Gabby Revealed (Finding Perfect) (4 page)

C
hapter Six

Gabby slammed the utensil drawer shut only to open it back up, rummaging for her favorite wooden spoon. All the while, muttering a string of curse words and death wishes as she continued to finish what was supposed to be a quiet dinner for two. Two—as in, her and John.

“Where the fuck is it?” she asked the empty air around her. It was nothing special, a hand-me-down wooden spoon she’d gotten after her grandmother passed away. Its scratches and dark spots meant nothing to anyone else, but Gabby had learned to cook with it
while standing on a kitchen chair using it to stir bowls of batter or frosting. The thick wooden spoon was one of many items Gabby had inherited and treasured.

With a hand on either side of the drawer she gave it a quick tug and
made a mental note to add a new can of WD-40 to her shopping list. While she loved her loft above the store, its age showed. A sucker for inanimate objects, she simply purchased more grease instead of throwing out the old things.
Old things.
That thought made her circle around to the old man she may end up doing more than just throw out. The night was young, anything could happen. Rolling her eyes, she picked a different spoon and scooped the fluffy potatoes into a glass dish with a lid. She packed each piece of the meal into containers meant for travel and then stacked them tightly into a bag.

Stuck between wanting to serve John a hot meal and wanting to choke him, she pictured the smug grin tugging at
her friend’s face. His sideways glance at Shane made her want to reach up and slap the twinkle right off the New Yorker’s handsome face. If she didn’t know better she’d think they were in on it together. But Shane hadn’t known about John until the whole bathroom fiasco.

She’d been very careful about that, diligent in
keeping her private life private. Shane dug for details with every phone call, asked questions about her world in every email.

Gabby never answered.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. He had a nice voice and he was funny. Actually, he could be quite hysterical, not that she would ever let him know. She always steered the conversations back to business and escaped his pull as quick as she could. And that had worked, for almost five years. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how he found her. Shane was her agent after all. Her given name versus her pen name wasn’t the only vital piece of data he required, as well as where to send her royalty checks. Damn small town. They’d been behind the times in bringing in technology that allowed for direct deposit. So now, he was here. In her town, in her space, in her world.

Gabby had always been so worried about keeping her two identities as far apart from each other as possible. She never gave Shane’s flirting much thought in the past. It was obvious, she wasn’t stupid, she just didn’t reciprocate.

Leaning back against the tiled counter top, she took a steadying breath. With him in New York, she could tell herself he was an ogre or a pocket protector wearing geek with broken glasses. It didn’t matter that his voice was deep and warm, that his laughter seemed to break into her solitary world. She lied, telling herself he was a gigolo who flirted shamelessly with every woman he came in contact with like a man-whore. She was no one special, not to him, not to anyone. She was still the girl of her past—a nobody.

In person,
those lies crumbled faster than a building brought down by dynamite. His smile was contagious and his sincerity too hard to ignore. He’d immediately picked up on John’s place in her life and the flames of jealousy she’d tried to fan died out when he’d put the puzzle together. He was too smart for his own good. A Good Samaritan, Boy Scout, and male model wrapped into one sizzling hot package. A package John was apparently trying to push on her that included a pretty bow atop it.

Top it, top him, like
on top
of
him. Gabby’s mind went straight to the gutter—again. A tingle raced down her spine, making her twitch while standing still in her spot. Pushing off the counter, she was restless. It was John’s fault. And Shane’s. They’d conspired, and here she was, standing in front of her kitchen counter, covered with dirty pots and pans she’d used to make a meal that was sure to be used against her somehow.

“What the hell?”
she asked the empty room, used to the thin air not answering. Running her fingers through her hair, she stalled as her palms held her head. She had to calm down. This nervous wreck shit was going to be obvious, and John would be the happiest little camper to point out to Shane that she normally wasn’t like this. Cool, calm, and collected were gone, vanished at the mere thought of being close to him. “What am I going to do?” Gabby whispered.

Pacing, she glanced at the clock on the stove. She’d stalled long
enough; it was time to face the two men waiting for her in a little bungalow down the sidewalk. Heat rushed up her chest and over her cheeks. She didn’t want to be excited. She wanted to be mad as hell. Set up. Totally, shamelessly set up by…a knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.

Furrowing her brow
, she crossed the wood planks. The warped one by the door creaked like normal, announcing her to the person on the other side. No peephole needed in her town, she turned the antique handle and swung open the unlocked door.

Blinking, she was
stunned by his presence. “Shane? What the hell are you doing here?”

There was no metal to be heard as a chain slid from being taut, keeping the door secured from an intruder. Gabby didn’t ask who it was. She happened to open her apartment up to any old Joe who knocked. Like it was safe? With a scolding on the tip of his tongue, Shane took a deep breath and remembered he wasn’t in New York. He wasn’t in a big city where he had to stay on his toes. Hell, for all he knew the sidewalks in Renlend rolled up after dark.

“Hi
, darling.”

Her wide eyes told him more than her words, pink streaked across her face and
Gabby turned with a growl, leaving the door wide open for him. He assumed she meant him to follow, so he did. Her boots tromped across the scratched wood floor, her anger muffled momentarily by the braided rug she had by her leather couch, but once she’d crossed it, the noise her boots made bounced off the walls of her open space. If she thought she was fooling him, Gabby had another thing coming. However, Shane got a perverse thrill off seeing her fighting herself.

He shut the door behind him and neared her as she stood
at the kitchen sink, her back to him. Glancing around at her tidy loft, he took in the shelves full of picture frames and an eclectic mixture of books. A ladder-back chair in a corner held a stack of what had to be handmade quilts. It wasn’t full of tchotchkes, but it was homey, almost rustic. A place where he’d feel like he could put his feet up on her coffee table without getting yelled at like he had when he’d still lived with his parents. Hell, he’d gotten yelled at for touching anything glass for fear of leaving fingerprints. Shane pushed memories of his mother out of his head, this slice of Heaven wasn’t the place for the Queen Bitch or the Royal Dick he used to have as a father. Not when her couch looked soft and inviting. In that moment, he knew why he never went home to visit once he left for college. It never really bothered him if he worked late. He didn’t grow up in a home, and his shoebox-sized apartment sure as hell didn’t feel like a “home.” It was sleek and modern, and he spent an arm and a leg for his Manhattan address, but in this open, airy loft, of a woman he barely knew, he felt more relaxed and at home than he ever had before. His heart clenched, both pain of missing out and pain of wanting her. He needed to be away, far, far away from the East Coast and his last name. He needed space, air, and freedom to be happy.

Slamming the large
stockpot around in her ceramic sink shook Shane from his second epiphany in less than twenty-four hours. The steam started to rise from the faucet as Gabby scrubbed the pot, her muscles bunching as she waged a full-on attack. She’d yet to turn around and face him, let alone say a word to him. Judging by the shock on her face, when John invited him for dinner, Shane guessed Gabrielle James did not do surprises.

Normally Shane didn’t care for the unknown either. He liked things planned, organized
, and pre-arranged. With an estranged mother, his adult life was clean, compartmentalized, and revolved around his work. His love life consisted of a date here or there, but no deep relationships. Those would take him away from his passion—books.

Making his way around her exposed brick walls, he took in the wood shelves,
the spines of the books all neatly arranged and packed tightly. There were lots of pictures. Her life told without words, some in frames, some leaned against the books. But nowhere, on any one of the shelves did he find what he was looking for. He hadn’t meant to be nosy. But she wasn’t talking to him still, and Shane couldn’t help it. He wanted to see her work.

He had a copy of each and every one of her books. Not in his office, but at his home. Gabby though, did not. Nowhere could he find a piece of her that he knew, the side of her he was so proud of.

“Blow that out please.” He spun, starring at her. She pointed to the coffee table. “The candle, Shane. Can you blow it out so we can leave?”

Her anger had dissipated. She was still on her side of the room, leaning against the counter, but her shoulders weren’t set in her stubborn Gabby James attitude, her voice wasn’t as strong as he was used to. She was on to him. As he was her.

“Why?”

“Why what?” She crossed her arms over her chest, but her jaw didn’t clench like before. Her
blue eyes, as beautiful as they were, almost appeared sad.

She knew his question
, but was going to make him ask it. So he did. Shane had to know. “Where are your books?”

“On the shelves
,” she smarted back. Rolling her eyes, she pushed off the counter and busied herself with the already packed dinner.

“I don’t mean these”—he waved a dismissive hand around her home—“
I mean your books, Gabby. Your books, the ones you write. The ones I get published by the largest house in New York. The ones who’ve made you a household name. Where are your books?”

“I knew what you meant
, smartass.”

“I know you did
, darling.”

“I’m not—”

“Stop,” Shane interrupted her. She stalled in her mock packing and her chin dipped. “Gabby. Don’t fight me. I won’t let you hide from me.”

“You don’t know me, Shane. You know jack shit about me. You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do. I don’t owe you any explanations. You just show up in my place, you don’t ask, you don’t
warn—”

Shane crossed the room in less than twenty paces. There was no premeditation, no plan, no thinking. He grabbed her upper arms, the sleeves of her
T-shirt soft under his palms, her skin warm to his touch. Gabby’s eyes widened, her argument stilled as she blinked. Pulling her to him, he pressed his lips to hers.

Gabby was stiff in his hold, but Shane was unrelenting. It was his lower half controlling him now, willing him to beg for more. “Gabby
,” he whispered against her lips right before the tip of his tongue swept lightly over her satin-soft lower lip. She surrendered to him, parting for him, and he took over. Pulling her thin body against his, his tongue memorized her mouth, afraid he may never get another chance. It was as if the last few years had built up, the wanting for a woman who wouldn’t have him took over. Shane poured every part of him into that kiss, running his hands over her, holding her close, afraid of the moment it ended.

Reality hit him, as well has her open palms against his chest as she pushed off of him.

“What in the hell was that?” she asked, wiping her forearm over her mouth.

Shane wasn’t stupid
. She was wide-eyed and panting. For a small piece of time, she’d been all-in with him. She’d kissed him back with as much passion as he tried to show her. She couldn’t deny it. And he wouldn’t let her.

“Gabby, for years I’ve worked overtime at a job I love.
And one day I got a file thrown on my desk with a manuscript. On top a bright yellow sticky note said “read-this.” I didn’t have any appointments that afternoon, it was cold as hell outside, and I wasn’t in the mood to brave the wind to go out and get lunch. I peeled the note off and read the first page just thinking I’d see if I wanted to bother taking what was damn near a whole ream of paper home with me for the weekend. See, that’s who I am. A guy who loves to read and got lucky enough to make it in an industry in which I get paid to do just that.

“But one page turned into three hours and the next thing I knew the janitor was knocking on my door frame to let me know it had started snowing harder over the last hour. I hadn’t even noticed it had gotten dark, Gabby, let alone started snowing. I was so pulled into your world, so consumed
that I fell in love with this author I knew nothing about. Initials…I didn’t even know if you were a woman, except something told me you were.”

Gabby’s eyes widened, narrowed, the creases came and went across her face, her breathing increased as he drew her a picture of what the last f
ew years of his life had been like. Chasing an elusive angel he knew he had to have. There was something in her writing that fulfilled him, as if she was writing just for him. Pieces of her soul Shane linked together and saw the match they made to his own.