One Step Away: Once Upon a Proposal

by Sherryl Woods

  “All right,” Gabe inserted. “Enough talk of hair. Go get in the truck. I’ll be there in a sec.” He gave Bobbie that smile again. “A movie awaits.”

  “Enjoy.” She reached for the door. “Wait. Is there a new key for the lock?”

  He shook his head. “It’s already keyed to match the old one.”

  She realized she was staring at his lips again. “Thanks. Yet again.” She smiled, feeling strangely awkward. As if he could read her mind.

  And maybe he could, because his smile widened slightly. “The pleasure was all mine.”

  Then he turned and went after his kids.

  And for the second time that day, Gabriel Gannon left Bobbie with a racing heart.

  Chapter 3

  “I’ll have a medium iced mocha with extra cream and a large iced tea.”

  Bobbie’s head whipped up from the inventory sheet she was completing when she recognized the voice on the other side of the counter. She left the paperwork on the tiny desk in the minuscule office and peered around the doorway.

  Yes. It was Gabriel, looking much more polished and no less devastating in a white button-down shirt and black trousers than when he’d been wearing worn jeans and a T-shirt while muscling her front door out of its frame. Before he could spot her, she pulled her head back into the office like some nervous turtle retreating into its shell.

  What was he doing here?

  She saw herself in the little mirror that Holly, the manager of Between the Bean, kept hanging on the wall in her office. At least her hair was contained in a ponytail. More or less. And she’d put on some makeup that morning before leaving the house.

  Then she rolled her eyes at herself. It wasn’t as if he’d come to the coffee shop to see her. All he’d done was order a drink for himself and his son.

  Chewing the inside of her lip, she tilted her head again, sliding centimeters forward until she could see once more around the doorway.

  “Bobbie?”

  She straightened like a shot when his gaze fastened on her across the array of pastries and oversized cookies displayed above the counter. “Gabriel.” She stepped out of the office, moving to the counter beside Doreen, who was preparing his order. “What a surprise.” She smiled at the boy standing at his side who was avidly eyeing an enormous chocolate-chip cookie. “Hello, Todd.” The boy was dressed in tan pants and a navy-blue polo shirt—clearly a school uniform.

  The boy grunted a greeting in return. “Can I have a cookie?” he asked his father.

  “Your mother will have enough of a fit when she finds out we stopped and got you a mocha.” Gabe handed the boy the change that Doreen had given him and pointed at the arrangement of chairs around a vintage video game in one corner of the small coffee shop. “You can play that game over there, though.”

  Evidently it was a satisfactory substitution, because Todd scooped up the coins and ambled over to the empty corner. Within seconds, the electronic beeps and chimes of the game began accompanying the funky music that was already playing through the sound system. Bobbie watched Doreen squirt a generous helping of whipped cream on top of the iced mocha drink. “For the boy?” Doreen asked and when Gabe nodded, she slid his tall glass of tea toward him then carried the mocha around the counter to deliver it to Todd.

  Bobbie’s curiosity couldn’t be contained, no matter how it made her look. And she couldn’t imagine what had brought him to this area of downtown. “What are you doing here?”

  Doctoring his tea with sugar—the real stuff—he slanted a glance at her through lashes that were ridiculously thick. “Getting a drink?”

  “Obviously.” She toyed with the narrow tie of her dark-brown apron. Since the day that he’d worked on her door, she hadn’t seen him again, though she’d come home last night after working a late shift for Tommi at the bistro to find that the cracked linoleum in her minuscule bathroom had been replaced by silky-smooth travertine. He’d left a note tucked against the mirror that he’d be back soon to finish it up. “I’ve just never seen you in here before.” She would have definitely remembered him, even before the kissing attack.

  “I had to pick up Todd from school. He attends Brandlebury Academy.”

  It was a prestigious private school. She drove by its ivy-covered walls every day on her way to the coffee shop. And it most certainly was in the area.

  Which meant that Gabe hadn’t been seeking her out, after all.

  She didn’t like acknowledging the disappointment that swept through her, so she smiled more brightly than ever. “Some of Uncle Harry’s older grandchildren attend Brandlebury,” she said. “I hear it’s an excellent school.”

  Gabe’s dark brows pulled together for a moment. “For the cost, it ought to be. Wouldn’t those grandchildren be your cousins?”

  “Yes, I guess they would be. But Harry’s not really my uncle. He’s a family friend.”

  Doreen snorted softly as she returned to the counter and picked up the rag she’d been using to polish the glass counters. “And wouldn’t we all like to have Harrison Hunt as a family friend?”

  Gabe gave Bobbie a startled look. “Harrison Hunt is your Uncle Harry?”

  Bobbie gave Doreen an annoyed glare that didn’t faze her coworker in the least, though she fortunately moved out from behind the counter and over to the windows that overlooked the sidewalk and began polishing them. Doreen knew about Harry only because of the coffee that Bobbie delivered to him several times a week. She also knew that the relationship wasn’t one that Bobbie necessarily wanted to advertise.

  People expected things from you—things you couldn’t provide—when they learned you were all but family to one of the wealthiest men in the country. Even people you thought you could trust.

  She blocked off the thought and focused on Gabe, who was still staring at her with surprise. “Yes,” she admitted shortly. “Harrison Hunt is my Uncle Harry.”

  “Fiona never mentioned that,” Gabe murmured.

  “Why would she? It’s not as if Uncle Harry—or HuntCom—has anything to do with Fiona’s agency.”

  Gabe still looked a little bemused. “Considering how often Fiona does talk about you, I’m surprised it didn’t come up even just in passing.”

  “Fiona talks to you about me?” Now it was her turn to be surprised.

  “You’re one of her favorite people,” Gabe said. “Yeah, she talks about you quite a bit.” He didn’t use a straw to drink his tea, but lifted the cup to his lips instead. “It’s good.”

  They sold gallons of the brew every day, so she’d assumed it was passably drinkable. “Fiona is one of my favorite people, too,” she said truthfully.

  He looked at her over the cup, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Then we have something in common.”

  She suddenly felt a little breathless and she quickly began reorganizing the collection of stirrers and coffee cup lids sitting on the counter. “Do you always pick up your son from school?”

  The smile lines around his eyes disappeared so instantly that she almost wondered if she’d imagined them in the first place. “No.”

  That was all. Just no. Which left her feeling like she’d awkwardly put her foot in her mouth, without even knowing why. Nothing new there. Saying the wrong thing was her specialty. Always had been.

  She moistened her lips and pulled a fresh sleeve of small coffee lids from beneath the counter. “Thanks for the work you did in the bathroom. The tile looks great.”

  “I still need to grout it. I’ll come by Saturday morning if that works for you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Dad.” Todd had left the video game and stopped next to Gabe. “Can I get more whipped cream?” He held up his cup.

  “One helping was enough.”

  The boy’s brows drew together, and Bobbie realized that Gabe’s son d
id share more than just the color of his father’s eyes. He had the same expressions. “It’s, um, no big deal,” Bobbie offered softly. She pulled the can from its refrigerated slot behind her and held it up.

  Gabe’s gaze went from Bobbie to his son and back again. “Okay.” He took Todd’s cup and handed it over to Bobbie. “But just this once.”

  Todd’s expression went straight to shock, giving Bobbie the sense that Gabe didn’t often give in once he’d made a decision. She added the extra helping of cream and slid the drink back to Gabe, wishing that her interest in the man wasn’t increasing with every encounter they had. She had no desire to change the zero status of her love life. Not when she still felt the bruises from Lawrence’s defection.

  “What do you say?” Gabe prompted his son and the boy gave Bobbie a brilliant, grinning “thanks,” before carrying his drink with him back to the video game.

  Doreen had disappeared into the back storeroom and the rest of the shop was still unoccupied. Yet there was no earthly reason for Bobbie to feel as if she and Gabe were suddenly the last two people on earth. Alone, together.

  She couldn’t help but smile a little at her own nonsensical thought.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” She pushed the sleeve of lids back beneath the counter—the holders were already full. She pushed her hands into the patch pockets of her apron to keep from fidgeting. He had his iced tea. His son had his mocha with extra, extra cream. So why wasn’t he going on his way? “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  It wasn’t often that Gabe found himself struggling for words. Unfortunately, that day, it had happened twice. The first time had been when he’d heard his attorney’s thoroughly crazy and unwelcome advice that he find himself a wife—and fast. And the second time—now—when he was faced with the young woman he realized could possibly help him get around the attorney.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Todd was completely occupied with the game in the corner. He looked back at Bobbie, who was watching him with those changeable gray eyes of hers. “Would you like to have dinner tonight?”

  Her lips parted softly. “I...can’t. I’m sorry.” Her silky lashes swept down for a moment. “I’m helping to cover a shift at my sister’s bistro this week.” She looked up at him again and a hint of pink crept into her cheeks. “Maybe another time?”

  He couldn’t afford to wait a week. “What time are you finished at the bistro?”

  “Between ten and eleven, usually.”

  “Where’s it located? I could give you a lift home.”

  Her eyes narrowed a little. Her voice cooled—entering the same territory it had been in when she was dealing with her wannabe suitor, Tim. “I have a car.”

  “This is coming out wrong,” he admitted, exhaling. “I’m not trying to sound like a stalker.”

  She shifted and placed her palms flat on the gleaming glass countertop. Her fingers were long and slender, the nails cut short and unvarnished. The only jewelry she wore was a narrow watch with an equally narrow leather band. “Why don’t you tell me what this is, then?”

  “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Somewhere a little more private.”

  “Is Fiona all right?”

  “Yeah,” he assured quickly. “Fine as always. This doesn’t concern her at all.” He lowered his voice. “It’s about my children, actually.”

  The wariness didn’t entirely leave her face. She looked over at Todd. “What about them? I suppose Fiona told you that I had a job as a nanny a few years ago, but—”

  “No, actually, she hasn’t. But child care’s not the kind of help I’m looking for.”

  “Then what—”

  “I’ll tell you everything, just not here. Not now.”

  Her gaze dropped to the counter, to his hand, which had covered hers. Then she looked up again, her shoulder moving in a faint shrug beneath the gleaming brown ringlets spilling over it. “All right.” She slipped her hands from beneath his and tucked them back in her apron pockets. “If it can’t wait until you come to work on the floor this weekend, you can meet me at Tommi’s place. The Corner Bistro.” She told him where it was located. “If you want the best meal you’ve ever had, then come early before she shuts down the kitchen.”

  He wasn’t worried about finding a good meal. He was worried about losing his children for good. “Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Then, before he could second-guess what he was even contemplating, he peeled Todd away from the game, and quickly left.

  * * *

  “You wanted a private place to talk.” Bobbie untied the red apron from her hips and neatly folded it before sitting down across from Gabe. “You’ve got it.”

  All of the other tables in her sister’s small bistro had been emptied. The other servers had finished their duties and departed for the evening. Even Tommi—after sending ping-ponging looks of concern between Bobbie and the lone man occupying a table near the wine bar—had finished her tasks in the kitchen and gone to her apartment upstairs, leaving Bobbie the responsibility of locking the back door after herself when she left.

  “Want a glass?” He held up the wine bottle that was sitting in the center of the table.

  Drinking one of her sister’s very excellent wines was one thing. Drinking that wine while alone with the man she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about was another. She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  He refilled his own glass. His dishes had been cleared away—by Bobbie herself, who’d prayed all evening that she wouldn’t do something stupid, like spill his entree in his lap. It was one prayer that she’d been granted, at least. “Only thing better than a good wine is a cold beer. And you’re right about the food,” he offered now. “Your sister is a remarkable chef.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.” She was immensely proud of her sister’s accomplishment where the Bistro was concerned. But she didn’t want to talk about Tommi. “So, what is it, exactly, that you wanted to talk to me about?”

  He took a sip of his wine. He’d abandoned the fine slacks and shirt of that afternoon and replaced them with black jeans and a thickly woven black sweater with the sleeves shoved up his forearms. The sturdy watch circling his sinewy wrist gleamed in the soft light coming from the wine bar as he set the glass down again, and she had to swallow a little. He was so incredibly masculine.

  “My ex-wife’s husband is a corporate lawyer,” he said, managing to jerk her from the entranced haze she was in danger of slipping into. “He’s been offered a prestigious contract in Europe that will run for at least the next five years.”

  Since he’d left the coffee shop that afternoon, Bobbie had mentally run through at least a dozen scenarios about what Gabe wanted to discuss. His ex-wife’s husband had not been one of them. “Um...congratulations to him?”

  Gabe’s lips twisted. “I know. This makes no sense to you. What has Fiona told you about me?”

  “Besides you being successful and very, very eligible?” His hooded blue gaze sharpened on her face and she managed a wry smile that hopefully hid the shivers dancing down her spine. “We’re usually busy talking about what’s going on at Golden Ability. It doesn’t seem to leave a lot of time to chatter about her family. Or mine.” She reasoned that the white lie was better than admitting how much his grandmother praised his qualities.

  His dark head tipped a few centimeters. “My wife and I divorced nearly eight years ago.” He slowly turned the wineglass on top of the white linen table covering. “It wasn’t what you’d call amicable.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I share plenty of the responsibility in that,” he admitted. “But that’s beside the point. What is the point, are my kids. Steph was awarded custody of them when we split. The ink was barely dry on our divorce decree when she became Mrs. Ethan Walker, and then w
ithin a year they’d moved to Switzerland. It had been hard enough to keep her to the terms of my visitation before she moved, but after—” He shook his head. “A few years ago, though, her husband’s job brought them back here to Seattle. Supposedly to stay, so I decided to move here, too. It was the only sure way I had of reminding my kids that I was their father—not just some guy who came to visit for a few days once a year.”

  Bobbie’s heart squeezed at the pain on his face.

  “Anyway, my business partner remained in Colorado, and I started up another branch here. We’re making it when a lot of companies aren’t, but it hasn’t been easy.”

  The shivers that had been dancing down Bobbie’s spine suddenly felt like jagged little spears instead, as realization dawned. “Harrison Hunt might be a family friend, but I have no influence when it comes to HuntCom.”

  Gabe’s brows yanked together. “What are you talking about?”

  She sat up straighter in her chair. “It’s not like I don’t understand. Or...or sympathize. Even in this economy, HuntCom still has building projects going on all over the world.” If they weren’t building a new manufacturing facility for themselves, they were building something else. She knew, because she had to make an appearance at least once a year at the board of directors’ meeting, at which time she always gave her proxy to Gray, who’d been running the privately-held company since Harry’s health had forced him into retirement. “But the best I can do is get you a name.” She’d have to call Harry and find out who the chief architect was now. Since J.T.—one of Gray’s younger brothers—had vacated the position to hang out his own shingle in Portland, she couldn’t even hazard a guess who was responsible for the property development arm of the enormous company.

  “I’m not looking to do business with HuntCom,” Gabe said slowly. “Is that what you expected?”

  “It’s what most people expect once they realize I have a connection there.” Her chin lifted. “You’re hardly the first.” Lawrence had simply been the most recent.