“Yep. I’ll get everything taken care of and come up with a few designs for you. When I have them ready, I’ll email ’em and let you take a look at a few layouts, see which one works best for you.”
“Okay, great!”
I pack up my things, tucking the laptop and notebook beneath my arm and pushing the chair in. “I suggest you fill your husband in about this upcoming project, though. Last thing a workin’ man wants is to come home and hear construction noises in his backyard.”
She follows me to the front door. I swing it open, walking out. “I’ll let him know when he gets home.”
“All right then, Miss Gabby. It was nice meetin’ you. I’ll email you in a few days with those designs.
“Awesome. Thank you for squeezing me in, Mr. Ward.”
“Mr. Ward?” I shake my head, walking down the steps. “Call me Marcel. Formalities don’t suit a man like me.”
With that, I turn and walk to my truck, opening the door and hopping behind the wheel. Gabby stands on her porch, watching me go. I bring the engine to life and leave the driveway.
On my way out, I look through the rearview mirror. She’s turning to go back inside, and of course I notice her ass before the door shuts. There were a lot of things I noticed about her. The freckles that dotted her umber skin. The spark in her olive-green eyes. How carefree she acted, but deep in her eyes, there was a lot of concern.
The move had obviously been too much for her, and she was coping with it by creating a backyard. That, or she was worried about doing this whole ordeal without her husband’s consent.
Didn’t matter. Wasn’t my problem. Money was money. She was a client now, and if building this was what she was requesting, so be it.
Though my life has been a wreck, it doesn’t mean I can’t make someone else’s a little more tolerable.
FOUR
GABBY
“I’M TELLING YOU, T, he is not what I was expecting!”
I still couldn’t get over the man I’d just met—the chiseled, Southern god who sat at my table wearing dusty jeans and a solid white T-shirt as if he were just some average Joe. At first, I assumed he had the wrong house, or that he was a neighbor wanting to introduce himself, but then my eyes fell down to the laptop and notebook tucked beneath his arm.
It wasn’t a coincidence this man had shown up around the time our appointment was set. Not only that, but when he spoke, I knew it was definitely him. His accent was so thick and smoky, it was hard to mistake him for anyone else.
“Next time, take a picture of him!” Teagan, my best friend, demands. “You’re a lucky girl, you know that? First you win the heart of a man who has inherited a multi-million-dollar company, and then you get a house on the beach, and now a hot as hell man is about to be visiting your house on a regular basis, sweating, probably taking his shirt off. Lord knows I could use some eye candy around here.”
“Another slow day as RN Teagan, I presume?” I tease her.
“Yes. I’m so over it, girl.”
I laugh.
“Seriously, though. I need to make a trip soon and visit you, check out this landscaper with the hot Southern drawl.”
“The landscaper isn’t a big deal,” I tell her with a soft laugh. “He’s going to do his job and be done with it.”
“Mm-hmm. So, is everything good with you and Kyle since the move?” she asks
“Yeah, we’re fine. Just exhausted. It’s taking us some time to get used to it all. The weather here is definitely better than New York, though. So much warmer, and it’s only April.”
“Has he been an overbearing dick lately?”
“T, he is not a dick! He only becomes one when you get under his skin.” I giggle, sitting on the barstool at the counter.
“Yeah, yeah.” I can tell, even from over five hundred miles away, my bestie is rolling her eyes and waving a dismissive hand.
“I plan to visit, though. I have the hours saved. I want to break that new house in with you, girl.”
“You should come! We can have a girls’ night, go out to get our nails done—all that fun stuff. I miss you so much already. It’s so boring here, even more so without Kyle around. Would probably be better if you come before the housewarming, anyway.”
“Well, if you want me there before that housewarming, I’m coming. I don’t care what Kyle says.”
I shake my head with a smile. Teagan has never been a Kyle fan. She didn’t like that he’d roped me in so quickly, and she swore he was swindling me, flashing his money and buying me pretty things to win my affections. I tell her repeatedly that I don’t care about his money. I’m not with Kyle for his assets. I’m with him because I truly do love him.
“Well, you just let me know, and I’ll get the guest room comfortable for you.”
“Okay, girl. I’ll let you know! Keep me updated about the gardener!”
“He’s not a gardener!” I bust out laughing. “He’s a landscape architect! And there’s nothing to stay updated on, crazy. It’s his job!”
“Yeah, if you say so. You know, just ’cause you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t look. My mom used to tell me that all the time. Look, but don’t touch. Just saying.”
Laughing, I say, “Bye, T,” and hang up. I walk out of the kitchen and go upstairs to my studio. I take a look around, sweeping my gaze over the unpainted tea pots, freshly molded cups, glazed figurines, and then my random pile that has sculptures in all shapes and sizes that I call my “scrap” pile.
It would be nice to have Teagan here for a few days. It’s always hard adjusting to a new home. I remember when I moved out of my parents’ house and into the apartment I shared with my first roommate. It was hard to get used to. In fact, it took me nearly eight months before I became comfortable with the idea of being on my own. It didn’t help that I had a party-going roommate who was hardly ever there. She would leave early and come back late every single day, so the apartment was always quiet, for the most part.
My parents are naturally loud people. My mom has no problem telling people off, and my dad is somewhat of a drill sergeant. If something doesn’t fly with him, he will go on and on about it until it changes. Fortunately for me, he was keen to Kyle. Mom doesn’t care about Kyle’s money, but Dad does, and he knew Kyle could take care of me, so when I told him we were getting married, he told me it was the smartest thing I could do.
Living with my parents was chaos. My older brother, Ricky, is practically a genius, and went to college on a full academic scholarship. He now runs his own tech business, where he mostly helps elderly people work their phones, tablets, and computers. He also teaches classes for those wanting to learn how to use a certain app or software. Trust me, it pays more than you think. We grew up confiding in one another, and at some point, we figured out that our parents married more out of convenience than passion.
Don’t get me wrong, my parents love each other, but my dad had just graduated college when they met, my mom a waitress for a run-down diner in New York. My mom got knocked up by my dad with Ricky when she was only twenty years old, and my mother is a full-blooded Colombian with a family who feels strongly about marriage. Even long distance, my grandparents insisted she get married to my dad before Ricky was born. Luckily my dad really liked my mom, and my mom didn’t have much to lose, so they made it happen.
I think having Ricky made them love and respect one another a lot more, which is good. They have a balance that is hard to find with most couples. They also co-parented really well. When my mom yells, Dad is calm. Dad hardly ever yells and, somehow, he knows how to calm my mom down when she’s caught a temper.
I miss her. Hell, I miss both of my parents, and Ricky too.
I grab some clay and sit at my work desk, deciding I’ll give my parents a call after I’ve finished my project of the day and have taken some pictures of it to upload to ArtMeUp, a popular website where hobbyist artists can sell their creations.
After I’ve finished, I clean up and then go to the fridge, pu
lling out the salad I prepared this morning. It’s topped with cut strawberries, walnuts, and has a raspberry dressing.
Kyle always insists that we eat clean, and after working at Nuni’s for well over a year to pay for books and the two-bedroom apartment I shared with my roommate, Chelsea, it’s safe to say that I crave clean foods now. I got so sick of ordering takeout from there and stuffing my face with cheesy macaroni, or thick sandwiches that had way too much meat on them.
Preparing my own food is a rewarding feeling, and when Kyle’s home, I love to go above and beyond to give him a meal I think he’ll love. Most times, I knock it out of the park. Then again, he enjoys everything I cook, just so long as I cook.
After eating my salad, I go to Netflix to find a movie and then grab my cellphone. The noise from the movie fills the void. I give my mom a call, and she answers after a few rings.
“Gabby! It’s about time you called me!” Her shrill voice catches me off guard, and I pull the phone away from my ear with a small laugh.
“Hi, Mamá.”
“I called you a few days ago! What happened?”
“We were still unpacking, and by the time I remembered to call back, it was already too late. I was exhausted.”
“Well, at least I’m hearing from you now. How was the move?” I can tell she’s grinning, wanting all the details. My mom is a bit of a gossiper. She grew up on Spanish soap operas and tabloid magazines. Gossip and drama is all she knows, really. I always wonder how she settled down with my dad. I guess it is true when they say opposites attract, because although my dad has his moments where he can never shut up, he is as simple as they come.
It’s extremely rare for him to get truly upset. Mamá could sit next to him and spill every little detail about some crazy woman at the store who bumped into her and it would go through one of his ears and right back out of the other.
“The move was good, even though Kyle insisted we do all the moving ourselves.” I tuck my legs under my butt. “He claimed that he wanted us to take in the experience and to appreciate it…whatever that means.” I roll my eyes just thinking about it.
“You know, he’s always been very dramatic to me,” she says, and I laugh because she’s the one to talk.
“What are you doing right now?”
“I just left the hair salon. I got my hair trimmed and blown out. It was getting too long. I’m on my way to the nail salon now. It’s me and your dad’s wedding anniversary tomorrow.”
“Oh, crap! I completely forgot about that! Happy anniversary!”
“Thank you, sweetie!”
“What are you guys going to do?”
“Probably the same old thing. Grab some dinner, catch some drinks. From there we will probably wing it. There’s a restaurant I’ve wanted to try for a while, so he’s taking me there.”
“Well that’s nice.” I glance at the TV screen. I chose some random show with Vikings in it. Again, only on to fill the void.
“You know Ricky is coming up to see us this weekend?” She says it as more of a statement than a question.
“Is he really? What for?”
“He said he bought us a gift, wants to deliver it to us himself. I pray he doesn’t bring that trashy wife of his though.”
“Ma!” I scold.
“What? It’s true! She’s so trashy! Do you see the things she wears for Thanksgiving and Christmas? It’s disgusting, Gabby!”
I laugh harder, plucking at a loose string on my sweatpants. “Ricky loves her.”
“But is he in love with her though?” she asks, even though she and I both know he isn’t. Ricky lost the girl he loved to another man. Her name was Christine, and he’d never asked her to go on a date or anything. He was always afraid of rejection and assumed she was keeping him in the friend zone.
He brought her home for the holidays once because she didn’t have much family around. Her mom had passed away, and her father was nowhere to be found, so he invited her, and we were happy to have her. I saw the way Christine looked at Ricky, though. She was a shy girl too, but if he’d asked her for more, I’m certain things would have turned out differently for them. Unfortunately, life got in the way. Ricky graduated, and Christine got whisked away by another guy and ended up engaged to that same guy a year later, right after she’d graduated.
After Ricky found out about her engagement, he came home with Violetta—the one my mom calls trashy—for Thanksgiving, claiming she was the one. Got married to her a year and a half later. But Ricky didn’t look at Violetta the way he looked at Christine. Violetta was more of a place filler than anything.
“He’ll realize it sooner or later,” I say, getting off the couch and walking to the kitchen. “I swear, it’s so lonely in this house with Kyle gone. We have five big rooms and this huge kitchen and living room, but he’ll hardly even be here!”
“Well, he’s a busy man, sweetie,” my mother says, and she sounds slightly out of breath. “He’s given you that beautiful house, but he has to pay for it somehow.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just so quiet.”
“You just have to get used to, Gabrielle.” A bell chimes on her end, and I hear someone greet her. “Okay, well, I’m here at the nail salon. Let me go and get my nails done. I’ll call you Sunday, after this weekend settles, okay? But call me if you need anything before that!”
“I will, Mamá. Enjoy your anniversary. Sorry I can’t come visit too.”
“It’s okay, honey. Enjoy your new house! I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
We say goodbye, and I lower the phone, staring at it for a second. On the screen is a picture of me and Kyle standing in front of our new bathroom mirror. He’s kissing my cheek and holding me from behind while I smile big and wide, the happiest girl on earth.
Sighing, I go back to the couch after making another cup of tea, flipping through the movies until I find one with Vanessa Hudgens having a lookalike.
I settle into the couch, but as the movie plays, I can’t help letting one little thought distract me.
How am I supposed to enjoy this new home with my new husband if he’s hardly ever here?
FIVE
MARCEL
“MARCEL, LOOK OUT!”
I sit up quickly, gasping and swiping the thick sheen of sweat off my forehead. “Fuck.” I look sideways at the alarm clock that reads 3:00 a.m. and let out a heavier breath.
This has been happening a lot lately. Normally stress does it to me. I’ve taken on too many jobs, hoping the work will suppress the memories. It’s clearly not working.
Pressing my back to the headboard, I run both hands over my tired face, then pick up my phone. There’s a text from Lucy and an email from Gabrielle Moore. Although a rumble in the sack with Lucy would be a good distraction, Miss Gabby’s email lures me in.
Hi, Mr. Ward,
I know it’s really late, Mr. Ward—err, I mean, Marcel, but I thought I’d let you know that I have to cancel our landscaping plan. My husband doesn’t approve. Says it’s too pricey for us at the moment. Anyway, thank you for your help and for taking the time out of your schedule to sit with me and chat about it.
Best,
Gabrielle Moore
Well, shit.
I have clients fall through all the time, but something about this email seems off to me. What the hell is his problem? Does he think I’m not good at my job? And he can’t beat my prices—I’m the most affordable landscape architect in Hilton, no doubt, and if there is a price that’s better than what I offer, I’m always ready to match it.
At first I brush it off, shutting the screen of the phone off and tossing it aside. I try going back to sleep, but between the nightmares and this deal, it’s impossible.
What’s bugging me most isn’t the fact that she canceled. My husband doesn’t approve? What kind of shit is that?
I grew up in a home with an independent woman who raised me, and a father who always told me to treat women like queens, after realizing his mistakes. After my father died, my
mother had no one to lean on but us, and even so, she hardly ever let her rough days show. My mother always had our backs and stayed strong for us.
That woman—Gabby? She wanted that backyard. She wanted it so badly that I could see it in her eyes.
I know for a fact her husband has shoved her ideas aside, and she’s most likely crying on the inside. I’ve worked around enough privileged men and women to know how it works. The men like to take charge, hardly ever giving control to the woman.
Gabby had it all planned out, I’m sure. So why couldn’t he let her go through with it? It’s not like he’s going to be home often to see it anyway.
Thinking about it gnaws at me way too much. I know it’s not my business, and I should just let it go, but I can’t, for some reason. She had some money saved. It’s not like he’d be coming out of pocket for the entire project. And hell, judging by their house on the beach, I’m certain money isn’t the issue.
I get back up again, grabbing my phone and responding, this time without the proper business etiquette:
Miss Gabby,
Not to boast, but tell your husband that he won’t find anyone with better prices than me, or anyone who does the quality work I do, in the Hilton Head area. I can absolutely guarantee that. Now, I saw the glint in your eyes when you explained to me what you wanted. You want that dream yard, I’ll give it to you, and I won’t make a hassle of it, either. Matter of fact, I’m willing to cut down the price a few grand, just to prove to you that I’m always ready to get a job done and make any customer happy.
Let him know if he has any questions, he is welcome to call or email me. I am more than willing to discuss it. And my word of advice to you: don’t give up so easily on something you really want.
Marcel Ward
CEO of Ward Landscaping & Design
With a satisfied smirk, I place the phone on its screen and roll back over. This time, it’s much easier to fall asleep.
SIX
GABBY
“I DON’T LIKE HIM. He seems like an arrogant prick.” Kyle stands in front of the mirror that hangs on our closet door, fixing his burgundy tie. I’m on the bed with my phone in hand, reading the email Mr. Ward sent back.
The Man I Can't Have (Ward #1) (Ward Duet) Page 4