Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
To Wish Impossible Things – The Cure
Christmas and New Year’s were good. Busy.
She realized the magic didn’t last, and Sam was already nine, so the clock was ticking on Santa and all that.
Theo made more of an effort this year, taking some of the pressure off her, possibly because he was dating someone Gabi actually liked—Tammi, who owned Hair Extraordinaire, Promise’s only salon.
She was friendly, showy, outgoing. Pretty much perfect for Theo.
Gabi and Theo had never really looked like a couple, except in high school, where football and cheerleading went hand-in-hand, and they had nothing to worry about except the next history test, the keg party on Friday night.
Gabi smiled softly. Turned out, the guys with books tucked into their back pockets—the shy, sexy ones—were the keepers.
Dallas left for Cairo a week late. He’d dodged calls from his editor for as long as he could, and she’d been the one to help him pack, driven him to the airport in Greenville, a bit like she was sending him off to college.
She hadn’t cried until she got back to her car after leaving him at the gate, then it was huge, heaving sobs while hugging her steering wheel.
He was still limping and tended to startle at loud noises, and maybe he always would. He had nightmares. She wasn’t sure conflict reporting was where he needed to be anymore—and she suspected in some deep part of himself he felt the same.
But he had to figure that out. It was his life, and she wanted him to be happy. She wanted Dallas to be Dallas—not who anyone else thought he should be.
She was just the girlfriend waiting at home.
The girlfriend who owned her own business in his cousin’s refurbished mill, where Wilder Grounds had opened in February and quickly become more than a café.
On Saturday mornings, local potters, quilters, and woodworkers set up tables along the old brick walls.
Twice a month, a musician played beside the freight doors while she served lattes and warm apple cake.
She’d even considered applying for a beer-and-wine license and hosting the occasional happy hour or light Sunday brunch.
She might be waiting, but she wasn’t standing still.
She’d done that for a man once. Never again. The right guy didn’t expect you to put your life on hold, she’d learned.
Being apart hadn’t meant silence. There were calls with Sam filling Dallas in on the latest Blue’s Clues episode and the antics of their new dog, Scooby, and Dallas telling Sam about Cairo—a place her son could now locate on his globe.
There were long emails sent at strange hours, two battered packages stuffed with postcards, gifts, and pages torn from his notebooks, and one frantic, apologetic call from him after no one had heard from him in nearly six days.
Then there were the calls after Sam was asleep, when Dallas’s voice dropped, and he told her to spread her legs, slip her hand beneath her panties, and move exactly the way he wanted her to.
He could keep her trembling with nothing but his voice, listening to every broken breath until she came with his name trapped between her teeth.
It wasn’t remotely the same as having him inside her.
But some nights, it was the only thing that got them through.
Tonight, getting through it meant sitting on the lowered steps of the Wilder Grounds truck with a beer between her knees, while she waved to people as Promise’s Spring Jubilee wound down around her.
Andy Morrel was taking down the colored bulbs hanging over the craft booths, and a talented bluegrass guitarist she’d booked for Wilder Grounds next month was packing up near the courthouse steps.
It was almost deserted, and she was only putting off going home to a Dallas-less bed.
She’d kept the truck for street fairs, ballgames, and the occasional town event.
The café had outgrown it, but she hadn’t been able to let it go.
Sam was with Theo and Tammi tonight. He’d raced over an hour ago, flushed and grinning, to show her the plastic trophy he’d won at one of the game booths.
Gabi took another swallow of beer. Feeling maudlin was pointless.
She wasn’t alone. She had Sam, a new business, friends.
She just missed him. His family invited her over all the time—Fontana and Campbell, Justin and Lainey, their houses increasingly full of children and delightful chaos.
The Trues were indecently happy about her relationship with Dallas.
Boundless joy put it pretty well. Sure, those visits took the edge off the loneliness for an evening, but afterward, her bed was still cool sheets and solitude.
Dallas was coming home soon, though, exactly as he’d promised.
He was working out the dates with his managing editor, and she was trying not to count the days until his plane landed.
The thought of slipping right back into this routine for the foreseeable future depressed her a little.
A lot. But she loved his ambition, his talent, his brilliance.
You couldn’t have, want, one part of the man without the others.
Sighing, she dug a note out of her pocket. In one of the sweetest, most thoughtful gestures, Dallas had given her a beat-up wooden box before he left, with instructions to read one of his “scribblings” whenever she needed him.
“When you miss me,” he’d whispered, cheeks flushing.
As if it amazed him that she would.
The note she’d chosen tonight was written on the back of a movie stub from one of their dates—Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, November 22—his slanted script something she saw in her dreams.
There’s a freckle above your lip. I don’t think you know I know it’s there, but I do. I’ve imagined kissing it more times than I’m willing to admit.
Gabi lifted her fingers to the spot. She hadn’t realized he’d noticed it.
Blinking back tears, she pulled her cardigan tighter around her, the ache of missing him softened, as always, by his words. The night had gone cool, but the trees along the square were budding, flowers blooming along the gravel paths in the park. Spring had finally reached Promise.
She loved this town. Someday, her wanderer would be ready to call it home, too.
“Turns out, ninety-six days is a hell of a long time to be away,” a familiar voice said behind her.
Every hair along her nape lifted.
Gabi turned to find Dallas standing beneath the colored bulbs, travel-worn but smiling, his duffel at his feet.
His hair had grown long enough to curl around his ears, the silver at his temples stark against the lights.
His rumpled black button-down hung open at the throat, sleeves shoved to his forearms, as if he’d come straight from the airport with no thought beyond reaching her.
They moved at the same time, crossing the space between them in a rush. Gabi hit him hard enough to make him stagger, her arms locking around his neck as his closed around her. Then his mouth found hers, hungry and desperate, the kiss carrying the anguish of every lonely night they’d spent apart.
“Too long, never again,” he whispered, his lips trailing her throat as he breathed her in. “God, Sparkle, you smell so good, every damn time.”
Voices and laughter drifted from the square, carried on the breeze.
Dallas caught her hand and pulled her behind the truck.
The metal chilled her back as he crowded against her, heat and hard muscle, and kissed her again before she could catch her breath.
The world tilted. She opened for him on a gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as his tongue swept into her mouth.
Desire rushed through her so fast her knees weakened, and his thigh slid between hers, holding her upright.
“Wait,” she whispered, what he’d said finally registering. “Never again. You said, ‘never again.’”
He braced his hand against the side of the truck, hung his head, and drew in a gusty breath. “Gab, I’m taking over the Dispatch.”
For a second, she could only stare. Then she seized him by the front of his shirt and turned him, backing him against the truck. “You’re what?”
His gaze lifted to hers, the same shade as the sugared lime slices she used to crown cheesecakes, then slid in a lazy sweep down her body. “You’re wearing a skirt. Could be convenient.”
Laughing—aroused, stunned, ridiculously happy—she twisted out of his grasp. “Tell me what’s going on!”
“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand, twining their fingers. “Inside.”
They rounded the truck, climbed in through the side door, and locked it behind them.
Giving her another quick kiss, he grasped Gabi’s waist and lifted her onto the counter, bringing them eye to eye. “I like this skirt,” he said, pinching a fold between his fingers. “I’ve always kinda wanted to mess around in here. You have this commanding presence behind the counter. Very erotic.”
“Dallas Francis True,” she said in her best mom voice. “Now.”
Sighing, he stepped back, leaning against the shelves opposite her. She waited while he fidgeted, knowing the routine by now: adjust his glasses, tap his fingers against his thighs, mentally review what he wanted to say.
Eventually, he explained, “Halpern’s retiring, per his wife’s orders.
I talked to him before I left about waiting before he sold, giving me until the summer to work things out with Reuters.
I think I already knew. There are a lot of changes I want to make here.
More editorial space, a travel section, a stronger online brand, because that transformation in journalism is already happening.
Someone dedicated to handling that, I’ll need help.
I have a lot of ideas.” He gave her a sheepish grin that melted her heart. “I just needed some time to…process.”
“Time to miss me, you mean,” she said, trying for stern and failing.
“That too.” He shrugged, his shyness something she loved about him.
Understood about him. “When I fell in love with you, I fell out of love with that life. I was in Cairo with the familiar sounds and smells, the reporting hustle, the commotion, and it wasn’t like”—frowning, he pressed a hand to his middle, those long, slender fingers of his making her imagine dirty things—“I hated it. I still loved it, but I didn’t want it.
The path just didn’t lead there anymore.
I have more here. You and Sam, my family, the Dispatch.
I’m lined up for freelance work with Reuters, maybe AP, so there’ll be some travel, but I’m going to be based here. With you. With Sam.”
Gabi shook her head, her thoughts colliding. Here. He was staying here. With her. The metal edge of the counter vanished, along with the hum of the refrigerator, the voices outside, everything but him.
His smile turned wicked. “Can I come back over there and see what’s under that skirt, Sparkle?”
“Granny underwear,” she whispered, trying to remember which pair she’d put on. She hadn’t been expecting this.
His brow furrowed, clueless male. “What?”
“Never mind.” Gabi crooked a finger at him. “Come find out, Hotshot. You’re home.”
The look in his eyes said he was beginning to believe it.