Chapter Fourteen #2
He couldn’t shake the feeling they were opening a secret door to a hidden passage leading to a dark place.
And he’d be damned if he let it touch the woman he loved.
* * * * *
Felicity climbed into the truck parked on the quiet street, watching Gabe round the truck to the driver’s door. Before she could even click her seatbelt, he spoke.
“I don’t like him. Your nephew.”
She twisted in the seat to look at him. “He’s not my nephew. He’s Henry’s.”
“You know what I mean.” He gripped the steering wheel, tendons flexing in his forearms. “He’s way too friendly. Way too interested in your life.”
Irritation flickered inside her. “Gabe. You don’t like anyone. You didn’t like the bakery owner who brought us brownies.”
“Because she blatantly told you she was interested in your location for her business. Besides, you don’t trust her either.”
She faced forward, folding her arms over her chest. “I thought Andrew was very pleasant.”
“Exactly. Too nice. In a weird way. All those questions about where we’re staying, how long we’d be here…”
She bristled, heat rising in her cheeks. “It’s called small talk, Gabe. Normal people do it.”
He finally looked at her, eyes dark. “I’m not saying he’s an assassin, bookshop. I’m saying my instincts are prickling, and they don’t do that for no reason.”
“Well, my instincts say he’s a grieving man who just watched his uncle wither away,” she shot back. “Maybe he likes knowing the people Henry cared about. Not everyone is the enemy.”
Silence fell heavy between them.
She hated that she cared so much that he didn’t like Andrew. On some level, it felt personal because poking at Andrew felt like poking holes in her memory of a friend who’d meant a lot to her.
Without a word, Gabe started the truck. The engine rumbled to life, but he didn’t pull out onto the street yet. He stared straight ahead, jaw working.
“You’re not wrong,” he said after a moment. “I don’t trust easily. And I know it probably seems like I’m suspicious of everybody. But my gut’s kept me alive more than once. Today, it’s throwing up red flags.”
She stared at his profile, the hard line of his throat when he swallowed. She knew he’d been through things—things she couldn’t even imagine—knew his training had carved caution into the marrow of his bones. Part of her even admired that trait.
“I feel like I have to defend Henry.” Her voice sounded too tight. Her skin felt too tight too.
Gabe glanced at her. “Defend what?”
“His judgment. Henry loved Andrew. He took him in when his mother died, made sure he had a home and an education and—and everything. He left him everything. So if Andrew’s some terrible person, what does that say about Henry’s judgment?
” Her throat ached. “I don’t want to believe he could be wrong about something that big. ”
Realization flickered across Gabe’s face, softening his expression. He opened his mouth, but she shook her head, turning to stare out the window.
“I’m feeling emotional. And I hate it.”
He didn’t push. Just put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.
The drive to her financial advisor’s office was quiet. Not the easy silence they’d fallen into a dozen times. One more jagged. By the time they reached Thomas’s office, she had her emotions into some kind of order like the books scattered across the floor of her shop placed back on the shelves.
The meeting was neat and quick. They discussed Thomas’s plan to inventory the bonds and shares, and that they needed the lawyer to verify that the paperwork Henry provided was enough.
She signed a limited power of attorney and then they were on their way back to the bungalow.
“You did good in there.” Gabe’s low voice jumpstarted the electric current he always fired in her veins.
“Thank you.” She offered him a small smile, but the tension still hummed between them.
Inside the bungalow, Gabe walked straight to the bedroom and came out carrying a pillow. He grabbed one of the throws draped over the back of the couch and dropped both on the cushions.
“What are you doing?”
He glanced up as if the answer should be obvious. “Taking the couch tonight.”
Her brows pinched. “Why?”
“Because you’re upset. I pushed too hard, and you need space. I’m giving it to you.”
The knot of exasperation tugged free in her chest, leaving behind tenderness. “Gabe…I don’t want that.”
He stilled. “You don’t?”
“No.” She drifted closer to him. “We can have differences and still…be on the same side, you know. This isn’t war. You don’t have to exile yourself to the couch every time we disagree.”
He searched her face, eyes cautious. The stern set of his mouth eased. He lifted a hand to her cheek.
“I never doubted your friend’s character.”
She leaned into his touch. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I know he had great taste. He liked you.”
Her heart did a ridiculous little flip. “Smooth, Black Heart.”
He leaned in and kissed her, the kind of reassuring, unhurried kiss that said they were okay. That he’d stand with her even when they didn’t see the world the same way.
When he pulled back, she pressed her forehead to his. “Let’s talk about happy stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Plans for reopening the bookstore.” The words came out in a rush, exciting and…real. Now that it was possible, she could start dreaming again.
His brow lifted. “How is this happy for me?”
She offered him a wicked smile. “Because it means more sex in the bookstore.”
She slipped out of his arms and started toward the bedroom, putting a little extra sway in her hips. She tossed a look over her shoulder. “In the romance section next time. Maybe we can try something from the dark romance we both read.”
She heard him make a low sound—a cross between a growl and a curse. Heavy footsteps followed, fast.
“Bookshop,” he warned in a voice that promised it wasn’t a warning at all.
She threw him a coy look as she reached the bedroom door. “Bring your pillow.”