It took her a moment to reply. “Wow. Thanks, Tess. That actually makes me feel better.” A sob thickened her throat that she managed to hold off. After her miserable morning with Cruz, this helped. “I’ve actually had a pretty crap day.”
“I can imagine. I saw the article. So what are you going to do about it?”
“Do? What can I do?”
“Oh, Gabby. You’re the smartest person I know. You can figure your way out of this. You like Cruz Walsh, right?”
Gabriella hesitated, staring at her sister uncertainly.
Tess rolled her eyes. “C’mon. You’ve always liked him.”
“You knew that?”
“We lived in the same house, Gabriella. I may not be as smart as you, but yeah. I knew how you felt about Cruz.” Tess gazed at her pensively. “Are you in love with him?”
After a moment, she nodded and the sob she had been holding back broke through. Tess stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Together, they started walking toward the house. “C’mon. We’ll get your man.”
“No. He’s done with me.” She wiped at her eyes. “I’m moving back to Austin,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure about that or anything anymore. She’d just quit her job she had waiting there, after all.
“I don’t think either of those things are true,” Tess remarked.
She mulled that over. Could she stay here? In Sweet Hill? Where people still thought of her as Flabby Gabby? As soon as the thought entered her mind, another one immediately popped up.
I’m not Flabby Gabby.
The voice wasn’t loud or even insistent. It was just a fact.
She had never been Flabby Gabby.
Cruz had liked her back then. There had been nothing wrong with her when she was a teenager. There was nothing wrong with her now.
She looked at her sister and then her gaze drifted to where Nana stood on the porch, Trent and Dakota beside her. She had family here who loved her. They weren’t a perfect family, but they loved her.
And she loved Cruz.
She wasn’t going anywhere. Whether Cruz loved her or not, she was staying right here.
This was home.
Twenty-Three
The following morning, Gabriella woke up early. She showered, dried and styled her hair, and actually wore clothes that made her feel like a human being again. A human with purpose.
Nana was already up and eating breakfast. Gabriella pressed a kiss to her papery-thin skin. “I’ll text you and let you know when I’m going to be home.”
“All right. Knock ’em dead.”
A smile quirked her lips. “I’ll try.” She gave her lipstick a check in the hall mirror and then headed out.
She drove past The Daily Grind, noticing Jabal’s car in the parking lot. She’d pop in on the way home. She was craving her signature drink and she wanted to make sure Jabal knew she wasn’t mad at her.
She turned into the parking lot of the Sweet Hill Recorder and took the same parking spot beneath the old oak tree where she had parked every day of summer when she worked at the Recorder in high school. Only a few other cars were in the lot, but she recognized Mr. Brown’s PT Cruiser.
She walked through the front door, marveling how her life had come full circle.
“Gabby Rossi!” Mr. B rose from his desk where he was working at his computer. “How lovely to see you.”
“Hello, Mr. B.” She inhaled and glanced around the building before meeting his gaze again. “I’m ready to work.”
Cruz’s front door flung open and slammed shut. He emerged from his bedroom just as Piper blew into the room, waving a newspaper above her head.
“Hey there, Piper. I guess you never heard of knocking.”
“Cruz, Cruz!” She brandished the paper above her head.
“Piper,” he returned evenly, unmoved.
He’d been fairly unmoved for the last week. Ever since Gabriella left. Correction: ever since he ran her off.
“You have to see this.”
She slapped the paper on the table, her finger stabbing it repeatedly.
“Right now? I need to head to the gym.”
“Cruz!” She propped both hands on her hips. “Sit down and read this paper right now!”
With a sigh, he sank down and dropped his gaze to the paper she shoved toward him.
Instantly the very professional-looking photograph of Gabriella in the top corner caught his eye. He tensed. “Really, I don’t want to read any more stupid—”
“It’s not stupid!” she shrieked. “Just shut up and read it, you big dumb man!”
Scowling, he returned his gaze to the paper and read with great reluctance, thinking as soon as he finished, he could get Piper out of his hair.
Dear Sweet Hill:
I grew up in this town. Some of you might remember me as Flabby Gabby. That was my nickname in high school. My peers would gleefully call me this to my face. As you can imagine, high school wasn’t the best time of my life; some days it was a nightmare, but I survived it mostly because of Cruz Walsh. That strong, silent boy, elusive and beautiful in every way, gave my heart a reason to beat.
Most of you know him because he was convicted of a crime he did not commit and recently exonerated. Many of you don’t believe in his innocence. You judge him for his name. You judge him for his past.
I know the real Cruz Walsh.
I know him as noble. I know him as a man who endured seven years in a cell for a crime he didn’t commit and he doesn’t begrudge anyone for it. I know him as the man who created a place for the children of Sweet Hill, a place where they can come together, where they can always feel safe, where Flabby Gabbys like me can feel hope.
I know the real Cruz Walsh and I’m in love with him.
Sweet Hill shaped me into who I am, but because of Cruz Walsh I can now forgive and love this town and myself in a way I never could before.
Until next week,
Gabriella Rossi
Copy Editor In Chief, Sweet Hill Recorder
He couldn’t look away. He read it again and then again, just to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. No, those words there. Gabriella Rossi was in love with him. She had just admitted it to the entire town . . . along with baring her soul about a whole bunch of other baggage. The confession had been raw and honest and he felt every word of it in his soul.
“Say something, Cruz.” Piper looked at him earnestly, her dark eyes bright and eager. “Please.” She angled her head in a motion of appeal. “Don’t be an idiot.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He blinked through his suddenly blurring vision.
“Cruz! What are you going to do?”
He rubbed at his eyes, wondering at their burning sensation.
“Cruz? Are you . . . crying?”
He looked up at her, startled. He never cried. Not even when he had stood up for his sentencing in the courtroom and the fact that he was about to go away for a very long time had loomed undeniable and inescapable and glaring before him. He had never felt more alone than he did in that moment. Still, he had not cried.
And now Gabriella Rossi loved him and it broke him. Truly broke him. He blinked and swiped at his eyes. Straightening, he snatched his keys off the table.
“Cruz . . . where are you going?”
He stopped at the door and looked back at his sister. “I’m going to find a closet.”
She returned from her lunch break to find the office conspicuously empty. Mr. Brown was there. That was normal, but Daisy, one of their part-time staff writers, was gone. Friday was her day to work, but it looked like her desk was cleared off already—her laptop gone.
“Mr. B? Did Daisy go home already?”
“Daisy?” He blinked at her as though he had never heard the name.
“Er, yes.” She pointed to Daisy’s desk. “Daisy?”
He followed her gaze and looked at the desk like he had never seen it before either. Okay, maybe Mr. B needed to think about retiring sooner than the ye
ar out he had decided upon.
“Gabriella, would you take this to the archives room?” He extended an envelope toward her.
“Sure, where do I file it?”
“In the file cabinet to the left, there’s a folder labeled fan mail.”
“Fan mail?”
“That’s right. Feel free to read the letters first. These keep coming in about your Copy Editorial. And the phone has been ringing off the hook.” He grinned then, his chest puffing up like a proud papa. By Copy Editorial he meant her letter to Sweet Hill. He had loved the piece and been in full support of her publishing it as her first piece as Copy Editor In Chief. She had suspected he would be in support of it. The man was a romantic and he loved this town. In his eyes, it was a win-win.
She’d needed to do it. It felt necessary to purge herself and start on the right foot at the Recorder. She was done running away. She realized she would have more influence running this paper than she had working anywhere else . . . and that’s all she had ever wanted. A platform for her voice.
As for letting the world know she was in love with Cruz? Well, that felt right, too. There was nothing wrong or dirty or sinful about loving someone . . . about loving him. Love was love. It was everything.
She knew he didn’t feel the same, but he had her love nonetheless.
Her family was thrilled that she had decided to stay in Sweet Hill . . . and she was actually thrilled to be close to all of them. They might drive her crazy, but they were there for her. Their love was unconditional.
Her mother might have grumbled about her declaration of love for Cruz Walsh, but, surprisingly, her brother and sister had shushed her on the matter.
When she entered the archives room, she blinked against the sudden darkness. She tried the switch, but nothing. The bulb must be out. She turned back around for the door. It had shut behind her and it took a moment for her hand to unerringly grip the knob and turn it.
But . . . nothing. She tried again, rattling it. Nothing. The door wasn’t opening. It must be jammed. She pounded on the door. “Mr. B! The door is locked.”
Sudden light filled the room. Not as bright as the bulb had been. This was more of a romantic glow.
She turned around and gasped. Cruz stood there, settling a lantern on top of a file cabinet.
“Cruz . . . what are you doing?”
“I’m locking us in a closet.”
She looked around. The room was, indeed, similar to a closet. As she processed that, shifting on her feet, looking at the door and back at him, she asked, “Is Mr. B in on this?”
“He is.” He nodded. “I like him.”
“I guess so,” she said slowly, continuing her assessment of their surroundings. There were blankets and pillows on the floor. A cooler. He watched her take everything in and pointed to the far side of the room. “Bathroom.”
Yes, she was aware the archives room boasted a bathroom.
“This time we won’t need a bucket.”
“This time?”
“This time getting locked in,” he clarified, but she was pretty much piecing it together. He’d arranged this. He’d arranged for them to get locked in for the weekend.
“Are you worried you have to trap me to get me alone?”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “I do have this habit of running you off.”
She ducked her head, looking away so that he didn’t see her smile.
“What’s in the cooler?” she asked.
“Roast chicken, Caesar salad, lemon bars. Fruit. Sandwiches . . . basically anything we might want to eat over the weekend.” He shrugged. “Or however long you want to stay in here. With me.” His eyes looked suddenly vulnerable right then. Like she might not want to be locked in together with him anywhere or for whatever length of time.
“I read your article.”
She nodded. “Most everyone has.”
“You meant all that?” His voice was gruff. “You’re in love with me?”
She sighed and shook her head, wondering why this was so much harder to do in person than when putting pen to paper.
“Yeah.”
“You sure about all that stuff you said? About me?”
“Do you think I changed my mind? That I’m just some naïve starry-eyed girl obsessed with you?”
He stepped forward. “Good then. Because I’m obsessed with you. In prison you were who I thought about. When I dreamed about freedom and what I was missing out on in life . . . it was you I thought of. Now that I know you . . . you’re better than any dream I had back then. The reality of you is . . . everything.”
He stopped directly in front of her.
She gave her head a small shake. “When you say things like that, I fall in love with you all over again.”
He slipped his arms around her and lowered his forehead to hers, their lips practically brushing as he spoke. “I don’t want to miss out on life anymore. I’ve already missed seven years. I love you . . . and I want you even though I don’t deserve—”
She kissed him, cutting him off. Coming up for air, she breathed against his lips, “I said you were a noble man in that letter because that’s what you are. I see you, Cruz Walsh.”
“And I see you, Gabriella Rossi,” he replied. “I didn’t take a chance with you when I was a kid, but I’m not going to make that mistake again.”
When they finally pulled apart for a breath, she saw that they had managed to lower themselves down to the mound of blankets and pillows he had locked in the room with them. “You are quite the clever man, Mr. Walsh . . . arranging all this.”
“I promise, I will always make time to find us a closet. It’s where I do my best work.”
Epilogue
Eight months later . . .
It had been a late night. One of Gabriella’s reporters called in sick, so she had to cover both the school board meeting and the girls district volleyball playoffs. Still, it was a good feeling—being exhausted doing something you love. And it was Friday. She had nothing to do over the weekend except laze away the days with Cruz.
They didn’t go out much. She’d moved in almost eight months ago, and they kept to the house, preferring to stay in with each other when they weren’t working. They couldn’t get enough of each other. She had thought that might slow down, but not yet. Apparently, he hadn’t been lying when he had told her they had years to make up for. She smiled goofily. They were still going at it like a couple of kids.
Life was good. Her love life was truly rich . . . as was her career.
The paper had taken off. They’d doubled their number of subscribers and people treated her and Cruz like local celebrities, waving at them whenever they were out. Apparently everyone loved a star-crossed lovers story and that’s how the town of Sweet Hill now viewed them—as underdogs to root for.
The house was dark when she entered it, but the place smelled delicious. She inhaled, identifying the aroma—savory roast beef and potatoes. Her stomach growled. She couldn’t even recall if she ate lunch today.
She fumbled for the light switch, but suddenly there was a flare. Her gaze moved to the table and the candles Cruz was finishing lighting.
“Cruz.” She sighed his name like a benediction. She’d woken up beside him that morning, but she had still missed him. Her heart leapt at the sight of him.
He grinned at her, his lips curving slowly. “Welcome home, baby.”
“What’s this?” She eyed the elegantly laid table.
“I’ve made dinner.”
“Oh . . .” She spotted a fresh loaf of bread on the table, along with a bottle of wine. “Is that . . . china? And crystal glasses?”
He nodded. “Your grandmother’s dishes. She insisted I use them.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Why are you using Nana’s—”
“I wanted this evening to be perfect.”
She cocked her head. “Annnd why is that?” She had figured they’d eat a pizza, watch TV and then go to bed early whe
re they would spend the next couple hours wearing each other out. Like most Fridays.
“Because you deserve perfect, Gabriella.”
She sighed. “Ohh.”
He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, kissing her until she melted against him. Until she forgot everything.
Then he was pulling away suddenly, loosening his arms from around her.
She frowned at the loss of him, bewildered as to why he was pulling back from her . . . why he wasn’t still holding her. Why weren’t they shedding their clothes and making their way to their bedroom?
“Cruz,” she panted. “Where are you going? Come here.”
He took a deep breath and actually looked . . . nervous. One emotion she had never seen from him, and that made her nervous.
Then he went down, balancing on one knee. She ceased to breathe. Her hands flew to her face. She peered down at him from between her fingers.
There was a ring in his hand. Oh. God. Oh. God. Oh. God. There was a ring in his hand!
“Gabriella . . . Rossi . . . will you marry me?”
She realized both of her hands had now descended to cover her mouth, muffling her response. She dropped her hands. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes.”
He took her hand then and slid a breathtaking solitaire on her finger.
“It fits,” she breathed, gawking at it.
“Your sister may have helped with that.”
“My sister? You went to Tess?”
“And your niece. And Nana. And my sisters. Oh, and your nephew and his boyfriend.”
“Trent and Derek? Does everyone know?”
Nodding, he rose to his feet and swept her back up in his arms, kissing her until she lost all sense of time and place.
Later, they would dine and drink and talk about all the particulars of his proposal. They would talk of their families and the future . . . and the present. Because neither one had ever been happier than they were in this moment.
The Devil’s Rock Series
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