All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1)

“Oh my gosh, yes!”

“Which still does not have any data available to you and you can only call me, your dad, or Grandma, who is currently on an airplane, so you can call me if something were to happen.”

“Nothing is going to happen. I’ve totally got this.”

“We are going to the Lobster Shack,” I inform her, and write it down on the pad by the refrigerator. “I’m picking London up at seven, and I’ll be home by nine, which is before dark.”

“Well, that’s a boring date,” she says with a laugh.

“Don’t push me, Gabby. I shouldn’t leave you here in the first place.”

But the idea of not seeing London tonight makes me nuts.

Not that I would put Gabby at risk if I thought she couldn’t spend two hours by herself. She can, but she’s been so . . . challenging lately.

“You should leave me here. I have food, entertainment, and a way to reach you should there be an emergency.” She’s put her serious face on now, reminding me of the sweet girl that she’s always been.

Reminding me so much of her mother.

It’s so damn good to see her again.

“You’re funny, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m totally funny,” she agrees. “And you are going to be late if you don’t go.”

“I’m early. She lives right next door.”

She shrugs and takes a few slices of pizza on a plate into the TV room. “Girls don’t like it when a guy is late.”

“How do you know this?”

“I’ve seen movies,” she says. “Go have fun. I’m totally fine.”

“Yes, so you’ve said. Here’s your phone.” I hand it to her and watch as she turns it on with glee. She’s been grounded from using it for two months, only getting possession of it when she’s at a lesson or somewhere that she may need to reach someone. No chitchat with her friends.

“Can I text Larissa?” she asks.

“Who’s Larissa?”

“My best friend,” she says. “I haven’t talked to her in forever.”

“Or, you know, since school got out a couple of weeks ago.”

“Forever.”

“Yes, you can text her, and only her, unless you need to call me or your dad.”

She nods happily. I hope I don’t live to regret this.

I quickly change into jeans and a black button-down, check my hair, and then run downstairs to say good-bye to Gabby, who barely acknowledges me as she eats her pizza and texts with her friend.

She’s going to be okay.

I get in my car and make the quick trip over to London’s house, ring her bell, and wait for the gut punch that always happens whenever I see her.

She swings the door open, and sure enough.

Gut punch.

Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. Her dark hair is pulled back in a single braid and her blue eyes are wide, her cheeks a bit flushed. She’s in a simple blue sundress that manages to make her look even more petite than I remember her being yesterday.

Her legs are bare, and I can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like wrapped around my waist while she moans in my ear.

Settle down, Cavanaugh.

“Hey,” she says with a smile. “You’re a tiny bit early.”

“Gabby says girls like that.”

She laughs and walks away from me into the house toward the kitchen. She has a slight limp, but it’s getting better. I’ve hated watching her limp. Not because I’m an asshole, but because there’s literally nothing I can do to help her, and that’s just about the worst feeling in the world.

But it’s good to see how much progress she’s made in her recovery. She’s an incredibly strong woman.

“I just have to lock up back here and grab my bag,” she says, her back to me. “Is Gabby at her sleepover?”

“No, she insisted that she’s not feeling well enough for it, so I told her she could stay home.”

“Oh.” She stops cold. “She can join us.”

I smile at her kindness and cross to her, pulling her into my arms the way I did last night when she’d been so nice to Gabby. She’s so fucking small, but she fits against me perfectly. “No,” I whisper, and kiss her forehead. “She can’t. I love her, but it’s time I got some time alone with you.”

She takes a deep breath and fists her hands in my shirt at my sides, making me wish I could strip us both naked, boost her on this kitchen counter, and have my way with her.

But we’re not there quite yet.

“Does the Lobster Shack sound okay for dinner?” I ask, pulling away and breaking the sexual chemistry.

“Sounds delicious,” she says with a smile. “Let’s go.”

I lead her out, wait for her to lock her door and set the alarm, and then we’re on our way to the nearby restaurant.

“So does this mean that Gabby is alone?” she asks.

“It does.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I’m still not convinced this is a good idea.