“I’m looking forward to seeing your place.” Especially your bedroom, I added to myself.
“Yeah, yeah. Come hungry. I’m making one of my mother’s recipes.”
And there I was thinking about her bedroom.
You’re an asshole. I chided myself as she clicked off.
I talked my cock down all day. We were atoning for our dirty thoughts by promising to be on our best behavior that night.
Gabrielle cooking one of her mother’s recipes was important to her. I was relieved that she’d told me before I’d arrived so I didn’t make an ass of myself if I didn’t like the food.
As I had predicted, Harper was exhausted when I picked her up from the birthday party. Mrs. W. cooked her an early dinner and assured me that she would call me if they needed anything.
Then, she practically shooed me out of my own goddamn door when I told her that I was having dinner at a woman’s house. She ignored my protests that it was too early to leave. She told me that a gentleman showed up on time and waved me off.
I ended up having to drive around Gabrielle’s neighborhood more than once to kill time until I remembered that I wasn’t a gentleman, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to drive around wasting time.
I pulled up to Gabrielle’s place 10 minutes early. It was huge, even by my standards. She even had a porte cochere. Most people wouldn’t expect me to know what it was called. I’d have bet money on it.
I parked underneath it and raised the brass knocker on her door. She ans
wered it quickly, looking like some kind of domestic goddess with her flour-covered apron and her hair pulled up in a loose bun. Tendrils of hair had escaped from it and framed her gorgeous face.
She broke into a wide grin. “You’re early.”
“Yeah, Mrs. W. might have gotten overly excited.”
She gave me a chaste peck on the cheek and then stepped back, motioning me into her house.
The design was unexpectedly similar to mine. Minus the toys and baby clutter, of course. Her place was done up in white and mint green, with professional-looking photographs lining the walls.
Soft throws had been placed over her couches, and the bookshelves that lined her living room were with filled with books that looked like she’d actually read them. A dirty coffee mug sat next to a mystery novel on her coffee table.
It was kind of endearing that she was willing to give me a peek into what she was like when she was alone, as opposed to having scrubbed the place cleaner than a hospital like so many other girls would have.
“Smells amazing in here.” It really did.
A slow flush spread on her cheeks as she took the compliment. “Thanks, I don’t make it as well as my mother did, but she got the recipe for paella on a trip to Spain, and she spent years perfecting it with ingredients that she could find here.”
“Sounds like you got your determination and dedication from her.”
A faraway smile played on her lips. “I guess so. Although you know as well as anyone how dedicated my dad is to his job.” The happy smile she had been wearing slipped from her face.
As if it was the most natural thing in the world, I reached out and cupped her cheek. “That must be why you have it by the boatload.”
She cracked a small smile. “Yeah, that has to be it.”
With a deep breath, she collected herself and led me to the kitchen. A center island housed the oven and stove with a sleek aluminum light hanging above it.
Several pots bubbled away, and a fresh loaf of bread sat on a cooling tray. I had to actively stop myself from drooling. We were definitely not getting takeout.
Gabrielle’s usual easygoing demeanor returned as she flitted about the kitchen, stirring the contents of some of the pots and turning up the soft music that flowed from built-in speakers. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure, I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one.” My mouth had turned drier than the Sahara as I watched her do her thing.
“I picked some up earlier.” She pulled a beer from her fridge and handed it over. “Let’s go sit.”
I followed her to her entertainment area in the backyard, where she’d set places at a massive wooden table. “You sure you have enough seating here?”