Not Quite Crazy
Page 20

Rachel knew her face shot bright red. “Of course not.”
“No such luck,” Jason said.
Rachel was close enough to push at Jason’s shoulder. “Stop it. Don’t encourage him.”
“Why? It’s a nice switch from him grabbing a butcher knife the night I ditched my car.”
Rachel moved around him again to reach the stove and warm the milk. “You can tell me later,” she managed to say softly enough to avoid Owen overhearing her.
Jason seemed to like the fact that she had to spin around him, since he didn’t volunteer to move out of her way. Finally, when she’d veered to the left and then to the right one final time, she placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him to stand against the threshold. “There. This is a one-butt kitchen, and yours is one too many.”
He laughed. “One-butt? I’ve never heard that before.”
She turned on the flame, poured in the milk. “Only one butt can cook in this kitchen at the same time or you’ll fall over each other. Which is why I took out the door. If Owen is walking in and out, it makes it even harder to get around.”
Jason looked around the space as if sizing it up. “I wonder if you can take some of this wall down? Open it up a little.”
“That’s what I thought. It would certainly feel less cramped in here. But I won’t have as much cupboard space if I did.”
He walked to the back of the room and around the wall to the mudroom and the doorway to the garage and the basement.
“What’s this lead to?”
“Basement.”
“Finished?”
“No. I wish. I hate it down there. Saw one too many B horror flicks growing up.”
Jason smiled. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Knock yourself out.”
He disappeared down the basement stairs, the smell of the musty space wafting from the open door.
She was pouring the milk into the mugs when he reappeared. “You have a lot of space under this house.”
“Really? I wouldn’t know. I run down, put a load of laundry in, and run up before the boogeyman gets me.”
Jason started laughing.
“Laugh all you want. The chick always dies in the basement, usually tied to a pole in her swimming suit.”
He laughed harder.
“Do you want to drink this or wear it?”
“With threats like that, the boogeyman wouldn’t come anywhere near here.”
She topped the drink off with marshmallows for Owen, then looked at Jason. He eyed the white, fluffy sugar drops like a puppy stares down a treat.
She topped Jason’s drink off, too.
After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she put a dash of cream in and then took Owen his cup.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Thank you both for putting up the rest of the lights.”
Owen sipped his drink, leaving marshmallows on his lips. “Have to make a good impression on the weather killers.”
Rachel cringed.
“Weather killers?” Jason asked.
“My grandparents,” Owen said before Rachel found her voice.
“Why do you call them weather killers?”
Owen pushed on. “Because if it wasn’t for them, we’d be enjoying a seventy-degree Christmas in California. But no, we had to move here, killing our perfect weather.”
Rachel glanced at Jason before focusing on Owen. “They just want to get to know you.”
“Whatever! When are they coming tonight, anyway?”
“Six.”
Owen closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Rachel took no joy in his pain. Neither of them could avoid the couple. She just hoped it would get easier the longer they were close by.
Jason questioned her with a look.
“Dinner with Owen’s grandparents. It will be the first time they’ve come here since we moved in. We’ve met them once a month since the move.”
Jason digested the information with a single nod. “Is it so bad, Owen?”
“They’re rich snobs. I can’t believe I’m related to them.”
“They’re not that bad.” Well . . . they were. But downplaying their faults was something she had to try. The longer things were peaceful, the better.
“They walk around with their noses in the air.”
Again, Jason’s eyes questioned her.
She answered with a single nod and a half smile. The Colemans did sniff the room before walking in.
“I bet they find something to bitch about tonight.”
“They can’t find fault with our lights,” Jason said.
Owen looked at Jason. “Or the tree, but they’ll find something.”
Rachel didn’t argue.
“That bad?” Jason asked her.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she answered.
“Ten bucks says they complain about something within ten minutes of getting here.”
“Stop.”
“See, Jason, Rachel won’t even bet against me. She knows I’m right.”
“Have you tried pouring the sugar on when they get that way?” Jason asked.
“Like what?”
Jason set his cup aside, leaned forward with his hands resting on his knees. “My mom used to tell me to compliment the hell out of complainers. Every time they complain, tell them you like the color shirt they’re wearing or how it matches their eyes. Anything to distract and force them off the negativity path.”
“That works?” he asked.
“Most of the time. When it doesn’t, everyone else in the room starts to catch on, and before you know it, you’ve made a game out of calling out the person putting a downer on the party. Compliments get you everywhere, Owen.”
“Only if the person you’re complimenting is slow on catching on,” Rachel said.
Jason picked up his cup again, took a sip. “This is really good, by the way. Did you get a lot of practice in LA with all that sunny weather?”
“It was cold on occasion.”
“Well, this is perfect.”
She cared that he liked it.
Then she noticed both Owen and Jason staring at her.
“Oh . . . you just . . . I’m not slow.”
Jason sipped his drink again. “Hard to stay negative when someone’s pouring sugar. But this is really good.”
“Touché.”
Owen finished his hot chocolate and set his cup aside. “I’ll try it tonight and let you know if it works.”
“I will expect a full report on my desk by Monday.”
Rachel almost made a comment about the report she did owe him on Monday but decided now was not a good time to tell Owen that Jason was her boss. Not that there would be a good time.
“That sounds like homework.”
“Speaking of, don’t you have finals this week?”
“Next week.” He stood. “But I probably should pick up my room. Wouldn’t want Grandma Frown Face to pop a blood vessel behind an eyeball, looking at a dirty room.”
Jason commented once Owen was halfway up the stairs, “He really doesn’t like them.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Are they that bad?”
“I haven’t been looking for the positive, to be honest. I’ll pour my own sugar tonight and come up with something.”
“At least the black eye is nearly gone and they won’t speculate on the cause.”
“You wouldn’t believe the looks I got this week. A lady at the mall handed me a business card with a domestic abuse hotline on it.”