Chapter 19 #3
This is Gavin letting me in, revealing an emotional vulnerability. This is a conscious choice. His choice, to be himself with me. Not Gavin, my boss. It’s Gavin, the man I’ve always wanted to know more.
“Open the second one,” Gavin says, nudging the bag. His voice is lower, huskier. It’s not a tone I’ve heard before, and it’s even sexier than his serious alpha voice.
I tuck the gift card inside the book and set it on the bed, feeling my hands tremble.
Pull it together, Zoey.
But as I pull aside the tissue paper in the second bag, revealing a small, square box, the kind meant for jewelry, I’m the furthest thing from pulled together. I feel like Gavin has found a loose string and tugged, pulling me apart at the seams.
I cannot look up at him, holding the navy blue box in one hand and the gift bag in the other. “I can’t,” I say, staring down at my hands, willing them to be still.
Instantly, Gavin’s large hands engulf mine. He first eases the gift bag from my left hand, dropping it to the floor. And then he takes the box from my other hand. I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to hold myself together.
To feel this much over something so small is ridiculous. I’m like a child next to him, all emotions where he’s so steady. How must he see me?
“Zoey.”
Gavin rests a hand on my cheek, and it’s all I can do not to lean into his touch. I have to hold myself in check. He slides two fingers along my jaw and gently lifts my chin until I’m meeting his eyes. I’ve catalogued so many of Gavin’s expressions over the years, but this one is entirely new.
“Why don’t you want to open it?” His tone is gentle, coaxing, yet still with an underlying command I can’t ignore.
“It’s too much. This is all … too much.”
“Or maybe,” Gavin says, pressing the box back into my hands, “maybe it’s just right. New, scary, unknown. But right .”
My mouth goes dry at his words. I want to believe what I see in his eyes, which looks an awful lot like a promise that he hasn’t yet made in words.
I want to pinch myself. Can this really be happening?
Just days ago, Gavin and I were in the office, being professional.
Now, I’ve snuggled with him in bed, running my fingers through his hair while he slept.
I introduced him to his daughter. I’ve met his parents.
Let’s not forget that I dragged his unconscious body through his house.
And you know what? It does feel right. On paper, Gavin and I make no sense. We’re a bad idea. In reality? I feel more and more like we are a perfect fit. Not in some fantasy I’m creating in my mind, but in a very messy reality.
Gavin’s fingers drop from my chin, skating along my arm before he steps back, giving me a little space.
With a steadying breath, I open the jewelry box.
Inside is a delicate silver chain with a deep blue stone at the end.
I don’t know my jewelry well, but I think it’s a sapphire. It looks expensive, and beautiful.
“Gavin,” I whisper. “It is too much.”
But he’s already lifting the box from my hand and spinning me. Before I can protest any more, he gently sweeps my hair to the side and lifts the necklace over my head. His fingers brush over the skin at my neck, making me tremble.
“There,” he says, his hands squeezing my shoulders firmly, almost possessively. “I told you. Just right.”
I’m about to turn back around when I feel Gavin’s lips ghost over my shoulder.
My breath catches in my chest. His almost kiss becomes a definite kiss, then a series of kisses, I have to wonder if it’s possible to die from holding your breath.
Because there is no way I’m going to be able to get oxygen in my lungs while he’s doing that. My eyelids flutter closed.
If this is how I die, I wouldn’t change a thing. RIP, indeed.
Until his mother shouts up the stairs. “Gav! You know our rule about having girls in your bedroom!”
Her laughter knocks the breath out of me in a gasp. Gavin’s hands tighten on my shoulders, and for a brief moment, he drops his forehead to rest there. My face flames and I cover my eyes with my hands.
Forget death by being kissed. I’m going to die of embarrassment, right here, right now.
“I’m so sorry,” Gavin mutters. “There’s not actually a rule. I mean, not since I was in high school. My mother is just … how she is.”
“It’s fine. And she’s right. We should probably get downstairs,” I say.
Gavin smooths my hair back in place over my shoulders, covering the places where he kissed. Hopefully, I don’t have any marks. Because that’s the only thing that would be more embarrassing.
“Take a moment to settle in if you’d like,” Gavin says, and then he’s gone before I can even thank him for my gifts.
* * *
“So, Zoey, tell me about yourself,” Mrs. Brownell says with a smile. I’m thankful that I have potatoes to peel in front of me so I can focus on something while answering what feels like a very girlfriend-like question. “And please, call me Norah.”
Though after what happened upstairs, I’m feeling a lot more like a girlfriend.
The pan sizzles as she browns a roast in a cast iron skillet. The delicious scent of butter, garlic, and cooking beef fills the air. My stomach rumbles and I realize the last time I ate was this morning with Delilah. That seems like a lifetime ago.
“I’m not all that interesting,” I say, realizing even as I say it that it’s true.
“I graduated from UT. I live with my four best friends in a house in South Austin, and for the past two years I worked—I work —as Gavin’s executive assistant.
” I clear my throat, hoping she doesn’t catch the slip-up.
I definitely don’t want to talk about quitting.
“And now, I’m helping him as his temporary nanny. ”
“So, you just work for him?” She raises one white eyebrow at me, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Officially? Yes.”
“Unofficially?” she presses.
The woman is relentless, but I kind of love it. I shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”
She hums, and for a moment, we work in a comfortable silence. I used to help Mom like this in the kitchen, typically grumbling about it the whole time. I’d give anything to be able to cook alongside her now.
As if somehow following the path my thoughts took, Gavin’s mom asks, “Is your family from Austin?”
“I grew up there,” I say, hedging around the details. Gavin doesn’t even know I lost my mom, and I certainly don’t want to start in on that whole conversation now. Not in the midst of this already emotionally charged situation.
Let’s stick to the shallow water in the pool, please. No adult swim.
“And when exactly did you fall in love with Gavin?”
Her voice is so even, like she’s asking what my major was. It takes me a moment to really hear her question. I drop the potato in my hands, and it rolls to the edge of the counter and off, finally coming to rest against her bare foot.
My eyes meet hers with complete shock. Hers are glowing with amusement.
“What—I—how did you … No. I mean, I don’t—ugh.” I put my face in my hands, smelling the starchy, earthy smell of potato on my skin.
Her laugh shouldn’t soothe me, but it does. It’s warm and kind and overrun with joy. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Gavin will send me out back with the cattle if he knows. And don’t worry; I won’t tell him.”
I retrieve the potato from the floor, give it a good rinse, and then go back to my job, trying to keep my hands steady. Am I in love with Gavin? My reaction to her words had more to do with my shock than her actual wording.
But honestly? I’m not sure she’s wrong. Not that I have anything to compare it to. My relationships have been sparse. Thin. I’ve never had a boyfriend who made me feel a fraction of what I feel for Gavin.
That doesn’t mean it’s love. I mean, come on.
Can you fall in love with someone while watching them from a professional distance?
Can you fall in love without being on a real, official date that didn’t end abruptly?
Can you fall in love without having a conversation to define the relationship, without a kiss on the lips?
I close my eyes, pausing for a moment so I don’t peel my fingers instead. Because the more questions I ask myself, the more firm my suspicion becomes.
Yes. Yes, you can fall in love like this. I think I already have.
Gavin’s mother wipes her hands on a dish towel and pats my bottom, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “No need to panic, dear. It was a mother’s intuition. Confirmed by your response.”
“Oh, great.” I shake my head, feeling the burn in my cheeks.
“Trust me—Gavin is probably clueless,” she says, moving the meat to a silver pressure-cooker on the counter. “About relationships anyway. Give him a business, and he can fix it. Give him a good woman, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.” She clucks her tongue. “It’s a shame.”
My mouth is the Sahara and my thoughts are like scattered clouds, skimming across the desert horizon.
“But we’ll see what we can do about that,” she says with a wink, before grabbing the peeled potatoes and tossing them in with the meat. “Grab the baby carrots, will you? They’re in the drawer of the fridge.”
I do as she asks, thankful for something to do that will keep me from doing something, saying something, or just looking stupid.
Brushing her hands off on her apron, Norah gestures to the long wooden table.
“Sit, dear. I’m just going to roll out some biscuits.
Thank goodness for Pinterest and instant pots.
I tend to forget about dinner until about five o’clock every night.
Just pop something in that magical contraption, and voila!
Dinner in under an hour. Makes me look like I’m a planner, even though my husband very well knows that I am not. ”
I take a seat, and a moment later, she places a glass of ice water in front of me with a smile.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a long swallow. “So, are you and your husband opposites, then?”
She laughs, a sound that resembles the honking of a goose, and I find myself grinning.
“You could say that. Polar opposites. Moon and sun. Dark and light. Sweet and savory. Even how we look. Tall and short. Lean and … not so lean.”
She gives her hips a little shimmy, and I giggle. “And have you always lived here at the ranch?”
“Since our early marriage days, yes. Though it was a working ranch then. We lived in one of the staff houses out back.” She gestures toward the barn where Gavin and his father disappeared to a while ago. She shakes her head. “Those were long days. Filled with longer nights.”
Her wink makes me laugh. Her openness and honesty are a bit shocking compared to Gavin, who hides a world behind his eyes. It’s refreshing, especially given the heaviness of the past few days. If things never work out with Gavin and me, I wonder if I could still keep his mom.
“Did you work on the land as well? I don’t even know if that’s the right way to say it.”
She laughs. “You sound like me when I first met Charles. I was a city girl, falling for the country boy. I couldn’t tell the front end from the back end of a cow.”
I know she’s joking about that, but my mind has swirled away, thinking about Gavin’s parents, about Zane and Abby. It seems that the old adage about opposites attracting is a real thing. While Gavin and I are perhaps too much alike.
Norah thankfully doesn’t notice me drifting away, and she continues. “It was his family’s place, and not long after we were married, they won the Texas lottery, so to speak.”
“The lottery?”
She grins. “Oil. And unlike many of the ranchers, his parents owned the mineral rights. So, the cattle part of the ranching faded out a bit, which was fine. It’s a lot of hard work for diminishing returns these days.
Once his parents were gone, we moved into the big house”—she gestures around the room with the wooden spoon in her hand—“and about ten years ago, we decided to turn it into more of an exhibit than a working ranch. It’s delightful. ”
“I’m excited to see it tomorrow.” Is it weird that I want to get my hands on a baby goat? Maybe stuff one in my suitcase when we leave?
“I’m sure Gavin will be more than happy to give you a tour.” Her face grows serious and she looks up toward the ceiling. “How do you think she’s doing? I can only imagine, knowing what little I do about Gavin’s ex. You met her, right?”
“I did.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t understand what kind of mother can do that. I don’t even want kids, and I can understand that.”
Her eyes widen for a moment, and I realize what I said.
“Oh, I mean …”
She waves a hand before turning back to the biscuit dough she’s cutting. “That’s quite alright. You don’t need to explain.”
But I feel like I’ve committed the ultimate faux pas, and I’m backpedaling now, needing to explain. For reasons that I don’t want to really admit, I need Gavin’s mother to approve of me. And the thing is, if I want Gavin, Ella is a part of the package. It means rethinking my stance on motherhood.
“It’s just … my mother died.”
Her chin tips up and her eyes are filled with sadness. “Oh, sweetie.”
“My dad is very strict. Always has been. He’s a great man,” I hurry to add. “I just don’t feel like I know how to do this.” I point between the two of us. “I’m not maternal. Or soft. Kids hate me.”
Dusting the flour off her hands, Norah blows a stray curl from her face. “Now don’t you give me that. I could see the way you care for that girl the same way I saw that you’re in love with my son.”
“Who’s in love with our son?”
Gavin’s father steps through the back door, Gavin right on his heels.
I am dead. Maybe I look like I’m alive, sitting at this table, clamping my jaw shut and attempting to arrange my face into the picture of casualness, but I am DOA. I can only hope and pray that he did not hear what his mother just said.
Thankfully, his mama is quick on her feet. “I was just saying how much I love my son, especially when he makes the effort to come home.” Norah gives her husband and then Gavin kisses on the cheek, winking at me over their shoulders.
They seem to have bought that, and I relax, but only a fraction. Because even if Gavin didn’t hear it, I know it, and that changes everything.