She turns to look at me. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, subservient, I guess.”
She lets out a laugh. “That’s a big word.”
“It means doing whatever she tells you.”
She glares at me, although I think I detect a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Thank you. I know what ‘subservient’ means. I went to college, you know.”
Her bottom lip is sticking out. I resist the urge to smooth it with my thumb. Instead, I say, “Good for you.”
She looks out the window. The car is crawling through the streets, traffic almost bumper-to-bumper around us. It’s obvious I’ve stirred something up for her. What was I thinking, getting personal? It’s none of my business. I’m wound up from meeting Rex and saying the wrong thing. I’ve got to chill out, forget about what’s going on. “Gabby? I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She turns and offers me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “No. It’s fine. It’s just a bit of a raw topic for me, that’s all.”
“I had a boss on my first construction job who was a real tool.” I glance at her for a reaction to my weak pun. Not even a hint of a smirk. “There are other jobs, you know.”
She twists her hands in her lap. “It’s not that easy.” She brightens. “I hate to admit it, but I’m so jealous you get to perform at The Garden with Rex Randall. I mean, what an incredible experience.”
It’s an abrupt change in subject. I take it as a sign to let my line of questioning go. Although I should know better, I want to know more about her. Her story. More specifically, I’d like to know how she’d look wearing the shoe she has in that yellow bag. My guess is she’d look goddamn spectacular.
“Performing with Rex Randall will do so much for your career,” she continues when I don’t reply.
“My career is in construction, so I’m not real sure how performing with Rex Randall is going to help that, exactly.”
“So, you do actually work construction?”
I nod. “I didn’t make that up, or my first boss being a tool.” I place my hand over my heart. “True story.”
“But I thought—” She frowns. “I thought you were a musician. Isn’t that why you’re playing with Rex at the concert?”
There’s something about this girl that makes me want to trust her, to open up and tell her my story. And it’s not just because she’s got me wanting to kiss her—and I do want to kiss her, more and more the longer I spend time with her.
It’s more than that. A spark, a hint at the person she might be. Whatever it is, I think better of it. Recent bitter experience has taught me to be cautious. To hold back. I’m not about to tell some girl I only just met about the biggest, craziest thing to happen to me in my entire life.
“Music is a hobby for me, it’s something I love to do,” I say. “I mentioned that YouTube video of me. One of Rex’s people saw it. The guy with the man bun. Thanks to that clip, I guess I became a special import.”
She giggles. It’s girly and cute, and I’m not going to deny it does things to me. “You make it seem like you’re an expensive wine or something.”
“Yeah. That’s what I am. An expensive wine.”
Her pretty eyes sparkle, lighting up her face, and I want to say things to make them do that again.
The cab comes to a stop, and Gabby says, “We’re here.”
We climb out onto the sidewalk where I lift my eyes to a sign above a door: The Cobbler King. “Your band manager sure likes the idea of royalty, doesn’t she? The Pop Princesses, The Cobbler King, that bag with the frog wearing a crown.”
She shrugs. “Oh, that’s Sylvia all right. She likes to think she’s better than everyone. Being a queen would prove to her that she was. But if she’s a queen, my battered-up sneakers are glass slippers.” She holds the bag up. “I’ll just drop this off. Want to come in or wait out here?”
“I’ll come with you.” I step forward and hold the door open for her.
“You’ve got old-fashioned manners, haven’t you?”
“Where I’m from, we just call them manners.” I breathe in her floral scent as she breezes by me into the store.
Inside, Gabby’s delicate aroma is replaced by the overwhelming stench of shoe polish, glue, and foot odor. It’s a potent combination, enough to make your eyes water. A large man behind the counter looks up at us as the door chimes. His face lights up when he recognizes Gabby.
“Gabby Davis! It’s good to see you again.”
How often does this girl have to go to a cobbler that this guy recognizes her?
“How are things with you?” His accented voice is deep, Mediterranean maybe? Not having traveled, my knowledge is gleaned from TV and movies.
“I’m great, thanks, Stavros. How’s Elena? And the kids?” She plunks the yellow bag down on the counter.
“Good, good. Everyone is good. What about you?” He glances my way. “You bring new friend?” He has a curious smile.
“Oh, this is Cole Grant. He’s a musician.”
He nods at my guitar, which I’ve slung over my shoulder. “I can see that.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” I nod at him.
Stavros’s amused eyes land on Gabby. “He’s not from New York, is he?”
“Nope. First time in the city. Cole’s from Tennessee.” She leans in closer to him, her hands on the counter. “But don’t worry, I have it on good authority most of his teeth are his.” She turns back to me. “Isn’t that right, Tennessee?”
“All but one.” I feel my grin stretching. This girl has spunk, and I’m liking her more and more—despite the pile of reasons I know I shouldn’t.
“Stavros and my dad go way back,” Gabby explains. “High school, right, Stavros?”
“Oh, yes. We grew up in Astoria in Queens, although he has moved up in the world in the last twenty years,” Stavros says to me. “Is he back, yet?” he asks Gabby.
“No.” She shakes her head, her body stiffening.
Huh. Her dad’s absence must be a sore point.
“Right, this shoe,” she continues. “See how this strap has snapped? And the sole’s coming away here?”
As Gabby and Stavros discuss the finer details of the sandal, my eyes slide down her body, taking in her shoulders, the way her back tapers to her slim waist, and her perfectly round butt—just like a peach, as the saying goes, definitely good enough to bite.
Uneasy with myself, I clear my throat and look away. I’m not here for a girl. But dammit, part of me wishes I was. Having a fling with Gabby, no matter how short, would be a lot more fun than navigating this shitstorm. A whole lot more fun.
“When can I get it?” she asks.
“Sweet girl, I have many, many customers, all wanting everything ready as soon as possible. Always in big hurry in this city. Rush, rush, rush.”
“I know. It’s because you’re amazing at what you do. Do you think you could manage to get it done quickly, though? Please?”
I know he’s going to cave, even before he does. I bet most men would find it hard to say no to Gabby Davis. It’s not because she’s flirting or pouting. And it’s not because she’s trying. Nope, she’s sweet and sincere and real.
It’s a potent combination.
Stavros gives in. “For you, Gabby, of course. I have it ready today. You come back in one hour, maybe two.”
“Today? Thank you!” She reaches across the counter, takes hold of his shoulders, and pulls him in for a kiss on the cheek. “I was thinking tomorrow, but today is awesome.”
Yup, sweet and sincere.
Shit.
Stavros blushes and smiles. “All right, all right. I see you later, then, Gabby and Cole. Bye bye.”
“You’re the best. Thanks,” she tells him before she turns to me. “Let’s go.” As we exit the shop, me holding the door for her once again, she says, “Can you give me a few more minutes? I’ve got to do something.”
“Okay.” Until that message from Nashville arrives, I’ve got nowhere else
to be.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” she says before dashing down the street, becoming instantly obscured by passersby. Not knowing what to do, I find a place in the shade to wait and people watch. It’s very educational, with a real mix of people, from students to corporate types, tourists to kids.
Less than ten minutes later she’s back and wearing a different colored T-shirt. It’s soft pink and hugs her curves. The deep V neckline encourages my eyes to trail down her body. It’s so different from the shapeless T she was wearing before, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t do things to me.
“Where’d you get that?”
“There’s a Gap three stores down. I couldn’t keep wearing that shirt. Bonus! It was on sale.” She pulls some tags off I hadn’t noticed, because I’d been too darn busy checking her out, and tucks them into her pocket. “Want to kill an hour or so, until you get your text message?”
I quickly check my phone, surprised I’d forgotten to look. “No message. I’m all yours.”
“Good. I can give you some time and then I’ve got something I need to do.”
“Sure. With one caveat.”
“What’s that?”
“I get to play tourist for a while.”
She rolls her eyes. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Yup. This is my first trip to New York, and I want to see some stuff.”
“Just as long as I get to be the tour guide. Nothing cheesy.”
“Not even a whiff?”
“Dude.” She folds her arms over her chest and cocks her head. “You’re talking to a New Yorker here, born and bred.”
I put my hands up in the air. “Okay. I wouldn’t want to offend your delicate New York sensibilities. Nothing cheesy, and you can play tour guide.”
“Thank you. And while we’re on the topic, one other thing: no more ‘Big Apple’ references, ’kay?”
I nod my agreement before we begin to walk down the street.
“You know you’re pretty darn lucky.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not every day you get a New Yorker showing you ’round this amazing city.”
And it’s not every day I get to spend time with a cute and sexy fireball like Gabby.
Our eyes hold for a moment, and I’m surprised to realize this is the most “me” I’ve felt around a woman in, hell, I don’t know. A very long time. I could get used to this.
Another cab ride later—seriously, you could spend a fortune in this city just getting from A to B—we arrive at the edge of what I’ve got to assume is Central Park. Mature trees and a low stone fence give way to a winding path and lush green grass. The tranquility is the opposite of the hustle and bustle of the city. It’s calming, familiar. I hadn’t even realized I was missing the wide-open spaces of home until I set foot here.
“Welcome to Central Park,” Gabby says. “I come here a lot. It’s kinda my place.”
I glance around at the different groups of people—walkers, runners, and loungers—all out enjoying the sun. Teasing, I point out, “Looks like it’s a lot of other people’s place, too.”
“What do you expect, Tennessee? This is Manhattan. Population one and a half million, give or take a hundred thousand. All on this one small island.”
“That’s a crazy amount of people for one small space. How big is Manhattan?”
“I dunno, use your cell phone!” The tone of her voice once again implies that I’ve got no clue about technology.
Enjoying the repartee, I play along. “So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that not only is my phone mobile, but it can tell me things, too? Like how many square miles Manhattan is? How have I gotten through life without you, Kermit?”
She laughs. “Again with the Muppet thing?” I shrug, enjoying this. “As I said, you’re lucky to have me.”
“Next thing you’ll tell me there are these large metal things with wings that can fly, or that there’s an alternative to horses and buggies for getting around.”
She pats my shoulder. “Ah, Tennessee. So much to learn.”
It’s weird but being patronized by this girl is fun.
We amble along a path, winding our way through the park. I take in a deep breath, the knots in my shoulders loosening, the tension of the last twenty-four hours beginning to drain out of me. I put it down to the surroundings, but I know the girl at my side has a lot to do with it, too.
I sense Gabby’s gaze on me. “You like it here,” she says.
I put my hands up in surrender. “What can I say? You got me.”
“I thought you would. You look the type.”
I raise my eyebrows. “The type?”
“Outdoorsy. You know, loves dirt and bugs and crap.”
I laugh. “Dirt and bugs and crap?”
“You know what I mean. Nature and stuff.” She chucks me on the arm. I like it, although I’d prefer something more than a punch to the arm from her right about now.
Down boy.
“Is that why you brought me here? Because you thought I liked nature?”
“Everywhere in Manhattan is so busy, there’s so much going on. You had a deer in headlights look earlier, and I don’t think it was because of the smoothie incident.”
A deer in headlights is exactly the expression I used to describe how I felt today. Man, I gotta work on looking less like a freaking deer. What is that? A butting ram?
“Plus, it’s not far from where I need to be in about thirty minutes,” she continues.
“Aha! The real reason.”
She slows her pace, coming to a stop. “Hey, Tennessee? Can I ask you a favor?” Her playful demeanor vanishes, her voice becoming quaky.
I prick up my ears. “Sure, what is it?”
She presses her lips together and shakes out her hands. “Here’s the thing.” I wait. She lets out a deep breath, looking nervous. “I’m just gonna come out and ask you.”
“All right.” I bite back a smile. Nervous Gabby is adorable.
“You can say no if you want. I’d totally understand.”
“Okaay.” I pause. “Whatever it is, I promise I won’t bite.”
“Good to know.” She scrunches up her face and quickly says, “So, you know how you said you like my voice?” I nod. “Well, I really want to sing, you know, for a living. Cutting a super long story short, Sylvia had made a promise I could be a part of the Pop Princesses, but that promise is well and truly broken now.”
“I’m not catching your drift. Where do I come in with all this?”
“I-I was hoping you could introduce me to Rex, see if he will listen to my music. That way maybe I can get in front of the record label. I’m good, I promise you, I have a lot of my own material ready to go, and I want this more than anything.”
The appearance of hope on her pretty face is enough to melt my heart. But introducing some girl to the father I’ve just met isn’t a priority for me right now, no matter how much I’m beginning to like her. “Look, Gabby, I’m sorry. I’ve only just met the guy, and it’s a, well, it’s a sensitive situation.”
“Okay. No problem. I totally understand,” she mumbles as she forces a brief smile. Her face falls and I’m all torn up. This clearly means a lot to her, and I don’t have the heart to say no—even though I have no clue if Rex would be open to it. But hell, there have got to be some perks to being the newfound son of a high-profile pop star.
And anyway, helping Gabby feels good. It feels right.
“You didn’t let me finish. As I said, I’ve only just met him, so why don’t you give me a couple of days and I’d be happy to see if I can help. Does that work for—”
Before I have the chance to finish my sentence, she literally launches herself at me, leaping off the ground. She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me tight. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me.
It feels good. Too good.
“Thank you! Thank you! You’re the best!” She beams at me, her beautiful eyes bright. She f
eels amazing pressed against me, and I return her smile, enjoying the happiness emanating from her, knowing I’m responsible for it.
And then, in a split second, there’s a shift between us. I glance down at her lips and notice they’re parted. My heart begins to pound as the sights and sounds of the park around us fade into nothing. I slide my eyes back up to hers. They’re electric, intense.
She feels it, too.
She presses her lips into a line and blinks, breaking the spell, the moment gone. I lower her back to the ground, and she slips out of my grasp. She steps back and puts space between us.
Which is just as well. I’m not here for a girl.
Although, right here and now, standing in Central Park with this beautiful, mysterious woman, who only moments ago felt so right in my arms, I couldn’t help but wish I was.
Chapter 7
Gabriella
What the heck?
As I force myself to pull away from Cole, I fight the almost overwhelming desire to step back into those big, enveloping arms—despite my rising panic. I cannot do that. I need to keep myself safe. I need to draw a firm line under whatever that was about to become.
But oh, my. His arms wrapped around me felt incredible, awakening a need in me I’d not felt in a long, long time. And I bet those lips of his would feel amazing brushed against mine as I breathed in his manly scent, his firm, muscular body pressed against me—
Ahem.
Where was I?
Something about a line . . .?
That’s right. I was drawing a firm line. A line between asking Cole to help me out with my career, and not doing anything I might come to regret. Because no matter how good it felt to touch him just now, I know it’s a line I can’t cross. Sure, Cole seems like a great guy, and the good Lord knows he’s a total smokehouse. But he’s a musician, playing with a huge pop star, only in New York for a whistle-stop tour. Getting myself tangled up in him will only complicate things for me.
And the last thing I need in my life is more complications.
Standing at a safe distance, I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, as if doing so will somehow magically erase what just passed between us. First I throw drinks all over us, then I hurtle myself at him like an overexcited puppy. He must think I’m a total idiot—or worse yet, some groupie.
Manhattan Cinderella Page 7