Chapter 9 Gabi #2
When Justin was heading to medical school, it obviously wasn’t practical for me to work at, or try to start my own bakery. So I agreed to work a corporate accounting job until he finished and became established. Then it could be my turn.
The only problem was, that turn never came around. I think that was the first time I truly started hating the word “soon.” Because that’s what Justin would always say any time I brought up me quitting my job.
Soon… when we have a credit card paid off.
Soon… when the real estate market corrects itself.
Soon… it’s not smart to open a new business in this economy.
After I found out he was cheating on me, I was devastated.
Not only did I spend years of my life loving that man, but I gave up everything for him.
I felt hopeless. Defeated. Like my whole adult life up to that point was wasted.
I hated my job. I hated living in the house where I knew Justin cheated. I hated everything.
Which is when my big brother stepped in to save the day.
He might come off as a cocky asshole to the world, but the day he found me bawling on his couch, the man didn’t hesitate.
It helped that he always hated Justin, and he felt that him stepping in to help me was also a good middle finger to my ex.
Which is when he opened me a bakery.
It took him less than two weeks to find a location and buy it.
This was a café before, so the bones were already here, but because he could, he made sure to outfit the place with the most up-to-date equipment, fixtures, and anything else I could need or want.
He really was my hero because never in a million years would I have ever been able to afford half of the things he installed.
And the man did his homework. By the end of this process, I’m pretty sure Beau knew more about baking equipment than I did.
From there, he told me to quit my job and that the two of us were going to open Sugar and Sweets with the agreement that one day I’d be the full owner and operator of the business, and he'd be the landlord of the building. He made sure to keep my name off every document, utility bill, and deed so that way Justin couldn’t ask for one cent of the business during the divorce proceedings.
To the courts, I was Gabrielle (soon to be back to) Devereaux, employed by Sugar and Sweets. To Beau and I, I’m the future owner and operator of this business.
Soon. Please God let it be soon.
“All you need is a little time now to really get on your own feet,” he says with encouragement. “Have a good year where you get some money in the bank and you feel like you’re settled, and then we switch over the papers to your name.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m not ready yet. But one day. Soon.”
It’s the first time I’ve said that word with a smile.
“I haven’t talked to you since you officially signed off on everything,” he says. “I wish I could’ve been there to seen his swarmy face when he admitted defeat.”
I laugh as I remember his look of complete depression. How he thought he wasn’t getting off not paying spousal support is still hilarious.”
“It was pretty funny. But I don’t know if your presence would’ve done any good. Especially since I still think it was you who slashed Justin’s tires when you found out he was cheating on me.”
He holds up his hands in innocence. “I’ll neither confirm or deny that action.”
I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he’ll ever tell me the truth about that. Or if it was him who also signed Justin up for an alien-believing cult’s mailing list, which I only know about because he brought it up at a mediation thinking I did it. Though, that one has more of Shelby written on it.
“While I appreciate you wanting to be there, I was fine. Actually, Shelby came and scared the literal piss out of him. It was quite a sight to see.”
“He’s scared of Shelby?” Beau asks.
“Who isn’t?”
“Me for one.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you’re not. You’re too busy hating her to be scared of her.”
“I give back what I receive,” he says. “And since she hates me, and I think she needs to take the pitching wedge out of her ass and lighten up every once in a while, to me that equals maybe not hate, but a strong dislike. And I’m definitely, I mean definitely, not scared of her.”
I don’t know why my best friend and brother hate each other, but they have our entire lives.
On paper, they should be better friends than she and I are.
They grew up playing golf together in Louisiana.
They’re both now on their respective professional golf tours.
They each know the pressures and work ethic it takes to make it professionally.
But the two can’t stand each other. I don’t think they’ve ever been civil to each other once in our lives, which includes my wedding when they were paired together.
That was a mistake on my part. I thought I could make them like each other for one day.
Instead they spent the entire time hitting each other or trying to make the other trip.
“You should’ve seen her in Vegas last weekend” I say. “She was fun and smiled. Danced and drank. She was talking to a football coach all night and seemed to really be enjoying herself. So, maybe it’s just you who makes her scowl.”
His face turns from annoyed to… anger? “I don’t fucking make her scowl. That’s her permanent look. I’m a fucking delight.”
“Of course you are. The belle of the ball.” I tease. “And I made up that I saw her smiling and laughing last week. A figment of my drunk imagination.”
“Had to be,” he says in a huff, which makes me laugh even more. “Speaking of Vegas. It looked like you had fun.”
I feel my cheeks heat. Since he never messaged me about them, I’d hoped that any of the videos of me on stage hadn’t made it to his feed. Judging by the shit-eating grin on his face, they did and he waited until now to bring them up.
“Yes, I had a very nice time,” I say, quickly turning away to busy myself—and to hide by beet-red cheeks.
“Nice? You don’t have a ‘nice’ time in Vegas. If you did, then you did Vegas wrong.”
Oh big brother… if you only knew how right things were in Vegas…
“Do you really want to know how much of a nice time I had in Vegas or would you like to stop this conversation right here?”
He picks up on my specific emphasis of certain words and quickly shakes his head. That’s what I thought. If there’s anything to make brothers stop picking on their sisters, it’s tears and the threat of sex talk.
“Yes please,” he says. “Stopping is good. Especially because I have a feeling your nice time was with Maddox Gallagher. Stopping is very good.”
“That’s what I thought,” I say as I lean down to pick something off the floor. As soon as I do, I hear the bells above my door ringing, alerting me that someone is here.
“Welcome in!” I yell from my awkward stance, but as I slowly stand up and look through the display glass to the door, I immediately go back down, wanting to hide from whoever walked in.
Because that whoever is wearing Nashville Fury gear. And not just any gear—a gray warm-up set that I learned in my post-Vegas, airplane, social media, stalking is one only players wear.
“Gab? You good down there?”
“Yup! Fine!” I call out to Beau. “Dropped something.”
My heart. That’s what dropped. Which is funny considering I’m pretty sure my blood pressure is spiking at this moment.
I don’t even know if it’s Maddox—it looks to be a player about his height and a similar-ish build—but the presence of the orange, fire logo is enough to make my brain go a million miles a minute while my heart tries to beat out of my chest.
Is it him? After a full week of nothing, is he coming in here? Every day, every time the bell rang, a little bit of me hoped it was him. When it wasn’t, I felt relief and slight disappointment.
It’s fucking confusing.
I mean, if I do see him, am I happy about it? I wouldn’t be mad. I’m sure it would be nice to see him. He’s a nice guy who made my divorce trip memorable. In so many ways.
Which is also why I don’t want to see him. What we had in Vegas was perfect. A true vacation hookup that was magical in so many ways. If I see him again, that memory might become skewed, and I don’t want to ever forget that night for exactly what it was.
Then again, if he came in here and asked me for a repeat performance, I don’t know if I could say no. I mean, I can still feel his tongue between my thighs. No way I have the willpower to say no to that.
Except I’d need to. I’m not in a position for anything, even another fun hookup.
Definitely not a relationship. Though I don’t think Maddox is the relationship kind of guy from the things I’ve read about him online.
Also, bold of me to assume he’d want that with me.
Then again, I haven’t seen pictures of him out and about in the past week, let alone pictures with him and another woman.
Not that I’ve been looking. I haven’t. Much.
God this is confusing. And I’ve officially graduated from hot mess to dumpster fire.
“Linc Kincaid?”
“Beau! What the hell are you doing here?”
I let out a huge breath—relief with a side of disappointment—as I stand up to see my brother and Linc sharing a bro hug.
“You two know each other?”
“Gabi! You didn’t tell me that Beau was your brother.”
“Apologies,” I say. “I didn’t realize there was a secret Nashville athlete club that introduced all of you together.”
“Same agent,” Beau says as Linc takes a seat next to him. “Which means we’ve been at more than a few parties and events together.”
“What a small world,” I say, trying to keep my face even. And also trying not to look over Linc’s shoulder to see if anyone else in a Fury warm-up is about to walk in. “Can I get you something Linc?”
“Please,” he says, eyeing the glass case next to him. “Two brownies for Ainsley—who sends her love by the way. And I’ll take, let’s see… I’m not sure what I’m in the mood for.”
“I’m partial to the carrot cake bars,” Beau says. “I know it’s not the sexiest option. But they do the trick. Can’t go wrong with a cinnamon roll. And she recently added bear claws to the menu.”
Please don’t know those are Maddox’s favorite… please don’t know those are Maddox’s favorite…
Linc’s eyebrows go up. “Bear claws you say? I’ve heard a thing or two about those.”
Fuck. He knows.
“Yeah, I try to keep the menu fresh. Bear claws felt right.” I say, quickly going to grab brownies for Ainsley and everything that Beau listed for Linc.
“You haven’t made those in forever,” Beau says, completely clueless on why bear claws have become an important part of conversation. He starts to say something when his cell phone rings. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”
I finish bagging up Linc’s order as Beau steps into the kitchen for privacy.
“Have you recovered from the parade?” I ask, desperate to make small talk.
“I have,” Linc says. “Now back to my normal offseason routine. Which means Monday nights I bring Ainsley dinner and dessert at work.”
“Seriously? That’s adorable.” I say, heading back to the counter to grab an extra brownie.
“It’s our thing,” he says. “But, she did instruct me since I was coming in here to see if I could get your contact information so she could message you about a cake order? Her schedule is all over the place so she didn’t want to miss you and get the order in too late.”
“Oh yeah. Sure,” I say, reciting my personal number for Linc as he punches it in his phone. “She can text or call me whenever.”
“Thanks, I’ll let her know,” he says, taking his card out of his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
I shake my head. “On the house.”
“Absolutely not,” he says. “I’m all about supporting local businesses. How am I supposed to do that if I get free things?”
“You can pay next time,” I say. “This is the least I can do to thank you.”
“Thank me? For what?”
“How nice you and Ainsley were in Vegas,” I say. “To me and my friends. It was an unexpected night, but you guys were very welcoming. I appreciate that.”
He slips his card back into his wallet, but then pulls out a twenty and stuffs it in the tip jar. “No thanks needed. You were a part of the celebration. I can’t imagine the night without you there.”
Linc seems like a genuinely sweet guy. When I was doing my light reading on the plane ride back, articles popped up about him, so I read a few.
The guy had a hell of a year—both good and bad—both on and off the field.
I’m glad he seems to be in a good spot, and he’s got a girl like Ainsley next to him.
“Well thanks again. Tell Ainsley I said hi and to seriously text me whenever she wants.”
“I will,” he says, picking up the bag and standing up. “And, for curiosity's sake, if a certain teammate of mine wanted to get a hold of you, and since I have your number, do I have permission to give it to him as well?”
Oh that was smooth Linc Kincaid. Very smooth…
“I—” I start to say something when I realize I have no idea what I should say. I know what I should say, and that’s the word no. One syllable. Easy off the tongue. Or, maybe something nicer like “that’s sweet but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Because it’s not. Either of those replies are what a smart person should say.
But I’m not a smart person. Not right now.
Because clearly my head is taking the day off.
My heart hasn’t worked in eons. Which leaves my vagina to make the decisions.
She’s been begging to be in charge for years.
Especially after coming out of retirement in Vegas.
Which is the only reason I can fathom that I say the one word I shouldn’t.
“Yes.”