The Truth About Rachel by Deanna Sletten (recommended reading .TXT) 📕

looked in the mirror, she nearly scared herself. She hadn’t put on much makeup this morning and hadn’t touched her hair since then, either. “Sheesh. I’d better fix up a bit, or else I’ll scare him,” she said to her reflection.

As she applied mascara and blush, Rachel smiled to herself. She hadn’t worried about looking nice for a man in a long time. She hadn’t dated since her husband passed away or even thought about going out. Not that she thought dinner with Avery was a date, but it kind of felt that way. Avery was nice. And good-looking. She wondered what he thought of her.

There was a knock on Rachel’s door just as she was slipping on a soft leather jacket.

“Hey. I’m ready to go,” she said, opening the door. “Just let me grab my purse.”

He smiled. “You look nice.”

She looked up at him as she lifted her purse from the bed. “Thanks.” He looked good, too. He was clean-shaven again and smelled great. “My treat tonight,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward about staring at him. “You paid last night.”

“Sorry, but I’m a small-town boy at heart, and I wouldn’t even dream of letting you pay. It’s a male-ego thing.” He laughed.

“Well, okay,” she said, turning the lock on her door handle and closing it. “But don’t think you have to always pay when we go out.”

“I don’t mind. And I hope that means we’ll be going out a lot.” He winked.

Rachel felt a blush rise up into her cheeks. No one had made her blush in a long time.

They rode the short distance to downtown, and Avery parked a block from the bar. It wasn’t busy when they entered, which made Jeremy and Archie’s presence at the bar even more obvious. Avery led Rachel to a table at the back of the room, as far from the two men as possible.

“Cripes. Doesn’t Jeremy have a life? Isn’t there a Mrs. Mitchell he needs to go home to?” Rachel asked. It felt like the police officer was everywhere she went.

Avery rolled his eyes. “What woman would put up with him? From what I’ve heard, he was married, but they divorced a while back.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Rachel said.

The bartender came over and took their drink and food order.

“I already know the menu here,” Rachel said, laughing.

“Yeah. I eat here a lot for lunch. Funny, though. I rarely run into Jeremy in here, and it seems like he’s here all the time now.”

Rachel’s brows rose. “Really? He told me that first night I was here that he eats in here all the time.”

“Hmm. Weird,” Avery said.

The bartender brought their drinks—a Coke for Rachel and a beer for Avery—then left again.

“Did you get any work done?” Avery asked after sipping his beer.

She nodded. “I did. It was nice to think about something else for a change. I get so absorbed in my work that I forget about everything else.”

“Creating book covers must be fun,” Avery said, his eyes bright. “I’m sure it’s work, but it must be fulfilling when you finish a design and then see it on an actual book.”

She smiled. “It is fun. Sometimes. If an author lets me be creative and doesn’t micro-manage the design, then it’s really fun. Those are usually my best covers because I don’t feel limited in what I can do.”

“Are authors hard to work with?” he asked.

“Well. I shouldn’t complain because their covers pay the bills, but sometimes, yes. I can’t blame them; it’s their book. But most of my clients are great. I love what I do.”

“Does creativity run in your family? Was your father or mother creative?” Avery asked.

“Not that I remember. My dad worked all the time, so he didn’t have time for hobbies. My mom, well, she sat in front of the television mostly.” Rachel tried to think if Keith ever did anything creative, but she couldn’t picture it. “You know, the only one I remember having any artistic abilities is my Aunt Julie. She worked as an accountant, but she also liked to draw and do crafts and such. She’d paint sometimes, too. I liked to draw as a kid, but once I started using a computer, I loved it.”

“That’s interesting,” Avery said. “Maybe you got your love of design from your aunt.”

Rachel shrugged. “Maybe.”

Their food came, and as they ate, Avery talked a little about how he became interested in journalism. “It actually started after my mother was killed. Once I realized what had happened, I started reading the newspaper looking for clues. As I grew older, I followed other murder cases in the paper. I used to think if I were a newsman, I could unravel some of the cold murder cases myself. It’s funny how a kid thinks, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think that’s odd,” Rachel said. “Although it sounds more like you should have been a detective.” She laughed when she noticed the shocked look on his face. “But a reporter kind of does the same thing,” she continued. “Look at how many cases get solved because the story stays in the news, thanks to reporters. I’m sure if I contacted a reporter in Modesto or Sacramento with my story, Jeremy would have to do something. He’d hate having the press around.”

Avery stopped in mid-bite of his burger and stared at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Maybe that’s exactly what you should do. I know a few media people in Sacramento and San Francisco. You could tell your story and force Jeremy to listen to you.”

She shook her head. “No. I was only kidding. I don’t want to be the center of a big news story.”

“But this is a big story,” Avery said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first.”

Rachel set her fork down in her salad. “Please don’t, Avery. Please. I want to try to find out the facts quietly before it becomes a big story. If I get a bunch of attention, who knows what will happen.”

He nodded but looked disappointed. “Okay. I get