Friends to Lovers (Aisle Bound)

by Barth, Christi

“Righteously pissy,” Daphne corrected.

  He nodded briskly. “Of course. So are you willing to shelve your utterly righteous anger for about twelve hours? Let us have a clear shot as though it were our first first date?”

  Funny. She’d already had this identical conversation with Ivy. Although Ivy had been a bit more direct, insisting that sulking wasn’t sexy. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. As long as you promise not to treat me like a one-night hookup, we’re a clean slate.”

  “Brilliant.”

  A clean slate didn’t mean she wouldn’t still hassle him. “So far you’ve run me through an hour of drills to prep for the Flower Power competition. Driven us to the Cavendish and parked in your spot. Nothing special going on there. Now you’ve walked us out of the garage in what feels like an aimless ramble. Gotta ask, Gib. Do you actually have a plan for tonight?”

  “Ouch.” He pulled back with an exaggerated wince. “Your lack of faith is, well, warranted, I suppose. I parked at the Cavendish because the rates at other downtown garages are highway robbery.”

  “True.” Daphne flipped through a mental map of the nearby options. Lookingglass Theatre might be fun, but he’d told her to dress casually, which scratched it off the list. “If we’re going to Tiffany’s, which would be a great way to show me how sorry you are, then you’ve overshot by about two blocks.”

  “Tiffany’s. Really? That’s cheeky.” Gib chuffed out a laugh. “You and me, we’re not quite there yet, either. This is only our first official date, remember?”

  “Rats.” Worth a shot. At least it felt familiar and fun to tease him.

  “Didn’t know your taste ran to shiny rocks. You rarely wear jewelry.”

  “Because I work with my hands in water and stems all day. My work uniform is an apron over jeans. A beautiful, two-carat, square-cut emerald pendant might look as if I were trying too hard.”

  “Interesting.” Gib looked at her, really looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Why don’t I know this about you? Your secret love for posh jewelry?”

  “Never came up. Not really something pals discuss. Unless one of them is in the market to shop for a present. Face it, you’ve never stayed with a woman long enough to buy her a sparkly present in a little blue box.”

  “True. You can wipe that hopeful look off your face. We’re not going to Tiffany’s.”

  “The food court at Water Tower Place?” They did an amazing pad thai. A little buffet of add-ons, so she could overload on cilantro and limes.

  “Daphne, there’s casual, and then there’s insulting. I’m not taking you to a mall food court on our first date.”

  “I give up.”

  They turned at the iconic Chicago Water Tower. One of the only buildings to survive the Great Chicago Fire, its limestone castle facade symbolized the resilience of Chicago. Daphne liked it because it reminded her of a fairy-tale castle. No one in particular. But being able to walk past a building that looked like it housed swaggering heroes ready to battle dragons and vanquish foes tickled her imagination. Not that she’d ever admit as much out loud.

  “Tonight is about you. Not any other woman. A date made specifically for Daphne.” They passed the park with trees still wrapped in lights from the holidays. “One of the most basic truths about you is that you’ve an enormous sweet tooth. So I’m taking you for a pre-dinner drink.” Gib pointed at, hands down, one of her favorite places in the city. The Ghirardelli store.

  She couldn’t help it. Daphne clapped her hands together in glee. “I never would’ve expected this. Ever.” She raced ahead of him, but Gib’s long legs still got him to the door fast enough to open it for her. Stepping onto the brown-and-white checkerboard floor was like coming home. Daphne found an excuse to swing by this store at least once a week. The clerks knew her name, knew her favorite orders. Gib really delivered. This time.

  Sandy, a middle-aged woman with a magical touch on the espresso machine, waved. “You don’t usually visit us this late.”

  “First time for everything,” Daphne said with a smile. Then she turned to beam at Gib. “Do you trust me to order for you?”

  “Seems only fair.”

  “Two salted caramel hot chocolates, please.” The urge to smother him in kisses for being so thoughtful was strong. But Gib needed to make any and all moves. Daphne refused to put her heart visibly on the line again unless he did it first. “I’d be perfectly happy if we stayed here all night. Thank you.”

  “We aren’t even staying five minutes.” Gib leaned over the counter to Sandy. “Put those in to-go cups, please.”

  “But I’m just starting to thaw.” The short walk from the parking garage, in addition to wedging a chunk of snow between her boot and shin, had chilled her feet and her ears to almost numb. Daphne had unfortunately decided against a hat. Neither frizzy static-hair or flattened hat-hair were looks she thought would put Gib in a sexy mood.

  His lips tickled the top of her ear. It sent a different kind of chill straight down her spine. “I promise to keep you warm.”

  Okay, that sent a tingle down the front of her body. And it boded well. Flirty Gib had returned, and yet not overly obvious and practiced. His promise sounded as genuine as his earlier apology.

  “Sure you don’t want a brownie to go with these?” Sandy’s hand hovered over the solid, gooey bar of chocolaty goodness. “I could dip it in hot fudge for you.”

  Gib slid a ten-dollar bill onto the counter. “Tempting. But I’ve got plans to keep her lips busy.” He picked up the cups and headed for the door. Sandy gave a big thumbs-up. Biting her lip, Daphne waved goodbye and hurried after him.

  “Come on, we don’t want to keep him waiting.” He set a brisk pace across the street.

  Daphne wound her hand around his elbow. It kept him close, and it put her in position to grab for her hot cocoa. “Who?”

  “Al Capone.”

  “He’s dead. Are you taking me to a séance? Or a ghost tour? Because Halloween was months ago.”

  Gib stopped in front of a huge chestnut horse tethered to an old-fashioned burgundy carriage. He ran a hand over the white stripe on its nose. “Meet Al Capone.”

  The horse whinnied at its name, and tossed its mane. “He’s very...big.”

  “Gotta be, to pull one of these.” A man in a big fur hat stood by the open door. “Al’s a workhorse. You could load this rig up with four chunksters and he wouldn’t complain. Two skinny things like you won’t be any problem at all.”

  “Good to hear.” Fighting back laughter, Gib boosted Daphne inside. He did it so well that she bounced on the gray upholstered seat.

  “We’re really doing this?”

  Gib latched the door. Then he grabbed a blanket and tucked it around their legs. Stretched an arm across her shoulders to anchor her against his chest. “Yes. Unless you don’t want to?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these. I’ve watched my own brides do it time after time. It’s utterly romantic, being snuggly in here with you.” She bounced again, for the sheer fun of it. Cocoa and a carriage ride with her favorite guy. Gib had more than clawed his way out of the doghouse. Now if only she could get him back on the kissing track, it’d be a perfect night.

  “Good. And before you ask, I’ve never taken a date on a carriage ride before.” With a strong jerk, the carriage began to roll. “Well, not here.” He paused. “Full disclosure?”

  He’d even learned not to just rattle off his sexual history. The man was on his best behavior. “You decide.”

  “Back home, I borrowed a landau and drove Mary Smythe-Reilly around the estate when we were fourteen. Far less chance for romance, as I had the reins.”

  Daphne sipped her cocoa. Aside from his expensive suit addiction, Gib didn’t flaunt his money. He put in long hours, worked like a demon for his
paycheck from the Cavendish. Easy to forget he came from a background of estates and stables. Gib certainly seemed to forget it most of the time. And she liked hearing a rare story from his childhood. “Did you get a kiss?”

  “Afterwards. In the stable. Not worth the hour it took to curry the horse, clean the landau, all while putting up with a steady stream of mocking by my brother.”

  “Gerald? Your little brother?”

  “Yes.” He, too, took a slow sip of his drink.

  “I can count the times you’ve mentioned him on one hand.” Should she push him? Risk ruining the entire date right from the start? On the other hand, if Gib immediately shut her down, wouldn’t that make clear the bar on just how open and honest their relationship would be?

  Daphne chugged half her drink. Took a mental video of the snug interior of the carriage, the gentle rocking, the feel of Gib pressed against her from ankle to shoulder. He’d given her a perfect date so far. If she tried to breach the invisible but solid wall he kept around his life in England, it might be over. This perfect date might actually end sooner than his crappy first attempt. No. This was it. Her one big chance to finally get at the truth. Damn it, their relationship had to be more than a sexed-up version of their friendship.

  “Would it spoil everything if I asked about him?”

  * * *

  Sharing the story with Daphne of his last carriage ride felt natural. Just popped out. Gib didn’t realize it would lead to dredging the entire scum-covered pond of his memories. Daphne already knew more than anyone else. This was exactly the sort of thing Doc Debra had repeated on a weekly basis in therapy. Find someone to open up to—and then follow through. Probably what Ben had alluded to, as well. He gulped at his cocoa. Wished it was a triple shot of Scotch instead.

  “It might, but not for the reason you think. If I tell you about Gerald...” He stopped, sighed deeply. Looked deep into her pale blue eyes and hoped they didn’t ice over with disdain by the time he finished.

  “Gib, you can tell me anything. You know that. You might not exercise that privilege very often, but you know it’s true.”

  “Right. You say that, but you might change your mind.” And he didn’t think he could bear it. “How about a quick snog instead?” Gib moved his hand in a restless caress on her thigh.

  She pushed his hand back onto his own leg. “How about we save that for after?”

  “Ah, bribery. Very well.” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the opposite bench. Then he removed hers, much more slowly, a finger at a time. Rubbed her hands in between his until the chill dissipated. And tried the whole time to figure out where best to begin. Unzipped both their coats. Took a moment to appreciate the way Daphne filled out the white sweater covered in blue snowflakes. Angora. Resisted the urge to run the backs of his fingers over the soft swell of her breasts. Hopefully, that would still be an option by the time he finished.

  “We’re all about the heir and the spare in England, even for families as far down the line of succession as mine. My mother suffered three miscarriages after I was born. When Gerald finally came along, there was great rejoicing. They treated him like a miracle child.”

  Kicked Gib out of his own nursery, so he wouldn’t disturb the baby. He remembered that day. The new room was big and cold and the bed so high it had steps. High enough for legions of monsters to hide beneath. Gib had hated his new room. “I thought he was cute. Couldn’t wait until he grew enough to play with me.”

  Daphne tilted her head onto his shoulder. “I feel like you’re telling me a fairy tale, and the big bad wolf is about to enter.”

  He found it easier to talk without Daphne looking at him. “A few years passed. My parents doted on Gerald. Spoiled him rotten, but still, he was my brother, and nothing could be cooler than that. We went on holiday in Majorca. Lots of cliffs about. Gerald fell.” Gib would never, ever forget the sound of the screams. First his mother’s, when she realized she’d let go of his chubby little hand. Then Gerald’s, as the pain and panic set in. “Broke his leg badly. The bone tore through his femoral artery and he almost died. Needed several transfusions.”

  Daphne gasped. “That’s horrible.”

  “That’s the tip of the iceberg. We soon realized that thanks to those transfusions, he’d also picked up hepatitis. Two surgeries for his leg, months of rehabilitation, and then the diagnosis. His liver started failing right away. Gerald was always a sickly little kid, from colic to croup to whooping cough before any of this happened. My mother slept in his nursery more often than her own bed.”

  “So you two didn’t spend days playing together, like you’d hoped?” She put her arm on top of his, fingers interlaced. As though buttressing them against whatever came next. It gave him the strength to keep going. To remember the hushed, tiptoed, lonely days of his childhood.

  “No. No mock sword fights, no racing ponies. But I’d sneak in to act out stories in his room, play with puppets to make him laugh. I was constantly being told off for exciting him.”

  “You just wanted to spend time with him. You wanted to be a good big brother.”

  Here’s where Gib feared her automatic defense of him might weaken. “The world revolved around Gerald’s doctor appointments, treatments, naps. Whatever I accomplished in school, on the soccer pitch, didn’t matter. Couldn’t compare to anything Gerald was going through.” Wait. He sounded like a whinging brat. “I’m not complaining, mind you. As a grown man I don’t begrudge him, but as a boy? I felt invisible. I just need you to see the dynamics of my family. “

  “Oh, I do. I see that your mother abandoned you while she spent every waking minute with Gerald,” she said hotly. And she certainly understood now why he’d sought out a therapist. Daphne bolted upright, twisting to look at him. “She punished you for being healthy. Made you feel less important. The one thing a mother is never, ever supposed to do. What about your father?”

  “Not around much. When he was, Mother filled his ears with all things Gerald. But that was okay. The thing you have to know, above all else, is that I loved Gerald. The only reason I worked so hard at school was to be a good role model for him. To give him a glimpse of the life he’d have once he got better, got out of bed.”

  “I’m not sure I want to hear any more. You’re already breaking my heart.”

  Gib didn’t want to keep going, either. Keeping the lid on this story would be far easier for both of them. He stared out the window at the brightly lit store windows on Michigan Avenue. Remembered a dark, foggy night in downtown London that changed everything. “One day, when I was twelve, my parents took me to dinner. A fancy restaurant, very grown-up. They informed me I’d be taking some time off from school. Gerald needed a liver transplant. The best plan was to give him a piece of mine. It was my last meal, before going straight to the hospital for the operation the next morning.”

  “Wait—they informed you?” Daphne waved her hands in the air, as if erasing his very words. “They didn’t ask? They didn’t sit you down with a doctor and a counselor and work through the situation? They didn’t give you time to adjust to the idea?”

  “No. But I wanted to do it. I’d have done anything to save Gerald. It just would’ve been nice to have the chance to get used to the idea. Or to at least be asked. So that on that day, instead of being frightened to my core, I could’ve felt a little brave, too.”

  “That’s child abuse. That’s unconscionable. That’s...it’s...I can’t...” she sputtered.

  He’d only ever told this story to one person outside his family. His prefect at Eton. Who’d listened quietly, and then called him a selfish bastard. Hearing Daphne’s outrage on his behalf made his head swim. And his heart overflow. “It’s over and done. I’m like a starfish. My liver grew back to full size quick enough. Not worth getting yourself worked up over.”

  “Are you kidding? I want to get on a plane, not even
surf for a cheap ticket, fly to London and slap your mother across the face.”

  “I appreciate it. Really not the best way to spend your money, though.” Especially since he hadn’t finished the story yet. Daphne might still hop on that selfish bastard bandwagon.

  “We’ll see. I reserve the right to avenge your childhood.” Finishing her cocoa, she set the cup on the floor. “Or did your parents appreciate you saving Gerald’s life and turn over a new leaf?”

  “Not so much. They didn’t have much use for me after that. Gerald was the one who made the miraculous recovery. The one they coddled, even though he’s been perfectly healthy ever since.”

  She wriggled up to her knees, hanging on to his shoulder for balance. “No wonder you left England. The ingratitude!”

  “Gerald was grateful. For about six months. And then he caught on that he had a get-out-of-jail-free card. Everyone still treated him with kid gloves. As he got older, his antics got worse.” The first time Gerald shoplifted, Gib caught him. Stupid pack of gum slipped in his back pocket. Everyone tries that once. Most people apologize, or get antsy when caught. Gib threatened to tell their parents. And Gerald just laughed.

  “Was he making up for all the time he lost while he was sick? Getting a few years’ worth of pent-up juvenile idiocy out of his system?”

  “That explains the little stuff. The first few years. But the more he got away with, the more he just kept pushing the envelope. Gerald would break a window, and I’d get the blame. He’d come in three hours past curfew, and it would be my fault. Or not do his homework, and tell the teacher that I’d ruined it somehow. I was the straight arrow, the good student...and the scapegoat.”

  Daphne scooted closer. He waited for her to say something. Instead, she stroked a soft hand through his hair in a slow circle. Gib wasn’t so far gone in his story he didn’t notice her breasts almost at eye level. He wasn’t sure which soothed him more.

  “I went off to university, and he spun more out of control. Harder for my parents to cover up with me away. Of course, they used that as an excuse. That Gerald missed me so much, he cut class to come visit me. When in reality, he was smoking pot with the girls from St. Andrew’s. Never came within fifty miles of Cambridge.”