Chapter 19 #2
I manage to open the door without Ella falling out and unfasten her seat belt, gathering her in my arms. She sighs against me but doesn’t wake. I’m sure the emotional exhaustion has caught up with her, and I don’t know how late she stayed up the night before, watching her tablet.
She’s a little big to carry this way, cradled against my chest, but she’s so light, like she has hollow bird bones rather than the normal human kind. Or maybe I’m simply not used to holding children. I can’t remember the last time I did.
“Follow me,” Gavin says, his voice rough and his eyes flashing with some emotion I can’t name. I wish I could label it desire or affection, but like the rest of what lies between us, it’s much more layered and complicated than that.
He turns to the house, which up close looks even more like the stereotypical farmhouse in every old movie, painted white with a wide porch and complete with a creaky screen door.
Gavin’s father holds the door open for us, reaching out a rough, tanned hand and brushes a strand of hair off Ella’s cheek as we pass.
A smile spreading slow across his face. The move makes me quiver, as though his hand had touched me instead.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” Gavin asks as we reach the bottom of a set of stairs. “The bedrooms are up there.”
“She’s not so heavy,” I tell him, but he urges me to go ahead of him, placing a big hand on the lower part of my back.
My spine becomes a lit fuse, heat and energy zipping up each vertebra until even the roots of my hair feel electrified. I draw in a breath, trying to remind myself that this isn’t what it feels like, which is a warm domesticity with the guy I’ve liked for years.
His parents aren’t my in-laws. Ella isn’t my daughter. Gavin isn’t my boyfriend. And he certainly won’t be anything more.
So, don’t get any more ideas , I sternly rebuke my errant thoughts and mutinous body, which wants to pause on the stairs, relishing in Gavin’s touch.
Too soon, we’re at the top, and I’m breathless despite my insistence at carrying Ella. Gavin brushes by me, leading the way to a room toward the end of a hallway.
I have to bite back a smile as we enter. The whole room is an explosion of bright pinks and purples, clearly stuffed to the gills with new things that his mother has somehow found the time to buy in the hours while we drove. I can still see the tags on a lot of things.
I set Ella down carefully next to a furry pink body pillow that’s twice as long as she is, then back away, noting the pink and purple plaid curtains, the thick rug, which is a gray and pink chevron pattern. The closet door is slightly ajar, and I can see that it’s stuffed with clothes.
I turn to Gavin with an eyebrow raised. He shrugs sheepishly. “What can I say,” he whispers. “Mom is thrilled.”
“Clearly.”
We both pause before leaving, looking at the girl on the bed, her strawberry blonde hair fanned out over the pillow.
She looks younger in sleep, sweeter. All the hard edges have rounded off, and she is just a lost eight-year-old girl.
My chest is a flaming ball of emotion between Gavin’s mother and Ella.
And Gavin, not that it’s any surprise what he does to my heart.
I follow him out of the room, closing the door softly behind me.
His presence fills the hallway, not just the height of him, which suddenly looms so large, but something more.
He reaches out, brushing his fingertips down the length of my arm until he’s squeezing my hand.
The unexpected touch has me holding my breath, feeling like any minute I’m going to burst like an overripe tomato.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me gently. I follow him over the
groaning wood floors to another doorway, which he pushes open, indicating that I should go in. When he drops my hand, I resist the urge to snatch it back.
“This will be your room while we’re here,” he says, and I walk into what was clearly once Gavin’s bedroom. He clears his throat. “Don’t, um, look too closely at anything.”
Oh, the snooping I’m going to do later.
For now, I pretend to be a polite, decent human being and not one eroded by curiosity, and simply glance around at the framed football jersey on the wall, the array of photographs of a Gavin who must be closer to my age but looks like a baby somehow with his soft cheeks, floppy mess of hair, and bright eyes.
He was cute then but has grown more handsome over the years.
I much prefer the present-day Gavin, who is watching me carefully.
“It’s nice,” I say, and then my eyes fall on the pillow, where three familiar-looking gold-wrapped candies are lined up in a row.
I pluck one between two fingers and stare at Gavin, who shifts on his feet. “My mama did some preparatory shopping,” he says.
“How did she know these are my favorite? How did you ?”
“I’ve seen you sneaking them out of a desk drawer sometimes during the day.”
Gavin has been spying on me at work . I try not to let that thought send me shooting over the moon.
“Have you never tried one?” I ask.
He shakes his head. I open his hand, dropping the gold ball into his palm. I grab myself another and carefully peel back the foil.
“You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?” I ask, knowing full well that he isn’t.
That’s the sort of thing I know about Gavin.
Facts that might be used to fill out a form at work or something.
Not real things or true things. I want to know it all .
And I definitely plan to find out as much as I can while I’m here from whatever secrets lie in this room and the ones I bet his mother will share.
Before I can tell him it’s too much for one bite, he pops the whole thing into his mouth, and I can hear the crunch as he chews. I bite mine in half, holding back a moan as the smooth filling and crunch of hazelnut and wafer hit my taste buds.
Gavin makes a pleasant humming sound, drawing my attention to his mouth. Delicious .
The candy. The candy is delicious. I force my attention away from his full lips.
“What’s in this?” he asks.
“Hazelnuts and chocolate,” I tell him, not mentioning that this particular confection reminds me of his eyes.
But his irises have lighter brown flecks and almost a gold ring toward the center.
I realize that I’m staring and drop my gaze to the floor before popping the rest of the chocolate into my mouth.
“Thank you,” I say. “This is a surprising touch. I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I notice more than you know,” Gavin says. “I always have.”
My eyes drift back up to his. I wonder, not for the first time, where we would be if Zane hadn’t said what he’d said at mini golf. If Gavin hadn’t been feverish. If Eleanor hadn’t dropped Ella off on his doorstep, like some kind of deranged, child-delivering stork.
But all those things did happen. Everything’s different now. But does it have to be?
At the moment, the worries and concerns and details seem to have melted away.
When I look into Gavin’s warm chocolate eyes, I stop thinking about the girl sleeping down the hallway.
When my gaze drops to his lips, I’m not considering our age difference.
When he shifts closer to me, I forget all about the fact that I signed a contract to work for him as Ella’s temporary nanny.
The tension between us has the force of the moon’s gravitational pull, and any moment, I’m going to be swept away with the tide and right into Gavin’s arms.
Would that be such a bad thing?
My eyes are just fluttering closed when Gavin steps back. “I forgot something. Wait here,” he says.
Before I can respond, he’s gone, and I hear his heavy footsteps running down the stairs. I’m disappointed yet also relieved. Okay, fine. Mostly disappointed. But I should be relieved. Kissing Gavin right now would only add to the tangled mess of things.
But it would be amazing.
He’s back before I can even move, which is slightly embarrassing, since I’m standing exactly where I was moments ago. Gavin drops my suitcase on the floor and hands me two gift bags.
“I never gave you your birthday present,” he says.
The wattage from my smile could probably power the electricity for a whole city block. I take the bags. “You said present . Singular.”
Looking a bit sheepish, which for the record, is an adorable expression on Gavin, he shrugs. “I got nervous and bought two. Open this one first.”
He tugs on one of the bags. I set the other on the bed behind me.
The anticipation is like all of my childhood Christmas mornings rolled into one.
Because Gavin bought me two gifts. I wonder if he had them gift-wrapped, because the tissue paper looks artfully arranged inside the gold and turquoise bag.
I feel the distinct edge of a paperback book and pull it out.
The cover looks familiar, and I realize why when I read the title. “ Franny and Zooey —I’ve been meaning to read this. I loved The Catcher in the Rye when …”
I stop myself before I can say, when I was in high school. Because it wasn’t that long ago. The last thing I want is to ruin this moment with a reminder of my age.
“I know the spelling is different, and the Zooey in the book is a guy, but it just seemed like—”
“Gavin.” I interrupt his rambling. He stops when he sees my smile. “I love it.”
“Look inside,” he says.
I start to flip the pages and find a gift card to Mozart’s, my favorite local coffee shop. I stare down at it. This shouldn’t feel so momentous. But it is.
“How did you know?” I ask, unable to look at Gavin.
“I saw the name on your cups. It’s actually not far from my house if you cut over on Redbud. It’s a pretty drive. Anyway.”
He waves a hand, then clears his throat and shuffles on his feet. When Gavin was sick, I saw him at his most physically vulnerable. But this is something altogether different.