sid and John were not unalike, and they knew each other well. James could only be honest. “He’s a good guy. He’ll take good care of her.”

To his surprise, Crosby just shrugged. “Yeah, but still.”

James thought about that through the rest of dinner. Sid probably considered Tavares a friend. They were square enough to be brothers. Yet by not brushing off the news or defending John, Sid had almost taken James’ side. John might be good but James was - what? Equal? Let’s not be crazy, James told himself. There was no question he was not yet the type of man John had always been. But if Crosby thought they were even close in comparison, James took that as a very big compliment. Even if Sid were just sticking up for his teammate, James was glad for it.

He also noticed that Sid didn’t ask if he had a new girl on the line. He was James Neal - he always did.

And so feeling like a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, James went over to the girls at the bar. They were eager and Penguins-knowledgeable, if it not actually fans. They knew enough to know a player in a bar when they saw one. James said hello, bought them a round and counted the number of times each looked past him to where Crosby was sitting. It was a minimal number, really, because most girls in the ‘Burgh had given up the Crosby dream long ago. Still one girl glanced over the fewest times, her name was Rachel. She was pretty, with blond hair that couldn’t be natural and plenty of mascara; almost the kind of girl James usually went for. He avoided introducing the girls to any other Penguins, yet still managed to ask for Rachel’s number at the end of the night.

Then James went home alone. The living room as nearly done and gorgeous to boot, the kind of place that made him smile as he walked in the door. It had Harper’s prints all over it, from her surprise couch to her paint on the walls. James let himself think of her and what he wanted - someone unafraid to leave her mark, who would come in and tell him what he needed because in the end, James was so very unsure. If Harper had been there, in his house in the middle of the night, she would have said that James needed to listen to himself and no one else. Yet his own heart stayed silent, as if it expected him to know what to do. He texted Rachel goodnight and fell asleep in his lonely bed, in his unfinished bedroom. while someone else dreamed up a plan for his home.
____

The next morning, James called Rachel. She was miraculously free for dinner that same night. James had never called a girl the next day, forget actually taken her out within twenty-four hours of meeting. He didn’t even wonder if it made him look desperate. They agreed on a time and where he should pick her up. James hung up the call just in time.

“Hey,” Harper said, pushing through his front door.

“Hey,” he replied.

It had been a strange week, James and Harper moving forward with good speed and weird energy. Ever since they’d almost kissed - well, not almost but maybe-nearly-almost if Paul hadn’t interrupted - things had been a little tense. James was afraid he’d finally scared Harper off: if not his sad, empty house then surely him getting too close would do it. She had to keep coming back, that’s what he was paying her for. Now she’d thrown herself into the work with such force that he thought she might be frantic to finish it.

Harper did not feel that way at all. She didn’t want to take advantage of James in any way. She had tread carefully with his home and his money, his time and the things he said he wanted for the house. Then she’d gone and clumsily stumbled over the most obvious obstacle: whatever was wrong with his heart. Like driving through a construction zone, she’d passed a hundred signs and still managed to nearly drive off a cliff.

“Oh good, it’s here.” Leaning against the wall was the artwork she and James had selected to hang behind his couch. After much deliberation, they’d gone with a three-panel piece, each one tall and narrow.

“Yeah. I was waiting for you.” James could have hung the pieces himself, but it didn’t feel right to do without her.

“Well, we need new marks.”

The mark at the center of the wall had nearly caused their kiss. This time Harper kept the couch between them as she directed James to mark three places equidistant from each other and the ceiling. He carefully followed instructions, then insisted he be the one to hammer in each nail.

“I’m trained to do that, you know,” Harper said. In truth she enjoyed watching James mark the wall and place the nail, just as she’d enjoyed watching him do everything since they met.

He ignored her protest. “This way if it’s crooked, it’s my fault.”

They hung the middle panel first, then the right and left. James came over next to Harper and leaned against the entertainment stand.

“Holy... wow.”

What had been just paintings in the boxes, on the wall they combined to form something else. The theme was abstract but the bright, bold red contrasted the warm white and deep gray in an evocative way. A few inch gap was left between each panel, engaging the eye to link them together over the negative space. Without knowing how to appreciate art, James knew he appreciated what this particular piece did for the room, which was now both his and finished. Looking from the couch to the throw rug, the coffee table and that stripe around the room, it was perfect. James felt a piece of the weight he’d been carrying break and fall away.

Harper was impressed too. The room really worked. It meshed in life the way it had in her mind. It was James’ style without being too defined: it could welcome anyone, proudly but without showing off. He could lay on this couch and put his feet on this table, he could be at home here.

“You like it?” she asked.

“You really know what you’re doing,” James said softly. “It’s perfect.”

She looked up at him, his tall and lanky form leaning next to her. His hair seemed darker, his arms bigger as they led to hands stuffed in his pockets. The end of his sleeve tattoo was visible at the wrist, just an inch from her side. It was the closest they’d dared to stand in a week.

James met Harper’s eyes and for a moment was overwhelmed. For a week she’d barely looked at him. Since that near-kiss James felt like Harper was retreating into business and away from being friends. It threatened James’ already-fragile ego. But this was a big moment, not just for the house but for him. And he had a date that night, with someone else - he couldn’t be interested in Harper. Unable to properly express himself, James simply reached one arm around Harper’s shoulders and pulled her into his side. “Thanks.”

Harper, herself so anxious to get past their tension, let go and turned toward James, ending up in a bear hug with her face buried in his chest. This was what she wanted - James to be this happy and comfortable and sure.

“Welcome home,” she said.
___

Rachel was pretty, James thought. She nicely filled a pair of skinny jeans and a tight blouse, she laughed at his jokes. She knew a fair amount about hockey and enough about Pittsburgh to suggest they go to Butcher and the Rye for dinner. Recently opened and immensely popular, even he couldn’t skip the line. Their wait meant a long two drinks at the bar while the entire city got an eyeful of James Neal and this blond girl on a date.

“How was your summer off?” she asked, sipping a bourbon cocktail.

“Good,” James lied. Summer had been eviscerating and he was actively trying to forget it. “Trained hard for the season, but got in plenty of down time. How was yours?”

Rachel told him about a music festival she’d attended, some wineries visited, a friend’s bachelorette party and basically every other activity she’d done for three months. He nodded and commented. His own drink - mixed, so as not to repeat any drunken mistakes - slowly disappeared. When finally they were called to table, it was a small two-seat affair in the upstairs section, cozy amidst the crowd. James felt a ripple thought the room as some people recognized him.

Dinner was good. Even the company was good when James actively engaged in Rachel’s conversation. They stuck to small talk like any first date. She had a brother, a job as a university administrator and a close group of girlfriends. “Most of our friends don’t have boyfriends,” she said hopefully, as if she no longer fell into that category. “So we go out all the time. There’s really a lot to do here if you dig around.”

Dig around. Maybe that’s what James needed to do. Instead of always ending up in a bar, or waiting for the Crosby clique to invite him on grown-ups night out, maybe James just needed to get creative about how he spent his free time.

“What kind of stuff?”

“They do evening parties at the Warhol Museum, those are always cool, and last week we went to one of those Dinner in the Dark super clubs where you eat without seeing anything. We did a rock climbing class too, there’s a great place in Hampton.”

“Rock climbing? That sounds fun.” James nodded.

“We should go,” Rachel said eagerly. “You’d like it.”

If he hesitated, she didn’t notice. “Yeah,” James agreed. “Let’s do that.”
____

Harper consulted her planner one more time, checking James’ schedule for the month. She wanted to save his bedroom until he was away for a while, so as not to disrupt his life. Instead they would start on on the kitchen next - another place of gathering. Momentum, especially now that he had one room complete, was as important as ever.

Hothead. Paige and Liam’s reactions to James still bounced around Harper’s mind, as unfitting as ever. She’d resisted the urge to Google him - first person accounts were fine, but reading about James would be like starting a book in the middle. She didn’t feel right asking him about it directly. Of course it didn’t matter much for the house, Harper wasn’t going to paint anything red just because James got fired up sometimes. Still it fascinated her in a way she didn’t like to admit.

But then, everything about James did.

He’d almost kissed her, or she him - that had not been imagined. A week of awkward silences and getting caught looking at each other had confirmed it. Now that they were thankfully past the worst of the tension, Harper could think about the almost-kiss again. If her reaction had been weird, then James’ had only been the same. He must not have wanted that kiss to happen either.

She hadn’t wanted it, right?

“What I want is recessed lighting,” she said out loud. And a blue and green mosaic tile backsplash to match his beautiful gray granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Cool white tones on the walls, color on the accents and a bright kitchen. James had once told her his favorite room in his parents’ house was the busy, noisy kitchen. She could make it ready for that, he’d just have to fill it.

What she wanted more than anything was for him to love the next room than way he’d loved the first.
____

James lifted one eyebrow sarcastically. From across the customer service desk, Harper gave him a warning glare before turning her attention back to the sales attendant. All day she’d been playful and full of sass - this poor clerk didn’t stand a chance. Three tile samples were laid out on the counter and she was negotiating prices.

One was ugly: matte with chunky splashes of too dark green and blue, the most basic shades. The next tile was nice: porcelain and it mixed the two colors together until they both disappeared into something almost sea-colored. The third, and most expensive, had given Harper such a reaction that James almost got a little jealous. He had to admit it was gorgeous: clear glass backed by a swirling gradient of delicate greens and blues. It gave the illusion of looking into tropical water. Of course the only water it would be near was James’ sink; he hadn’t even known was a backsplash was before yesterday and now Harper was bargaining for it like ransoming a hostage. He saw her smile.

Bet she always wins, he thought. As Harper was paying, James’ phone vibrated.

Rachel: We’re booked for 6. Dinner after?

“Booked” referred to that rock climbing class she’d mentioned on their first date. James had dropped Rachel off politely that night, with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek. Rather than be insulted that one of Pittsburgh’s most eligible bachelors had now passed up two chances to take her home, Rachel simply said goodnight, went inside and planned another date.

James: Pick you up at 5:30.

“Told you!” Harper chirped, appearing at his side. James quickly stuffed his phone in his pocket.

“Yes, you beat that man into submission and saved, what, thirty cents a tile?”

Her laugh was a sparkly sound. “Not all my clients are you, James. To some people thirty cents a tile is a lot of money, and I can’t have this place thinking I’m just going to pay retail every time!”

He backed his truck around to the service door and two flats of tile were loaned into the back. Harper signed something out the window, her t-shirt pulling up slightly at her waist, flashing a sliver of bare skin. James looked away. Then he looked back.

“Okay, let’s tile,” she announced.

Tiling involved less work that James expected. They carefully arranged drop cloths over his counters. Instead of individual tiles, they were already mounted on a net backing in fairly big squares. Harper measured and cut one.

“Hold this up.” She had James lean on the counter and hold the tile against the wall. He may have used more flexed muscle than necessary, or perhaps she was already lightheaded from inhaling glue. Her eyes started to wander up the whorls of ink in his sleeve tattoo and Harper bumped her head on the cabinet.

“Oops,” she laughed. Measuring against the bottom of the cabinet, she marked the tiles with a Sharpie and they laid the square back on the counter. Two cuts later it was perfect.

“Now for the fun part.”

Harper helped James flip the tile face-down, so the net backing was on top. He had a small brush and worked across the web, applying tile adhesive to the net and the tiles themselves. She watched as he carefully dabbed each part of the grid, the tip of his pink tongue wedged into the corner of his mouth. For once he didn’t have a hat on, and when he leaned over she had the urge to run her fingers through his thick, messy hair. He’d been so helpful, even playful, since they finished the living room. Already the kitchen had been painted - professionally, though James had wanted to help - and now they were onto the decor accents. He looked up, seeking her approval.

“Perfect,” she said, not just talking about the tile.

Slowly they lifted it into place and held, allowing the adhesive to set. Two full minutes of standing still.

Harper grinned. “Nice game in Carolina.” James’ jaw dropped a little. He’d taken four dumb penalties two nights earlier and was still hearing about it from his coach. “Thought they might just let you stay in the box during intermission, since you liked it so much.”

“You bitch!” He smiled because she was smirking. Their hands were effectively stuck to the tile, waiting for it to stick to the wall. Inches apart, he couldn’t do anything.

“I’m just saying, you get a lot of camera time when you’re in the box like that. Maybe you could get an endorsement deal or something. Take your helmet off, whip your hair a couple times, sell some product.”

“Listen to you, talking like you know hockey. ‘In the box.’ Next you’ll be telling me how to score more goals.”

Harper put on her best valley girl voice. “Is that when the black thing goes in the net? If you shoot from far away, is it three points or still two?”

Things between them had relaxed so much since the living room was finished that Harper felt like she could tease James about his messy performance. In fact, it was the first time she’d heard the commentators mention what Liam and Paige had said about James’ reputation. This time they were applauding him though, for not losing his cool on the ice. Now here he was joking about it. Harper didn’t think that sounded like some hothead.

James had the urge to reach out and tug her ponytail where it fell forward over her shoulder, like a little kid in primary school. He almost moved one hand from the tile but she cut him off with a sharp hiss. He pressed his hand flat to the wall again and promised, “I’m throwing you in the pool when this is dry.”

In three hours, they had the entire kitchen backsplash mounted. It wasn’t like clients to want to help, but those who did were never actually competent. James though, he was good with his hands and could follow directions. Harper tried not to let that thought sink into the extracurricular parts of her mind. Instead she dug out the caulk gun and a bottle of off-white caulk.

“Do you wanna just,” she started.

James looked at the clock, then for some reason also checked his watch. It was after four thirty. He was due at Rachel’s in under an hour and hadn’t showered or had a snack that he could rock climb on. Harper caught his reaction.

“Oh,” she corrected, too loudly. “Sorry. If you have....”

“I have....”

They both said “plans” at the same time.

Silence, for a second. It didn’t even get awkward. Just enough time for Harper to know that James had plans and James to know that he’d chosen to make them, over this, and try to remember why.

“Cool. I’ll uh, I’ll leave this for next time.” She put the caulk back in the bag, the bag on the counter.

“Thanks. It looks great - this,” he gestured toward the half-designed kitchen. “Today was good.”

Harper made sure her smile was wide before looking at James. “It was good.”
____

Stupid, stupid, she thought as she drove home. James didn’t have to do manual labor, and he certainly didn’t have to do it on her schedule. Of course he had plans - it was Friday night! It was nearly the end of October, a month into hockey season, and his life was in full swing. All the time he’d already dedicated to this project - she was annoyed with herself for expecting more. Like to be included in his plans.

“Uggghhhhh,” she growled as she pulled into the drive.
_____

James reached overhead and rang a little silver bell hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Matching bells were mounted all along the top of the rock climbing wall at the gym in Hampton. Anyone, taking any route. who made it to the top hit the chime to celebrate. Forty feet below him, people clapped.

“You’re too tall, it’s cheating!” Rachel cried from ten feet lower on the wall. She was a pretty good climber, working her way up more deliberately because she didn’t have the luxury of reaching just any handhold. James leaned into his harness and the belaying trainer began to lower him.

“Looking good,” he said and swatted Rachel’s backside as he passed her on the way down.

She did look good, and this was fun. James didn’t have to try. It was one of the reasons hockey had always drawn him in: all that hard work never seemed like work. This was similar in exertion, the mental process and the prospect of some victory, however small. He could always go faster or take a tougher route.

“Nicely done,” the trainer gave him a bro handshake. He was a Pens fan. Already James had posed for photos with a few of the staff that were undoubtedly circling Instagram. At least the lower body harness probably made his junk look big. He whooped as Rachel rang the bell and headed back to the ground.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m starving,” she said.

Again, she’d planned the date. James wondered if they might have dinner near the climbing place but no. When they changed out of workout clothes, Rachel emerged in a pretty blue halter neck dress with a flared skirt that bounced around her knees. Her hair was up, showing off a slender neck. Her sneakers were replaced with stilettos and James knew they weren’t dining low key. His uniform of dark jeans and a sweater would have to suffice.

She directed him back toward the Strip District, to a contemporary spot called Eleven. He pulled into the valet and was surprised when the guy greeted him by name. A Pens fan, James assumed. But when Rachel gave his name - not hers - to the hostess, he caught on. “Sorry, I had to,” she explained. “They didn’t have anything for Rachel Hyer on a Friday night.”

They decided on the chef’s tasting menus, 3 courses each plus dessert, with wine pairings. The first thing James noticed when the wine arrived was the full glass.

“Pretty generous wine flight,” he noted. Rachel lifted her glass to toast.

As on their first date, James enjoyed himself and went easy on the drinks. Rachel finished the corresponding glass of wine with each of her courses, which is why most restaurants don’t have big pours. James barely got through half. When she frowned at his still-full glass, he reminded her that he was driving. Whether from the wine or the fact they were on a second date, Rachel loosened up and James felt himself working harder to keep up. She told a funny story, he had to think of one. She liked concerts, he had to think of the last show he went to.

“What’s the last movie you saw?” she asked.

And just like that, Harper was on James’ date. His last movie had been with her, that weird day he’d gotten mad at Niskanen for assuming he was getting sexts, then he’d panicked in the fabric store which was, in fact, just around the block from where he sat now. Harper must’ve thought he was a weirdo because she suggested a movie, someplace they wouldn’t have to interact. Then they sat next to each other, alone, in the dark for a few hours. James remembered how funny the movie was, and how relieved he’d been.

“Hello?” Rachel said.

“Oh, uh, We’re the Millers. I couldn’t remember the name,” he lied. “It was really funny.”

“Yeah? The one with Jennifer Aniston? I didn’t see it.”

Rachel finished a glass of wine and her morel risotto, James worked through a piece of Niman Ranch steak and tried to stay present. His mind replayed the moment when Harper wanted to stay and work on the kitchen but he had to go. That was the very reason why he’d made these plans, so he wouldn’t be tempted to stick around in situations like that. And there would be a lot of them. It was too easy to be around her, to laugh and work and forget that important things were happening. Already her personality was all over his house. James loved the progress they’d made so far - exactly the reason not to risk it. She was a friend and decorator and she was doing a bang up job on both accounts. James was the only one constantly in danger of failing.

“We’re having a team Halloween party Thursday night. Would you want to come with me?” he asked.

“Yes.” Rachel said. “Definitely.”
_____

Notes