Chapter 10
It's Building
Andi
"Pack a bag," Gavin said when I answered my phone Friday afternoon. "I'm picking you up in an hour."
I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, still wiping down the espresso machine. "What?"
"Pack a bag. Overnight. Something warm. I want to take you somewhere."
"Gavin, I can't just—"
"You absolutely can. I have it on good authority that Marcus is doing inventory for you tomorrow, and you have a full staff."
"Yeah, but—"
"Head home, pack a bag and we can hit the road as soon as you’re ready."
He hung up before I could argue.
Marcus looked up from the register, stupid smile on his face. "Gavin?"
"Yeah. You in on this?"
"No idea what you mean."
I rolled my eyes. "Please. Your poker face is worse than your actual poker playing, and I've seen you lose fifty bucks in ten minutes.
" I glanced around at the afternoon crowd, the hiss of the espresso machine, the stack of cups waiting to be filled.
My shoulders ached. When was the last time I'd gone anywhere that didn't smell like coffee beans?
The thought of escaping with Gavin, even for a night—God, I needed that.
Marcus gave me a little shove toward the door.
"Get out of here. We're covered." He gestured toward Becky, who was tying on her apron, and Davinia, who was counting out her register.
"And don't worry about tomorrow's inventory.
I promise not to burn the place down while you're gone.
" He flashed that crooked grin that told me he knew exactly how much I needed this escape.
Gavin's car pulled up to my apartment sixty-seven minutes later—not that I was counting—and I was waiting on the steps with my overnight bag, wondering if I'd packed the right things, if I should've brought different shoes, if—
He got out and kissed me before saying anything else. His hand cupped my face, and suddenly I wasn't thinking about shoes or bags or anything except the way his thumb brushed my cheek, the way his mouth moved against mine like he'd been waiting all day to do this.
When he pulled back, my heart was hammering.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
He took my bag, and I watched him put it in the trunk next to his. Such a simple thing. Our bags next to each other. But something about it made my chest feel warm.
The city fell away behind us as we headed southwest, concrete giving way to suburbs, then to rolling hills and trees I hadn't seen in so long I'd almost forgotten their existence.
With each mile marker, something inside me unclenched.
Gavin reached across the console and took my hand, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles against my palm.
Just that—his skin on mine—and suddenly every nerve ending in my body seemed to wake up at once.
"You going to tell me where we're going?" I asked.
"Nope."
"That's not ominous at all."
"You trust me?"
I looked at him. At the way he glanced over at me, smiling. "Maybe."
His laughter filled the car.
We talked about nothing important. My shitty day that started with pouring an iced coffee down my damned bra when I lost my grip on the cup.
His impossible client, who complained about the graphics in his digital mock-up.
But underneath the words, I was hyperaware of his hand on mine, the way he'd glance over every few minutes like he needed to check I was still there, the easy quiet between sentences that didn't feel uncomfortable.
At some point in the last few months, I’d stopped being so nervous around him. Everything had just become easy.
An hour and a half later, we turned onto a gravel road. Trees closed in on both sides.
"Okay, now I'm actually thinking murder," I said.
"Too late to turn back now." He waggled his eyebrows and gave a theatrical "Mwah-ha-ha!" that made me snort despite myself.
The road opened into a clearing. A white farmhouse stood in the center, surrounded by gardens waiting for spring. A hand-painted sign read "Maplewood Inn."
I stared at it. The wraparound porch made me think farm, and the flower boxes made me yearn to feel the warmth from a summer sun shine down on my skin. As we parked, I marveled at everything. It was the kind of place I'd seen in magazines but never actually been to.
"A bed-and-breakfast?"
He was watching me. "Surprise?"
I stared at the porch swing, something catching in my throat as Gavin pointed to it.
"Is that what you imagined when you talked about that book?
Anne of Green Gables?" The wooden seat swayed gently in the breeze, chains creaking, just waiting for someone with a tall glass of lemonade.
Weeks ago, lounging on the couch with glasses of wine as we talked about books we'd loved as kids, I'd mentioned that dream.
And he'd tucked it away, saved it for this moment.
Ryan used to pat my hand when I talked about things I wanted. Gavin actually listened.
I nodded, unable to speak. He kissed my cheek before climbing out to grab our bags from the trunk.
I blinked rapidly, watching his shoulders flex under his jacket as he lifted our luggage.
He moved with casual confidence, and he turned to wait for me to climb the steps in front of him.
My throat tightened. "I love it," I finally managed.
"It’s okay?"
I couldn't speak for a second. "Yeah. It’s perfect."
Inside, everything smelled like polished wood and something baking. The floors creaked under our feet. An older woman at the front desk smiled at us. She was friendly and walked us through the activities in town for the weekend as they welcomed Spring.
We were in the Rose Room. It had a four-poster bed with a white quilt. A window seat. A bathroom with a claw-foot tub that made me want to sink into it and never leave.
Gavin set our bags down and turned to me. He looked nervous. Actually nervous.
"What do you think?"
I crossed the room and kissed him. His arms came around me immediately, and I pressed closer, my hands going to his hair, his going to my waist. We stumbled backward. My legs hit the bed. We fell.
He braced himself above me, looking down with an expression that made my stomach flip.
“Andi," he said.
“Gavin,” I whispered.
His mouth found mine again. Slower this time. Deeper. His weight settled over me, solid and warm and real. My fingers traced up his back, under his shirt, feeling the muscles shift. His hand slid from my waist to my hip, thumb brushing bare skin where my shirt had ridden up.
I gasped against his mouth.
He kissed down my jaw. My neck. That spot behind my ear that he knew made me shudder. His hand moved higher, skimming my ribs, and I pulled his hair. He made a sound low in his throat that went straight through me.
Time blurred. Minutes or hours passed in a haze of closeness. The way he touched me made me feel precious, wanted. We moved together, breathless and hovering at the edge of something more.
He rested his forehead against mine. "Andi."
"Yeah."
"You're—" He didn't finish. Just kissed me again, softer this time. I understood what he wasn't saying. We had time.
Dinner was roast chicken and mashed potatoes in a dining room with four other couples. Gavin's knee pressed against mine under the table. Every few minutes, when he thought no one was watching, his hand would find mine. Small touches that felt huge.
I barely tasted the food. I was too aware of him. The way he smiled at something one of the other guests said. The way his thumb stroked the back of my hand. The way he looked at me when I laughed.
After dinner, we walked outside. The sun had set, and the air was cold enough to see our breath. He laced his fingers through mine, and we didn't talk. Just walked.
When we got back to the room, I got ready for bed first, and when I came out of the bathroom, he was sitting in the window seat, staring out at nothing.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked.
He held out his hand without answering. I went to him. He pulled me down, and I curled into his side, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder.
"I'm really glad we're here," he said quietly.
My chest ached. The good kind of ache. "Me too."
We sat there until my eyes started closing. Then when we got into bed and he pulled me close, my back to his chest, his arm around my waist. I could feel his breath on my neck. His heartbeat against my back.
I'd never felt safer in my life.
I woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee and something sweet. Gavin was already up, sitting in the window seat with two mugs and a plate of what looked like freshly baked muffins.
He looked over and smiled, and my heart did something stupid in my chest. This. This was what I'd been afraid of when we’d first started dating. This feeling. This wanting. This…something more than I had words to describe.
"Morning," he said.
I sat up, shoving hair out of my face, suddenly aware I probably looked like hell. "Morning. Is that coffee for me?"
He handed me a mug, and I took a sip. Oh man, that was good coffee. As one would expect, I was a coffee-snob, and even I had to admit, this was incredible coffee.
I grabbed a muffin and moved to sit next to him in the window seat.
The cotton of his t-shirt brushed against my bare arm as I settled in, sending goosebumps up to my shoulder.
Outside, green shoots pushed through the dark soil of the garden beds.
His hair was still damp at the temples, and when I breathed in, I caught the clean scent of hotel soap and that underlying note that was just him.
"You know how I told you about going strawberry picking with my grandmother when I was little?" I asked.
"Yeah. Every June, right?"
My chest warmed that he remembered. "There's a farm about an hour north of here. I was looking it up the other day and they open in June. We could go. Make a day of it."
"Oh wow. In June?" He was quiet for a second as he took a sip of his coffee. It was just a beat, but it felt exponentially longer. "Yeah. That sounds great."
Something in his voice made me look at him. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes I couldn't quite read.
"You sure? We don't have to if you're busy with work or—"
"No, I want to." He squeezed my hand. "June. We'll do it."
I leaned my head on his shoulder. Outside, birds were landing on the fence. The sun was getting higher.
He'd said yes. He wanted to go. But something made me feel like there was more he wasn't saying. I pushed the thought away. Not today. Today was just us.
This moment, with this feeling of us together here—I wanted to hold on to it.
To keep it somewhere safe. Because sitting here, with morning light and his hand in mine, it felt real.
Like maybe I wasn't just someone he was dating.
Like maybe this something between us was becoming more than I ever hoped or dreamed of.
Maybe this time I was the one being chosen. I wanted to believe it so badly.
And yet, I knew June was three months away. A lot could change in three months. I squeezed his hand tighter.