Just One Look
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 10
Tuesday morning, Rachel showed up at the gym in her usual cheerful mood. We ended up side by side on the treadmills.
“I’m sorry Marisa sent you a bunch of inappropriate texts,” I panted between breaths.
She gave me a genuine smile. “She seems great.”
“She is. We’ve been best friends since high school. We survived microeconomics together, which basically bonded us for life. We act like twelve-year-olds when we’re together. She is stylish, curvy, and loyal to a fault. Also comes with a fierce Italian temper.”
“I can tell she really cares about you.”
“She does. I know I can always count on her.” Then I asked, “What about you? Anyone special in your life?”
“The usual—friends and family. My parents are divorced. I already told you about my brother who lives in Austin. I had a best friend, but she got married and moved to South Carolina.”
I nodded, waiting for the part where she’d mention a boyfriend or an ex-husband.
“No other significant someone?” I prompted.
Rachel shook her head. “No.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Why are you so surprised?”
“I just didn’t think you’d be single,” I admitted. “A woman like you...”
Rachel let her arms fall to her sides, eyebrows raised. “A woman like me?”
Uh-oh. Was she offended?
“Oh—I just mean, you’re gorgeous, easygoing, witty, you’ve got a great body...”
She snorted at that, cheeks turning slightly pink. “You really need glasses, Pete.”
We both laughed.
“I’m single,” she said, recovering. “I had a boyfriend ... but not anymore.”
“Sorry. I heard breakups can be brutal. Turn your world upside down.”
She nodded slowly. “Oh yeah.”
“Was it your decision?”
“Yeah. Didn’t make it easier, though. That was six months ago. I’m over it now.”
Rachel seemed to drift off into thought, and I decided not to push. After a few minutes, she turned to me.
“What about you? Ever go through a breakup, Pete?”
The idea made me laugh. “Nope. You need a girlfriend for that.”
“You’ve never had a girlfriend?”
“Nope again. Closest I got to a date was in the imaginary world of cyberspace. The last few years, I mostly went to work, came home, got online or zoned out in front of the TV, and ate. A lot.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry. That probably makes me sound even more pathetic than I am.”
“Hey, don’t say that!” she said, surprisingly firm. “You’re not pathetic. I honestly admire you, and I enjoy being around you. Actually ... there are a lot of things I like about you.”
That made me smile, shy, and a little stunned. “Thanks.”
Just then, Derek appeared as the treadmills powered down.
“You’re doing great,” he said, clapping my shoulder. “Bet you feel better.”
Rachel thanked him with a smile.
I paused, taking stock. My body definitely hurt, but my mind felt clearer than it had in weeks.
“I do,” I said, truthfully.
Derek nodded. “Good.”
I grabbed my water bottle and gym bag, and groaned as I stood up straight.
“What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” Rachel asked.
“Work. Menu planning. Maybe groceries. Then probably flop on the couch and catch up on some shows.”
Rachel let out a sigh. “Sounds perfect. I’m doing something similar. I was going to try a new salmon recipe. And I found one for grilled pork fillet with apple and chili that looked amazing.”
“You’ll have to give me that recipe. I love trying new stuff.”
“Me too! I’ll bring it in for you. Or I can just text it to you.”
“Sounds good.”
She turned to go, and I hesitated before calling after her.
“Hey, there’s a farmer’s market today at the park in Tacoma. They’ve got some great stuff, fresh produce, gourmet sauces, all homemade. I was heading over around noon.”
“Oh, I didn’t know about that. I heard there’s one on Main Square every Saturday.”
“There is. But I’m out of vegetables.” I paused, looked her in the eye. “Do you want to come?”
She tried to suppress a smile. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’d love to.”
“Great.”
“I’ll be at the community center at noon. I’ve got a class, but I’ll wait out front.” Her smile was warm and wide.
“Sure thing.”
At exactly twelve o’clock, Rachel walked out with a bag in one hand, checking her phone with the other. She smiled when she spotted me and climbed into the front seat.
“Thanks again for doing this,” she said, stuffing her bag under her feet.
“It’s my pleasure.”
We made small talk on the drive to Tacoma—weather, recipes, Derek’s latest sadistic workout routine, and Middletown’s latest gossip.
When we reached the farmer’s market, her eyes lit up.
“You weren’t kidding—this place smells amazing.”
“It’s the caramel popcorn,” I said. “It’s basically illegal to come here and not buy a bag. Of course, we’ll skip that today.”
She walked beside me, arms folded loosely, scanning the crowd and colorful booths.
“I think I already love it here,” she said, looking around the market stalls. “What’s first on your list?”
“I usually come for produce, but somehow I always leave with artisan soap, hot sauce, or some homemade stuff.”
Rachel laughed. “Dangerous. I’m a sucker for anything homemade.”
So, we spent a while strolling the market and searching out for the ingredients for my menu plan.
Then she wanted me to try a fig-and-chili chutney. “You have to try it,” she said. “I have it at home. It’s great on grilled chicken with salad.”
The little old lady selling the homemade jars of goods grinned at her. “You try it on lamb too,” she said.
The sun was shining high, people were walking dogs, and jogging around, everyone was talking or laughing.
We stopped at a stand with tomatoes, peaches, and fresh herbs. She leaned in to smell the basil, her expression soft.
“You cook a lot?” I asked.
“Whenever I can. Cooking’s like therapy. Except you get to eat the results.”
“Unless it’s burnt.”
She chuckled. “Been there. Especially post-breakup. That first month, I tried to bake banana bread and ended up with something closer to a brick. I nearly cracked a plate with it.”
I smiled, watching her. “You seem better now.”
She hesitated—just for a moment. “I am.”
That flicker made something tighten in my chest. I wanted to ask why she hadn’t come on Sunday, but I didn’t want to ruin the mood.
We wandered over to a booth with locally made hot sauces— Scorched Soul, Tears of Regret, and Sinister Mango.
Rachel held up one with a cartoon devil on the label. “Dare you.”
“Oh no! I’ve already had one near-death experience with habanero mustard.”
“That’s the point,” she said, grinning and nudging me. “You’ll feel alive.”
We kept walking, stopping at a table offering grilled zucchini with chimichurri. She popped a piece in her mouth and closed her eyes.
“This is so good it’s making me emotional.”
I couldn’t stop smiling. I hadn’t felt this light in ... maybe ever.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you come to the gym on Sunday?”
She blinked. “Oh.”
I didn’t push. Just waited.
“I almost texted you,” she said quietly. “I wanted to. But ... I was afraid if I did, it’d feel like I was crossing a line.”
“What line?”
She sighed, glancing down at the produce bag in her hands. “Pete ... when I first started going to the gym, it was just about getting out of the house. Trying to make friends. Then I ran into you at the grocery store and ... you were—are—funny and kind and honest in this raw, refreshing way.”
I swallowed. “Okay...”
“And I didn’t want to screw that up. I’m not used to this.” She gestured vaguely between us. “Normal. Decent guys. People who actually talk about what they’re feeling.”
I scratched my head. “So, you ghosted me because I was decent?”
She gave a small, guilty smile. “No, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Did you need an extra day to recover from Bella’s torture?”
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