10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Harris stepped out of the elevator onto the tenth floor, a small grin tugging the corners of his lips upward. He held a paper bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, feeling uncharacteristically lighthearted as he made his way back to his office.
The paper bag contained a mouthwatering chicken salad croissant sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie from the bakery around the corner. But that wasn’t what had put a skip in his step. It was the way Gigi had broken into a huge smile when Harris had delivered the same lunch order to her desk.
“For me?” she’d asked, peeking into the brown bag.
“You mentioned you like the chicken salad croissant from Sweet Breads Bakery, and that Rudy was napping, so you couldn’t move from your desk.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she’d said, but her eyes had lit up in appreciation. “But thank you. The croissant sandwich is my favorite .”
“Consider it a thank you for watching Rudy while I’m in board meetings today.” He’d glanced at the purring kitten, lovingly wrapped in a scarf-swaddle on Gigi’s lap.
“Anytime.” Her smile had widened further.
When Harris returned to his office, he was surprised to find Dean waiting for him, perched on the edge of his desk.
“What’re you all smiley about?” Dean asked, as though Harris had just peddled in on a unicycle.
Harris pushed away the blissful memory of Gigi. “Nothing. Just hungry and looking forward to my lunch.” He raised the brown bag and piping hot coffee, not wanting to give anything away. He shouldn’t be having these thoughts about an employee. He was aware. But the pull to Gigi was getting hard to ignore.
Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, spill it,” he urged, leaning in closer. “You haven’t smiled like that in forever. Did stock in GambleOnLove go up?”
Harris shrugged, irked that Dean would go straight to financial gain, like there was nothing else that could make Harris happy. Then again, he hadn’t run across anyone in years that lightened his heart the way Gigi could.
“Yep,” Harris replied, and Dean pumped a fist.
“Nice!”
Before Dean could press him further, their father strode into the office. He’d just returned yesterday from a week in Mexico with Karen, apparently eager to get back to work. Harris recognized the folder in his dad’s hand as the financial analysis he’d completed on SheTime, before he started working with Gigi and the team.
“I’ve been reviewing this, and I see your point about dissolving SheTime.” Their father slid right into business. No time for greetings. “It would raise our profit margins by fifteen percent overall.”
Harris’s good mood evaporated at his father’s words, replaced by a surprising surge of protectiveness for both Gigi and SheTime. He set his lunch on his desk before replying with, “I might have jumped the gun with my recommendation to dissolve the business.”
Dean cocked his head at Harris, as though that was the last thing he’d expected. “Really?”
“You’re saying the financials are wrong in here?” Dad raised the papers again.
Harris shook his head. “No, the financials are right.” He’d never pull together numbers haphazardly. “But I think we can improve profits with the right strategies. I’ve started making some changes, working to implement them as quickly as possible.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Dean said, giving Harris a brotherly push. “I knew you’d see the light once you started working with Gigi.”
Their dad’s forehead creased, not as excited about this revelation as Dean was. He shook his head. “Here.” He offered the analysis to no one in particular. Harris took it. “You two figure this out together. I don’t want to see it again until you’ve come to a final conclusion about SheTime. These are the kind of hard decisions you’ll need to start making without me.”
The heavy weight of responsibility settled back on Harris’s shoulders. He wasn’t planning to stick around. He was here to set Dean up for success. Had Gigi distracted him from his mission? From what was best for his brother? After all, if everything went as planned, Dean would run Ryan & Ryan by himself, and Harris needed to give his brother every advantage possible.
Setting the papers on his desk, Harris said, “We’ll have a revised analysis and recommendation to you by Christmas.”
By the time Harris and Gigi packed up the booth at the Sip & Shop—an evening gift market and hot cocoa tasting event—they stepped outside to a foot of fresh snow. It blanketed the streets and was still coming down. The usually bustling roads were muffled under a mattress of white. Only the scrape of plows cut through the snowfall and biting wind. Even the tops of the surrounding buildings were barely visible, their outlines blurred by the storm.
“I feel like the morning weatherman completely missed his mark today,” Harris said, trying to block Gigi from the wind as she pecked away at her phone, looking for an Uber. His scarf whipped at her, and he stuffed the ends into his coat. “There’s a lot more snow than expected. I should’ve checked on the weather at some point today. Or even stepped outside.”
“We were so busy, I didn’t even look at my phone until we were packing up.” Gigi glanced up at him, her eyes going wide. “The closest Uber is fifty-eight minutes away.”
“What?” Harris swiveled, checking their surroundings. The street was desolate. Even the conference hall they’d just left was locking up.
“Maybe there’s a restaurant still open? We could get dinner and wait for Ubers?” She covered her eyes, squinting down the street, looking for signs of life.
“Actually, I walked here.” Harris grimaced as icy flakes stung the back of his neck. He tugged on his knit hat. The storm was getting worse. “I only live a few blocks from here. Why don’t you come to my place? You can wait for an Uber there and I can throw something together for us to eat.” The offer hung in the air, laden with both excitement and apprehension. He wanted to spend more time with Gigi but was afraid of where it might lead. Yet there was no other option. He wouldn’t leave her here to wait for an Uber that might never come.
When Gigi hesitated, he held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or pressured by his invitation. He just wanted to ensure she was safe and warm.
“I’m sure the plows will catch up with the storm in the next few hours and then you’ll be able to get an Uber, or I can drive you home,” Harris offered. “Plus, I know Rudy would love to see you.”
Gigi’s apprehension eased. “Okay, that’d be great. I really appreciate it.”
He smiled, tugging his scarf further up on his neck. “Follow me.”
Harris and Gigi trudged through the snow in silence, focusing on each step and trying not to fall. Though Harris wouldn’t mind having a reason to catch Gigi—again. Finally, after what felt much further than a few blocks, they arrived at his brownstone. Harris unlocked the door and ushered Gigi inside, relieved to escape the biting cold.
“We made it,” Gigi said on a sigh, unwrapping the scarf that had covered her face like a ski mask.
Harris did the same, bits of ice hitting the floor. “Just barely.” He flicked on the light, casting a soft glow in the foyer before setting down the tote bag he’d been carrying for Gigi. “Can I take your coat?”
Gigi shimmied out of her peacoat. She handed it over. “Thank you.”
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Harris gave their coats a shake and hung them on the iron coatrack to dry.
“Wow, there are never any vacancies in this area. You got really lucky finding this place.” Gigi eyed the arched doorways and ornamental tiled ceiling. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” He grinned. “I actually bought the building about fifteen years ago.”
“Building? You own the entire brownstone? All four floors?”
He nodded, tugging off his hat and scarf. “It was an investment. Also, I couldn’t bring myself to sell it when I moved. I put a lot of time and effort into the restoration. Plus, I rent out the top two floors.”
“Wow,” she reiterated. She was clearly impressed, and a surge of pride moved through him. “Well, it’s gorgeous. Beautifully decorated.” Gigi removed her hat, running a hand through her tousled hair. Her cheeks were rosy red.
“Make yourself at home.” He took her hat and scarf, adding them to the coat rack. They both removed their boots, and Harris waved a hand at her. “Come. I’ll turn on the fireplace and we can warm up.” Leading her through an arched doorway and into the formal sitting room, Harris headed straight for the gas fireplace. He flicked it on, and the room filled with a comforting glow. Gigi gravitated to it like a moth. After clicking on a lamp, Harris joined her, and they soaked up the heat together.
“Marble mantel? Stained glass accent windows? Wingback chairs? Tiffany lamps? My sister would love this place.” Gigi did a little turn, assessing the room. “She’s an interior designer. Super creative and talented.”
Harris held his hands out toward the fire. “Sounds like creativity and talent run in the family.”
Gigi cocked her head. Her brow creased. “Are you referring to me?”
“Of course.” Why did she act like she never got complimented? Was that even possible? “The ideas you come up with for SheTime are so creative. The products, marketing, all the planning and details for events.”
She smiled. Softly, like she was allowing his words to sink in. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Harris was about to expand his compliments, but got distracted by how the flickering flames reflected and danced in Gigi’s vibrant eyes. She radiated in the fire’s golden glow, her cheeks still tinged with a rosy hue. And when she batted her long eyelashes, a droplet hit her cheek—melting remnants from the storm. It trickled like a tear, and Harris had a strong urge to brush it away. His fingers curled, reacting.
With a nervous laugh, Gigi brushed a hand across her cheek, erasing the droplet and the moment. “I think my eyelashes are unthawing.”
Harris chuckled, mostly at himself. What was he doing? “I think we just walked through the storm of the year.” His attention went back to the orange flames. “We had a long, but successful day. I think we should celebrate. Are you a wine drinker?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes.”
“Pinot Noir? Cabernet? Or do you prefer white?”
“Red, white, rose, bubbles. I don’t discriminate.”
He huffed a laugh. “Perfect. I’ll get us a bottle and grab Rudy from my bedroom. Then I can scrounge up some dinner. Though I’m going to apologize in advance. My kitchen was not prepared for company. I’m a little light on options.”
Looking excited by this comment, Gigi popped up on her toes and pivoted like a ballerina. “I’ve got just the thing,” she said, walking toward the foyer.
He watched her, confused. “You have something for dinner?”
A few seconds later, Gigi made her way back to him. Her tote bag was slung on her shoulder, and she was digging through it. “I went to the farmer’s market this morning, before going to the conference hall. I’ve got veggies, orzo, chicken bouillon, and a wedge of parmesan.” She pulled out a handful of leafy orange carrots, proving her point. “I can make us Italian Penicillin!”
He tipped his head, intrigued and concerned.
“It’s my grandma’s recipe. Don’t worry. It’s soup, not medicine.” Gigi bounced with a giggle. “But it will definitely make you feel better if you’re sick. My grandma makes it for me anytime I’m not feeling well. Can I make it for you? As a thank you for saving me from the storm?”
The wind, sleet, and snow rattled against the front windows and Harris was thankful for the disaster outside. Otherwise, he’d be standing in his kitchen alone, wondering how far past the expiration date his milk was and if he could use it to make mac and cheese. Worse, he’d be wondering all that without Gigi. “Can I be your sous chef? You’re a guest at my home. I can’t in good conscience have you wait on me.”
She shrugged, her eyes bright. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”
Harris showed Gigi to the kitchen, which was toward the back of the house, and opened up into his living room. “I’ll be back in a minute. Feel free to poke around wherever you like.” He jogged upstairs and swooped Rudy out of his kennel, kissing him on his tiny, hairy head. Then he ducked into the library to grab a bottle of his best pinot noir—a bottle he’d picked up a few years back on an impromptu trip to France. He’d been saving it for a special occasion. Being stuck in a snowstorm making soup with Gigi felt like the right time to break it open.
By the time Harris arrived back in the kitchen, Gigi had all the veggies and ingredients splayed across the kitchen island. She’d also found the big wooden cutting board, a knife, and a peeler.
“There’s my little cutie pie!” Gigi squeezed her hands to her chest, barely containing her excitement as she rushed over to Harris, going straight for Rudy. For a second, he pictured her greeting him the same way after a long day at work. Ignoring the fleeting thought, Harris offered the meowing kitten, and Gigi cradled him in her arms, like a baby. She scratched his belly, quieting his mews. He raised his white-socked paws to her face.
“I think you might like a little chicken broth,” she cooed to Rudy. “I’ll warm you up a little bowl after I make the soup. It will warm your tummy.”
Harris grinned, leaving the two to snuggle as he opened the wine. “So, tell me about this recipe of yours.” He retrieved two wide-bowled pinot noir glasses from a cabinet. “Your grandma taught you how to make it?”
“Yes—my Nonna. That’s Italian for grandmother and what I’ve always called her.” She gave Rudy one more squeeze before setting him down. He immediately pounced on one of his catnip toys. The little bell attached to the ball jingled. “We cook together a lot. She’s taught me everything I know about Italian food and cooking.”
Harris began filling their glasses. “Have you cooked with her since you were a kid?” He pictured Gigi running around her grandma’s kitchen in a tiny apron, spreading cheer and a cloud of flour.
“Actually, I didn’t meet my Nonna until I was in my twenties.”
The image in Harris’s head popped. He paused before filling the second glass. “Oh?” he replied, allowing Gigi to expand only if she felt comfortable.
“I think I mentioned in the carriage ride that my mother raised my sister and me by herself.” Her words were timid, like she needed to remind him of that conversation, as if he might have forgotten what she’d shared with him. He hadn’t. He remembered every word. “I didn’t grow up with my dad. He left when I was little. But I’d always been curious about him. My sister and I had some communication with him when we were teenagers and found out he lived in Chicago.”
Harris set the wine bottle on the counter. “Is that why you came here?”
She nodded, but hurt flashed across her face. Harris’s whole chest tightened, and he wanted to hunt her father down and give him a piece of his mind.
“It is,” Gigi confirmed before moving to the kitchen sink. She pushed up her sweater sleeves and washed her hands. When she turned off the faucet, the hurt had dissipated from her beautiful features. “He’s why I moved here, but not why I stayed. We don’t really talk much anymore.”
Harris handed her a glass. “I’m sorry. He’s missing out on having an amazing person in his life.”
She gave him a grin. “Thank you. He is. But, in moving here and trying to connect with him, I got to meet my Nonna, and she embraced me and my sister with open arms. She’s amazing and I’m grateful to have her in my life. We actually live in the same apartment building. I see her just about every day. She loves my friends, too, and spoils us all with her cooking. I’m blessed to have her in my life.”
“She sounds like a gem.” Harris raised his glass. “Cheers to Nonna?”
Gigi brightened. She clinked his glass. “Cheers to Nonna.”
They both sipped, keeping steady eye contact over the thin glass rims.
Lowering her glass, Gigi smacked her lips together. Then she ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip. “That is delish!”
Harris’s pulse quickened. He almost forgot he was drinking wine. “I’m glad you like it.”
Gigi took another sip before setting her glass on the island. “Okay, let’s make some soup.” She put herself in front of the cutting board and picked up a carrot.
“What else can I get you?” Harris asked, as Gigi began peeling the vegetable.
“Do you have salt?” Her brow quirked at this. “Because I peeked in your fridge and I’m kind of amazed you even survive. Do you live on sparkling water and beef jerky sticks?”
“I’m a take-out afficionado,” he countered. “But, yes, I have salt. I’m not a heathen.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re not a heathen.” She winked, and he grinned. “I need salt, two large pots, a blender, and a cheese grater.”
As Gigi prepped the vegetables and Rudy pranced through the kitchen, Harris gathered her list. At her instruction, he also added water and chicken bouillon to one pot and set it on the stove, turning the gas burner to medium heat. By the time he was done, she’d chopped the carrots, garlic, and onion. Next, she took hold of the celery, slicing it with the gusto of a Michelin Star chef.
Harris leaned against the counter, watching her in awe. “I’d take off my finger if I tried to chop that fast.”
“No, you wouldn’t. It just takes practice.”
“I don’t know. That looks like talent to me.” Harris leaned in over the island to watch Gigi maneuver the knife with precision. Her easy movements nearly hypnotized him.
“Here, let me show you,” she said, reaching for him.
Before he knew it, Gigi had tugged him close. She placed the knife in his hand and slid her delicate fingers over his. As she did, Harris molded his body around her, angling himself to watch over her shoulder. The warmth of her touch sent a sizzle down his spine, and Harris focused hard, reminding himself that he had hold of a sharp blade.
Keep yourself in check. Harris repeated the warning in his head, but his body was screaming the opposite.
“Put the tip of the knife on the board and move the blade up and down, using the tip as a lever.” Gigi guided Harris’s hand, and they completed a few slices together. “Always cut using the center of your blade.” They chopped a few more times, her sweet, sugar-cookie scent dislodging every thought from his brain. “See, it’s so easy. You got this.” Gigi turned her head, smiling proudly and placing her lips just inches from his. Their gazes locked and Harris’s heart lurched, like it wanted to jump out of his chest and join the veggies on the cutting board.
Without thinking, his hand moved to her waist, to ground himself. At his touch, Gigi’s blush lips parted, as if she were inviting him to kiss her. In that instant, Harris knew he was a goner. He was being drawn to her like a magnet.
“You got this,” she repeated, barely over a whisper, and with her next breath, Harris swore she leaned into him. He was exercising excessive discipline to keep from closing the distance, which felt like an inch and a mile at the same time. Every fiber of his being was screaming to give into temptation, to let go of all the reasons he shouldn’t, and just kiss her.