by Katie Ashley
Sitting down next to me on the couch, Gabe asked, “Did you come here to tell me off?”
“Excuse me?”
“Because I went behind your back and took the cannoli to the school.”
I widened my eyes at him. “Are you kidding me? I came here to thank you, like, eternally and from the bottom of my heart. I’m still in shock that you went to all that trouble. I mean, where did you possibly find cannoli here in the backwoods, least of all after nine o’clock?”
Gabe chuckled. “I called in a favor from a buddy of mine in Atlanta.”
“You went all the way to Atlanta last night?” I screeched.
With a shrug, Gabe said, “Yeah. Why?”
“That’s like five hours on the road.”
“It gave me time to think. I also made a few phone calls, listened to part of the new Stephen King book.”
I shook my head. “Now I feel even worse.”
“Don’t do that.”
“But you went to so much trouble.”
“Because I wanted to.”
Cocking my head at him, I asked, “Why, after you did something so wonderful for me, did you think I was here to tell you off?”
“I knew I was taking that risk after you made it very plain to me last night that you didn’t want my help.” Gabe shook his head. “But I couldn’t help it, Rae. I felt like I had to do something because it was partly my fault for distracting you and letting the brownies burn.”
At his reference to distracting me, warmth flooded my face. “Yes, you were quite good at distracting me.”
The smoldering look he gave me sent me squirming in my seat. “I would say I was sorry about that, but I would be lying,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
“Regardless of what happened, I wouldn’t want you to be sorry for that—ever.” I drew in a breath. “Me, on the other hand, I have a lot to be sorry for, starting with the way I freaked out on you.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
My mouth dropped open. “You do?”
“I may not have known you for long, Rae, but I do know what kind of woman you are.”
“And what kind is that?”
“The type who normally doesn’t almost have sex with a stranger.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much me. I mean, after the time we’ve spent together this past week, you’re not a stranger. It’s just…you’re not someone I’m actually dating.”
“And I get that. I really do.”
“You do?” I repeated.
“While I’m sure you think the sex fiend in me is pissed we didn’t get to finish what we started, that’s not what upsets me.”
Gabe’s responses continued to surprise me. “It’s not?”
“I got mad because you shut me out. You dismissed me like I couldn’t possibly help you.”
Wincing, I ducked my head. “I know, and it was wrong of me to do that. You were just being nice and trying to help me, and I freaked out and acted like a psycho.” I peeked up at him. “Outside of my father, I’m not used to having a man help me.” Every other man has let me down. That’s why I can’t trust men.
“I understand. I guess it’s just going to take time for you to trust me.”
“Yes, it is. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but I…” The truth was, my trust issues had begun even before I’d been so badly burned by Ryan. It went all the way back to when I was a three-year-old little girl, waking up one crisp September day to find my mother was gone. As the weeks turned to months, there was a reason I only trusted my dad, my sisters, and Aunt Sadie: they’d never left me. They’d never chosen something or someone over me.
But, Gabe hadn’t had any part in what my mother had done so many years ago. I couldn’t fault him for my past. I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Staring intently at him, I added, “But I am willing to try.”
“So am I.”
I jerked my chin at his guitar. “Were you working on something new?”
Shaking his head, Gabe replied, “More like polishing one from earlier in the week.” Reading what had to be my extremely curious expression, he asked, “Would you like to hear it?”
“I’d love to.”
With a nod, Gabe picked up the guitar. “For the record, I’m not the best singer in my family.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re a fabulous singer.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Gabe began strumming the tune I’d heard when I got to his door. “Trapped inside these walls, I made a prison all my own. Lost and confused, I was always so alone,” he began. While Gabe didn’t have an amazing voice, I instantly fell in love with its coarseness. He was like a cross between Bruce Springsteen and John Cougar Mellencamp.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the lyrics floating through the air. For someone who had claimed to be unable to write, Gabe had penned a breathtakingly raw love song about a man who was saved by the love of a woman. Tears pricked my eyes at the haunting quality of the tune.
When Gabe sang the last note, I didn’t know what to do. Considering how amazing the song was, it seemed cheesy to clap for him. Instead, I opened my eyes to let him see my tears. “Wow,” I murmured.
Tilting his head at me, Gabe asked, “Wow as in ‘Wow, that was a load of crap’ or ‘Wow, that was amazing’?”
“I can’t believe you even have to ask for clarification. Don’t the tears in my eyes tell you enough?”
“You could be crying because of how awful it was,” he countered.
I swiped my eyes. “Well, I’m not.”
A pleased look flashed in Gabe’s eyes. “It was really that evocative?”
“Oh Gabe, it’s beautiful. I love the symbolism of the man being a prisoner of his own insecurities, which causes him to be incapable of love—and then he finds the woman who sets him free.” I swept my hand to my heart. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“You know, you’re the first person to hear it outside of my family. I played it for Abby and Eli the other day.”
“What did they say?” I asked tentatively.
He grinned. “The same kind of things you did.”
I playfully nudged his leg with mine. “Then why did you doubt yourself?”
His expression slowly darkened. “Because I remain in a constant state of crippling self-doubt,” he said in an agonized tone.
I fought the urge to stare at Gabe in disbelief. I couldn’t believe the words that had just come from his mouth. I doubted anyone outside of his parents or siblings had ever heard them. He was so reluctant to share personal things about himself, but this confession made him appear very vulnerable before me, and my heart instantly went out to him.
“That seems to happen a lot to creative people, doesn’t it?” I questioned softly.
“It’s our cross to bear.”
“I wish I could take it from you—the self-doubt. Then you could have a clearly untainted few of how insanely talented you are.”
“What you said just now—that’s the other reason I wanted your opinion. You’re a fresh ear, someone who isn’t in the business.”
“I don’t know why you would want to listen to me. They’re the ones who know and understand music.”
“But you understand the emotion. Without an understanding and an appreciation for the emotion, a song is just a piece of music.”
“And that’s bad?” I questioned.
“To me it is. I want it to be an experience. When I write, I want my songs to be ones that take you back to a time or place or bring you comfort when you’re going through a really difficult phase.”
“That’s so intense,” I murmured.
Gabe chuckled. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve never met anyone who thinks as deeply as you do.” I shook my head at him. “It’s truly inspiring to hear you talk about songwriting.”
“You’re the inspiring one. Without you, this song wouldn’t have happened.”
“But how?” I murmured.
His lips curved into a smile. “Don’t you get it, Rae? You are the song. You’re within each and every line of the lyrics.”
I wanted to argue with him that the beautiful meaning conveyed in the words of his song couldn’t possibly be about me. I wasn’t any of the things the heroine was—I didn’t breathe life back into his dying body, didn’t free him from the prison he found himself in.
As if he could read my mind, Gabe said, “Yes, you did.”
Overcome by the emotion of the moment, I found myself stripped of the ability to speak. Although a myriad of emotions swirled in my mind, I couldn’t find a way to string them together. Instead, I closed the gap between us on the couch and threw my arms around Gabe’s neck before dipping my head to bring my lips to his.
I poured everything I couldn’t seem to say into that kiss—all the appreciation and the longing, all the gratitude and the wonder.
When I finally willed myself to pull away, I stared into Gabe’s hazy eyes. “Thank you for that,” he said as he brought a hand up to cup my cheek.
“You don’t have to thank me, silly. I’m the one thanking you—or at least I was trying to with my kiss.”
“You did a damn good job.”
I smiled. “I hope so.” I could have stayed like that—wrapped up with Gabe staring adoringly at me—for the rest of the morning, if not forever, but my phone ringing in my pocket took us out of the moment. As I dug it out, I didn’t have to look at the display to know who it was.
“Hey Dad,” I said.
“Where are you?”
“And hello to you, too.”
“It’s after nine. You’re never late.”
As Gabe teasingly shook a finger at me, I rolled my eyes. “Today’s the bake sale at Linc’s school. I had to stop by there.”
“Well, we’ve got an insurance adjuster here to look at that totaled Suburban.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“See you in a few, sweetheart.”
“Bye.”
When I turned back to Gabe, he smiled at me. “You have to go.”
“Unfortunately.”
He swept a loose strand of hair back from my face. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect for you to be able to stay. You do have a job and a life.”
Something in the way he looked at me made me sad. “I wish I could.”
“I know.”
After nibbling on my lip, I said, “You could come by later, if you wanted to. I have to go work the bake sale from noon to one, but after that, I’m free the rest of the day.” I laughed. “Well, as free as one can be at their job.”
Surprise filled Gabe’s eyes. “I thought you didn’t want me hanging out at the shop because I would stir up the men and confuse them about what’s going on between us.”
“They can say what they want to.”
He grinned. “I see.”
“Does that mean you’ll stop by?”
With a bob of his head, he replied, “Just as soon as I catch a nap.”
I grimaced. “Once again, I’m really sorry you lost sleep last night.”
“Trust me. This”—he motioned between us—“made it all worth it.”
“I hope so.”
When I started to get off the couch, Gabe pulled me back down against him. Cupping my face in his hands, he leaned in and kissed me. Although I could tell he wanted it to be more just as much as I did, he somehow managed to maintain his restraint. When he pulled away, he smiled. “See you later.”
“Sweet dreams.”
“They will be if they’re about you.”
Sweeping a hand to my hip, I said, “I said sweet dreams, not sex dreams.”
Gabe laughed. “Someone is pretty sure of themselves if they think I couldn’t have a dream about them without it being about sex.”
“I’m just speaking from experience.”
When Gabe’s eyes bulged, it was my turn to laugh. He popped off the couch like a jack-in-the-box. “You had a sex dream about me?”
“Maybe.”
He growled. “Don’t be coy now.”
“Fine then. You were very good in it. Does that make you happy?”
“Like how good?”
I waggled my brows at him. “Like I came in my sleep kinda good.”
A cocky smirk curved Gabe’s lips as he puffed his chest out. “So I was that good?”
I am so not answering that. “Now don’t go getting a big head. Just like with morning wood, women can have orgasms without any sexual stimulation.”
Gabe’s hand reached out to slide around my waist. As it started to dip down over my ass, he said, “I’m going to call bullshit on that.”
Pushing out of his reach, I wagged a finger at him. “It’s true. You can Google it.”
“I’m not saying the orgasm thing isn’t true—I’m calling bullshit that it wasn’t me who made you come.”
“Maybe. I guess we’ll never know.”
“We’ll just have to rely on the orgasms I give you when you’re awake.”
Yes, I’d be really happy to rely on those too. “I guess so.”
Tilting his head at me, Gabe asked, “You don’t sound so certain about that.”
“Oh, I’m certain about the orgasms you’ll give me.”
He grinned. “Okay, then what’s the problem?”
You, Gabe. But really, it wasn’t him—it was me. I hadn’t slept with anyone for the sake of sex alone since I was in my early twenties. I’d grown not only older since then, but also wiser. I wasn’t sure I could transition back to those early days, although Gabe had brought me awfully close to no-strings-attached sex—pun intended. I didn’t know what was the right way to tell him that while I wanted to slow down, I didn’t want to turn him off.
“I’m just not so sure I need them any time soon.”
“Ah, I see. You’re talking about putting the brakes on any more sexcapades.” Bingo.
I giggled. “Sexcapades? Seriously?”
“I’m pretty sure what we did on your kitchen counter last night would be considered a sexcapade.”
“Hmm, you’re probably right.”
“Of course I am.”
“Okay, Mr. Cocky, you still haven’t said whether you’re okay with slowing things down.”
“While I would prefer for us to stay in the fast lane, I’m totally fine with easing up a bit.”
The breath I’d been holding whooshed out of me in relief. “Thank you.”
With a wicked grin, Gabe waggled his brows. “You’d really be thanking me if I made you come.”
I rolled my eyes. “And on that note, I’m out of here.”
Gabe responded by playfully smacking one of my ass cheeks before pulling away. “I’ll see you later.”
After giving him a quick peck on the lips, I hurried out of the room. When I got to the top of the landing, Rejune scrambled off the bottom step where she had apparently been craning her head to eavesdrop.
When I passed her to go to the last landing of the stairs, I faked zipping up my jeans. “Have a good one, Mrs. Paulson.” I winked. “I know I will.”
Rejune’s face flushed blood red, and I had to duck my head to keep from laughing. I wondered if I would even make it back to work before people in town heard the latest gossip of how Reagan Hart was fornicating with the out-of-town country star in broad daylight—and on a Tuesday.
Three days later
I was in the middle of a hot-as-fuck sex dream about Rae when my phone woke me. At first, I thought it was my alarm since I was getting up early to have breakfast with Rae, but then I realized it was a call. “Hello?” I questioned drowsily.
“Good morning, Gabe. It’s Pierce.”
The mere sound of the label’s exec had me shooting up straight in bed. “Hey Pierce, how’s it going?”
“Good. I’m sorry to bother you so early, but I’ve just touched down at Hartsfield-Jackson. I was hoping to sit down with you and the band to hear your album’s progress before I head back to LA this evening.”
Fuuuuuck. This could not be happening. We weren’t supposed to meet with Pierce and the other execs for at least two weeks. While I might’ve had the songs written, it wasn’t like Abby, Eli, and I had gotten the chance to have any rehearsals. Sure, we’d done a few FaceTimes over the phone, but it was not the level of preparedness a perfectionist like me would like to have.
“Well, I don’t know. I’d have to speak with the others—”
“Xander and Paula have already been in touch with your brother and sister. They said they could be there, but I would need to check with you since you were out of town.”
“Yeah, I’m up in the mountains. It’ll take me a few hours to get back into town.”
“Would noon be enough time?” Like noon in two weeks’ time? Sure. Noon today? Hell fucking no.
“Sure. I could make it by then.” Yeah, I was a spineless asshole.
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Long after Pierce hung up, I held the phone in my hands, staring into space. While I should have been hauling ass to get packed up and out the door, I remained motionless. The only thing I could think about was Rae. What was going to happen to us if I left now? Things were just starting to flow, not to mention the cranked-up level of heat between us.
Since that day at the Grandview, we had been together each and every day. Although I wasn’t completely on board with no more make-out sessions, the universe had clearly conspired against me because Rae and I hadn’t found another long period of alone time. It seemed we were always accompanied by someone, be it Linc, her sisters, her dad, or the men at Hart and Daughter. My balls would’ve been turning the most brilliant color of blue if I hadn’t been treating myself to a few fantasy sessions staring Rae.
Considering I was on a time constraint to get back to Atlanta, it made more sense to call Rae to tell her I couldn’t make breakfast, not to mention that I was blowing town, but there was no way in hell I could be that big of an asshole. I had to say goodbye in person, had to tell her once again how much she had meant to my songwriting—and if I were honest with myself, how much she meant to me.