Chapter 12 Gabi
GABI
“Don't dump all the flour in at once,” I direct Maddox as I crack open a Coke Zero. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve drank today. But’s it’s not a problem. It’s only a problem if I admit it. “Do a little bit at a time or it's gonna go flying everywhere.”
“Got it,” he says, his nose scrunched as he concentrates on perfectly dumping the dry ingredients into the standing mixer bowl. “Just a little bit at a time…”
I lean against one of my prep tables, a huge smile on my face, as I take a sip of a crisp soft drink and watch Maddox in full concentration mode as he makes his first batch of chocolate chip cookies.
In this moment he doesn’t look like some big, bad, football player.
Or even the charismatic man who swept me off my feet in Vegas.
No, in this moment, he’s a guy trying to learn a new task.
A hot guy who’s wearing an apron that shouldn’t make him better looking than he already is.
It’s honestly not fair.
“I’m glad we were finally able to do this,” I say, taking my eye off him so I can start prepping ingredients I need to open the bakery tomorrow morning. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“No apologies needed,” he says, not taking his eyes off the mixer. “You’re a busy woman and I’m a bored football player. But now I’m about to be a bored football player who knows how to make cookies.”
We were supposed to start last week, but life got in the way for both of us. He had to suddenly go out of town for an endorsement photoshoot and when he got back, I wasn’t feeling great. I think I caught a stomach bug.
So now here we are, and honestly, I can’t believe he actually wants to do this.
This being the baking lessons and being just friends.
I believe him, but I don’t at the same time.
I mean, he’s a good looking, single, professional football player in a town packed with beautiful women.
Fun women. Women who don’t spend their weekends looking up recipes while watching the same show on repeat because she can’t decide on a new one.
In no way, shape, or form, should Maddox Gallagher be spending his Friday night in a closed bakery learning to bake chocolate chip cookies.
But here he is. He brought dinner and refused to let me pay for my meal, hasn’t tried to make a move on me once, and is now watching the standing mixer like it might run away.
He’s too cute for his own good.
And mine.
Because I know in my heart of hearts, and the brain that is firmly rooted in my head, that I’m not ready for any kind of emotional or physical relationship.
Not with Maddox, not with a more age-appropriate man, nor with the guy back in Louisiana that my mom reminded me is available once I told her I was getting divorced.
I’ve told her numerous times he’s gay. She doesn’t care.
But Maddox was right about one thing, I do need a friend.
Sure, I have Shelby and Hannah, but with them not living in Nashville, and having their own lives, it’s not the same as having someone that’s a cup of coffee away.
I used to have some around town, but over the years, they’ve fizzled out.
College friends. Coworkers I grew more distant from because Justin didn’t like me hanging out with them after work hours.
That’s what happens when your life revolves around your marriage and you let a certain part of you go.
Sure, I have Beau, but he only lives here part-time.
And now with golf season basically here, he's off training and getting ready for his first tournament on the West Coast.
Which leaves Maddox, my unexpected friend, the man I didn't see coming, who I wish I could give more but I'm glad is in my life nonetheless.
The man who sends me a good morning text each day, who sent me a Blue Basket just because, and is looking unfortunately adorable as he bites his lip as he makes his very first batter.
“This is easy,” he says. But the words come out too soon as I watch him dump way too much flour into the running stand mixer, making it puff out nearly all the flour straight onto his face. “Shit!”
I can’t help but laugh as I walk to the sink and grab a paper towel, wetting it down, as Maddox tries to comb the flour out of his eyes. “I told you a little bit at a time.”
"I was but it was taking too long,” he says.
“It’s a process,” I say as I step into him so I can wipe the flour off his face. “It’s all about patience. But it’s good to know now that if you aren’t a patient man, then maybe baking isn't for you.”
I’m in the middle of wiping off the flour from his cheek when I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping my movement. I look up to see his eyes on me, his brown eyes only focused on me.
“Believe me, Gabrielle, I’m very patient. And I’m getting better at it every day.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat as I'm unable to look away from his heated gaze. I also don't miss the double meaning of his words. I know he wants more. He’s been more than clear about that. Sure, he said he could be friends, and I do want that, but the connection between us isn’t going to go away—as much as I want it to.
And as much as I want to pull away, I can’t. And as much as I want to say I don’t want it, if he leaned in right now, I’d let him kiss me.
I want to let him. I want to feel the way I felt in Vegas. I want to know if the magic we created was regulated to that specific bubble in that specific time.
I can’t. I want to. But I know I can’t open that box back up.
“It’s a good quality to have,” I say, desperately needing to fill the empty silence.
“So I’ve heard.” Neither of us move. His fingers are still wrapped around my wrist. Our eyes are still unwavering.
The only thing that has changed is that I’m pretty sure I feel his dick getting hard and I know something is happening to me just from a look and the moment.
“Want to know what another good one is?”
“What’s that?”
“Understanding.”
His head drops slightly, bringing our foreheads together. “I’ll always try. Always.”
God, he’s a good one. Sure, he’s young and a little bit of a puppy with his energy.
But at the same time, he has this old soul that makes me sometimes forget that I could’ve babysat him in another life.
And when his brown eyes take me in? When he flashes that dimple?
When he touches me in any sort of way? I forget everything.
My name. Our ages. That I’m freshly divorced. All of it.
I hate all of this.
I’m a second from saying “fuck it” and kissing him like I want, but it’s at that moment I’m scared shitless by a bag of flour falling from a shelf and landing with a loud “thud.”
“There. All cleaned up,” I say, quickly dabbing off the last little bit of flour on his cheek before I step away and hustle over to the rogue flour.
I need out of the Maddox bubble before I do something dumb like I was about to do.
“You probably didn’t lose that much flour.
I can add in a little more so we don't let the batch go to waste.”
"Sounds good,” he says, noticeably clearing his throat before walking toward the table where we ate dinner earlier. “Mind if I turn on some music?”
“Not at all," I say as I do my best to eyeball how much flour I need to replace from what exploded into his face. “Pick whatever you'd like.”
I’m not quite sure of Maddox’s taste in music. I expect a rap song that I have no clue what they’re saying. But to my surprise, it’s a country song that takes me back to the very first day Sugar and Sweets opened.
I don’t think I slept a wink the night before we opened. I should’ve. I was exhausted. I, along with Beau and the construction crew he hired, had been working extremely long hours to get the place running.
When I walked through these doors at four in the morning, ready to bake for the first official day, I remember the feeling of freedom.
I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by ovens and mixers, and closed my eyes and let the feeling warm over me.
I let myself memorize the moment when I was becoming the person I wanted to be.
To have the chance at the dream I’d always dreamed of.
And then I turned on the music. It was this song playing.
A song about starting over. It felt like fate.
I didn’t sing along with it. Sure, I wanted to, but at that moment, I needed to take it in.
And I’m glad I did. It let me live in the moment.
The moment where I knew that I was now living my dream the way I wanted to.
But more importantly, I smiled.
In that singular moment of happiness, I knew that all the hardships of the divorce and leaving Justin were one-hundred-percent worth it.
“That one’s my favorite.”
Maddox’s words snap me out of my daydream. “Your favorite what?”
“Smile,” he says, his own shy smile making an appearance. “The one where you don’t realize anyone’s watching you.”
I really need this man to stop saying things like that or else this friend thing is going to go out the window.
I don’t respond, because what do I say to that? Instead, I go back to working on the batter. I feel my heart rate starting to come down a little, but that’s when I see in my periphery, Maddox doing some sort of dance.
“You can line dance?”
His moves become even more exaggerated. "When you grow up in the cornfields of Iowa, you can't help but get a little country in your blood. Between that and moving to Nashville as an adult, might as well throw a cowboy hat on me and get me some boots. Yee-haw, motherfuckers."
I laugh at his now ridiculous line dancing, while doing my best to not picture him in a cowboy hat, fitted jeans, and boots, because that visual should be illegal.
Or worse. Me riding him in said cowboy hat.
"Are you a country fan?" he asks.