Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

45. Ian

While I bareda bit of my soul on our walk, I wasn’t ready to declare my feelings yet. They were there though. Growing and settling in. It felt like I’d grown up overnight.

But how much of it was real, and how much of it was the situation I found myself in? Madison Enright and I were worlds apart. Financially, I could hold my own. My family didn’t have billions in the bank, but I was no slouch and worked hard for my piece of the pie.

Despite those differences, I saw glimpses of a woman I wanted to get to know better. A woman with a sharp wit and sense of humor.

Then there was the poor little rich girl.

I hated putting her in that category, but the more I learned about her family, the harder it was not to think of her that way. She had walls of armor that I’d need to scale. I was nothing if not persistent.

Which was why after bringing Finn back to my studio and settling him into his crate, I was sitting in a trendy French bistro with my baby mama. Was this a date? It sure felt like it.

“I’m starving,” Madison announced peering at her menu. She looked up at me with a sly smile. “How about we order one of everything?”

“If that’s what you want, princess, go for it.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “I’m kidding, but I will never forget all the food you ordered from that restaurant and made poor Bailey go out—in her pajamas—to pick it up.”

“I didn’t make her go out in her pajamas. That was on her.”

She lowered the menu. “What happens to Bailey now that you’re moving back to West Virginia?”

“She’ll be relocating too. Bails has been with me since Nashville. I’d be lost without her. She’s indispensable.”

Madison picked up the menu and gnawed on her bottom lip. I hooked a finger over the edge and forced it down, although she gave it plenty of resistance.

“What?” I asked.

Her eyes flashed on mine but then returned to the menu she found so fascinating. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you’ve got a look.”

“There’s no look. Too bad it’s not Sunday,” she said, changing the subject. “They have cassoulet. You could’ve compared it to your grandmother’s. Did you know that your mother made it when she?—”

I pushed the menu down again and grasped her hand. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, and I could be way off base here, but indulge me for a second, will you?”

Madison gave me a cool smile. I could almost see that invisible armor she wore so well.

“There’s nothing between me and Bailey. Never has been. Never will be. She’s my employee, and a damn good one, as well as a trusted friend. I’d never fuck that up, and I’ve never stepped over the line, nor did I ever want to.”

She shrugged. “That’s your business, of course. You don’t need to explain.”

“I think I do. We agreed to take things one day at a time. Am I right?”

She nodded.

“Okay, then here’s me telling you that when it comes to Bailey, we will never be romantic. I love her like a sister, and trust me, I have enough of them to know what that kind of love feels like.”

A corner of her mouth lifted, but she was too stubborn to give me more than that. Fuck that. I stood, and her eyes widened as I leaned over, cupped her face, and captured that pretty mouth of hers in a blistering kiss, leaving her blinking and flustered.

“What looks good?” I sat down and ignored what had just happened and the murmur of nearby voices that had increased in volume after that little display of affection. “The chicken salad sandwich sounds good. What are you thinking?” It was a lot of fun getting her all worked up and knocking her off her game. I think those were the moments when I got to see the real Madison.

“Um…honestly, I’m craving a cheeseburger. It’s just all that red meat, and carbs, and calories?—”

“Sweetheart?”

She blinked up at me.

“Don’t worry about any of that. Eat what you want.”

She rolled her lips together, and I expected her to argue. Of course I wanted her to eat healthy, and she did. But a cheeseburger now and then wasn’t going to hurt her or the baby.

“Okay. Cheeseburger it is. And pomme frites.”

After we ordered, I reached for her hand and caressed it with my thumb. “What’re you thinking?”

She took a moment, surprising me when she finally answered.

“I think we need to learn more about each other. Tell me twenty things about you that I wouldn’t know.”

Now that was funny. “After spending the weekend with my sisters, I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t anything about me you don’t already know.”

Her cheeks pinked. “Well, there are some things I wish I didn’t know.”

“Freakin’ Bridget.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “It wasn’t Margaret Thatcher.”

Other than my music, the rumble and roar of my Ferrari used to be my favorite sound, but hearing Madison giggle replaced them both. She looked beautiful and relaxed. The pinched, worried look I’d become accustomed to was gone. I loved it.

“Come on.” She gave me a nudge. “Spill.”

“Why don’t we start with five and see how it goes?”

She gave me a cute little frown but agreed.

“And if I do it, you have to as well.”

“Fair enough; you first.”

Five things she didn’t know. Should I start with something big, like my dyslexia or tell her my favorite band? While I debated, the waiter returned with our shared appetizer and a refill on my beer. Taking my time, I scooped a portion of the crispy artichokes and garlic mayo onto a plate and slid it across the table, then served myself.

“Ian…” She was practically whining. I couldn’t help but laugh.

With a cheeky smile, I took a bite. “Okay,” I said after swallowing. “My favorite band is the Foo Fighters.”

She looked surprised. “Foo Fighters? Seriously? I figured you’d like a country band.”

“I like lots of country bands. I like lots of rock bands. And alt-rock bands. I like RB. Pop. Classical music?—”

If I were a betting man, I’d say she didn’t believe me. “Classical?” she asked. “Okay. Favorite piece of classical music.”

“You think I’m kidding, right?” I asked smugly, pausing for a sip of my brew.

She shrugged, looking just as smug.

I set down my mug and leaned forward. “Mozart’s ‘Church Sonata No 17 in C Major’.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Favorite cellist.”

“Easy. Bion Tsang.”

They narrowed further. This was fun.

“Favorite classical pianist.”

I dipped an artichoke leaf in the aioli and making steady eye contact, clamped my teeth around it and pulled it out slowly. Was that sexy? Given the way she had to resettle herself in her chair, I’d say yes.

“Awadagin Pratt,” I answered with a wide grin.

“Damn. You’re not kidding.”

I shrugged. “Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you know I like classical music?”

“Why would I limit myself? Good music is good music, regardless of the genre.”

It looked like I’d convinced her. “Your turn. Tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”

She poked and prodded the artichoke leaves on her plate for a few beats. “I don’t think I like this game.”

I snorted out a laugh. “What do you mean you don’t like it? It’s your game.”

“Yes, but I just wanted to learn more about you.”

“And I want to learn more about you.”

She picked up a leaf and took a tiny bite.

“C’mon, no judgement. I promise. Tell me anything.”

She threw her shoulders back. “Fine. I have never eaten at McDonald’s.”

“Seriously? No Big Mac? No McFlurry? No Shamrock Shake?” How was that even possible? “C’mon. You never had a Happy Meal?”

She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “Never.”

“Wow.”

She chuckled, as if what she’d just told me wasn’t mind-blowing.

“Now you.”

“I gave you a lot with that first answer of mine. Shouldn’t that account for more than one thing? I told you my favorite band and my favorite classical piece of music. My favorite cellist and pianist. That should account for at least four things.”

“Nope. You volunteered all that information.”

“No, I didn’t.” I laughed hard enough to get side-eyes from the table next to us.

“Yuh huh.”

The childish syllables, so unlike the elegant woman sitting in front of me, had me laughing even harder. “Okay. Okay.” I considered what I might reveal next.

“Here’s a good one,” I said. “I got thrown out of the Elvis museum because I asked if they had postcards of fat Elvis.”

Her eyes widened in what I assumed was shock, but then she quickly covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

“You know, at first I was going to ask if you were serious, but I actually believe you.” She shook her head. “How old were you?”

“I think I was around twenty-three, twenty-four.”

She laughed again. It was a sound I wanted to hear more and more. “You’re ridiculous.”

“True story.” I grinned. “Your turn.”

“Okay, here’s one. When I was around five or six, I met the Dalai Lama.”

“Get the hell outta here.”

“I’m serious. My mother was going through her Buddhist phase and took me to his temple in Dharamshala in India. We had a private audience with him. I don’t remember much, but I remember feeling happy. I don’t know if it was the man himself, the bright colors, the serenity, or that on that trip, I had my mother to myself.” Despite Madison saying she remembered feeling happy, she didn’t look happy. I thought the memory actually made her sad.

“My turn,” I said, wanting to bring that smile back, and maybe hear her laugh again. “When I was around four I found a kitten out behind the garage and brought it inside. I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I hid it in my room.”

She frowned. “So I’m guessing bringing home unwanted animals is a thing for you.”

You couldn’t wipe the grin off my face if you tried.

“Did you get in trouble?”

I amped up my West Virginia drawl. “Yes, ma’am. ‘Specially when it turned out that cat wasn’t a kitten, but a polecat.”

Her face scrunched. “What’s a polecat?”

“Where I come from, a polecat is what you Yankees might call a skunk.”

She gasped, then laughed. “What happened?”

“My folks weren’t too happy. We had to move in with Meemaw and Pawpaw for about a week until they could get rid of the smell.”

She laughed hard enough that a few tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, Ian, now you have me worried.” She dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out to be a boy mom. If that happened to us, I think we’d have to sell the house and everything in it.”

She might’ve missed it, but I didn’t. “We?” I smiled.

Her laughter faded, and with her eyes on mine, she snapped off an artichoke leaf and brought it to her lips. “Did I say we?” she asked, before licking the base of the leaf, sliding it between her lips, and then baring her teeth as she scraped the juicy meat from the base.

The sudden growth in my jeans had me shifting in my seat, causing her to grin with the leaf still between her teeth.

This was a different Madison. This wasn’t the stressed out, uptight, tight-ass, ice queen. This girl was playful, fun, and too fucking sexy.

“Not cool,” I murmured, causing her smile to grow. I gave her a stern look. “Are you ticklish?”

Her eyes grew so wide, I nearly lost it. The way she swallowed told me all I needed to know. Would I tickle her? Absolutely not. The woman was carrying my baby. Would I threaten to tickle her? That was another story.

“No.” She swallowed again. “Not at all.”

“We’ll see,” I said, taking an aggressive bite of my pickle.

Blinking repeatedly, Madison dug into her cheeseburger. “Hey,” I said, covering her hand with my own. “I won’t tickle you. I promise.”

She studied my face, looking for the truth.

“I mean it. No tickling while you’re pregnant. After the baby though…we’ll see.”

She snatched her napkin off her lap and dabbed her mouth. “After the baby? Will we still be taking it day by day?”

Leaning forward, I lowered my voice.

“If it’s up to me, abso-fucking-lutely.”