Chapter 8 Gabriel
Lately, my life's felt like it's been stuck on autopilot.
I wake up, either ride my motorcycle into the city or take the train depending on my mood and the weather, and head straight to the new building Roman and I bought.
Then I spend the whole day there, working until I'm worn down to the bone and my stomach's empty and growling, before dragging myself home to collapse into bed after scarfing down whatever meal my little sister Eden managed to throw together for dinner.
Sometimes Eden's still wrapping up her design classes in the city when I get home, and I end up eating something frozen and sad by myself in a quiet house that feels bigger than it has any right to.
Other times, I drag myself next door, half-dead on my feet, and practically beg my other sister Rhiannon for leftovers from whatever she cooked for her husband and my toddler niece.
She never turns me away. I'm grateful for that, even when I'm too tired to say it out loud.
What's my dating life been like? Forget it.
I haven't been doing that. I don't have the time, and I sure don't have the energy.
I've got patience, don't get me wrong. That's one thing I've quietly perfected over the years, probably out of necessity more than virtue.
But patience alone doesn't make you a good partner.
I feel like I've loaned out every bit of myself to other people, to responsibilities, to distractions that keep stacking up.
By the end of the day, there's nothing left in the tank. Nothing worth offering, anyway.
And despite being the one who sat Rhiannon down two years ago and told her, flat out, to stop running and make room for love when she finally got serious with Cain, her now-husband, I sure as hell haven't followed my own words of wisdom.
It's easy to give good advice when you're watching someone else's life from the outside.
Selling the family thrift store was supposed to change things.
That store has been in the Carpenter name since before I was born.
It was the first thing my parents built together when they were young and in love and still had the whole world ahead of them.
It kept us afloat through everything: their deaths, my divorce from Amber, taking guardianship of Eden when she was just ten years old and had no idea how much her world was about to shift, and clawing my way into a career I knew almost nothing about as a fresh college grad running purely on stubbornness and the pressure of people depending on me.
Letting go of that store felt like closing a chapter I'd been holding open for too long. I thought it would free something up inside me. Lighten the load. Give me room to breathe and finally start something new on my own terms.
But months later, trying to launch this new venture feels like wading through quicksand.
Roman's been a godsend, handling the sales, finances, marketing, and every bit of business strategy work that I have no business understanding. He’s started enough businesses to understand what works and what doesn’t, which means I get to keep my focus on delivering the new building.
The heavy lifting, the coordination of resources and instructing them what we’re going to do each day, the day-to-day grind of building something from nothing? That’s all me.
Cain has stepped in with legal help more times than I can count.
And Eden’s even chipped in on a few design suggestions.
She's her own person now. Twenty-two, about to finish school, doesn't need me hovering the way I used to. That part I'm proud of, even if it took me a while to loosen my grip. A stronger part of me looks at her like my daughter. It’s hard to let go and see her moving forward with her life while I’m trying to catch up. Moving into my ‘act two’ of life.
But I’m fucking drowning.
Which is probably the only reason I agreed to this blind date my cousin Natasha set up with Alessia.
“She’s beautiful, Gabriel. Trust me. Dark brown hair, natural waves, eyes like chocolate and big curves.
She’s divorced too so she understands the feeling of starting over.
Don’t worry. She’s just looking for a good time.
Not a relationship. I think you two will hit it off.
Have dinner with her, maybe break your extremely dry streak, and just have fun. ”
So here I was. Waiting for her. Ready to have fun. Trying to break my unintentional celibacy with a woman who seems to be interested in doing the same thing without any sort of strings or commitment.
What Natasha didn’t mention to me is that Alessia is also a conniving, sharp-tongued little firecracker who seems to have a deeply rooted disdain for men.
At least, that’s what I’m gathering from the way she refuses to look me in the eye when the server finally comes over, takes our drink orders, and asks what we want to eat.
And from the fact that she works as a private investigator who makes out with strangers so that she can catch them cheating.
But fuck, the way her lips felt when she kissed me like she meant it did something to me. Too bad I was just a pawn in her assignment.
“Um…” She scans the menu, her eyes darting back and forth nervously. When she finally orders, I can’t stop the chuckle that rumbles up from my chest. “I’ll try the smoked salmon,” she says, her voice flat.
I guess she’s trying to send me a message.
Ordering fish on a first date wouldn’t stop me, but the way she’s sitting there, rigid and uncomfortable, tells me everything I need to know.
If I hadn’t told her to “sit her ass down,” she’d have bolted out of here faster than she could fake an apology for our last meeting together.
Which, by the way, she hasn’t offered up yet. Something tells me I won’t be getting one either.
"I'll take the seafood casserole," I say, handing the server my menu with a smile. If we're going all in on fish tonight, I might as well commit to it.
Brookhaven was built around a gorgeous natural lake, centuries ago now, and fishing is still one of the largest employers this little town has.
Most locals spend their springs and summers out on the water, catching wild fish and grilling whatever they haul in for dinner.
It's a way of life out here, not just a hobby, which means this meal will be cooked to perfection by one of my cousin’s chefs.
Alessia shoots me a look—one of those sharp, I know exactly what you’re doing by ordering that looks—but I just smile back and take her in.
She’s stunning, even more so in this lighting compared to the dim, shadowy bar where we first met.
Natasha wasn’t wrong; Alessia’s my type, at least on the surface.
Her lips are a soft, naturally darker pink, her dress dips a little too low to claim she wasn’t here for one reason, and her full, round curves aren’t doing me any favors from staring. Even the slight uptilt of her nose somehow makes her expression look more defiant.
But it’s her lips that I keep coming back to.
Those lips that kissed me softly before growing more passionate.
Like I wasn’t her target, and she wanted me.
Only to reveal it was all part of some elaborate trap to snag my cousin for something he didn’t even do.
I can’t say it’s surprising. When was the last time I had a woman make the first move so obviously?
I don’t put myself out there for them to even try.
“So,” I say, leaning back in my chair, “how’d you get into private investigating?”
Her shoulders sag like she’s already over talking to me. “In college. I needed extra cash to afford rent and sort of fell in love with the thrill of it.”
“Hmm…” I hum, swirling the drink in my glass.
It’s Friday night, and I don’t have to trek into the city tomorrow, so one drink glass of bourbon won’t kill me.
Alessia, on the other hand, went for white wine—an interesting choice for someone who, judging by her body language, looks like she’d rather be throwing back tequila shots and dancing by the bar.
“What’s the research process like before you go out on an assignment?” I ask, raising a brow. “You know, so you don’t accidentally confuse a target with someone else?”
Her scowl is instant, sharp enough to cut glass. At least I’ve got her attention now. “This has never happened before. Ever. Your cousin looks practically identical to you! I’m sure you can understand the mix-up.”
“Big mistake for a first time,” I say, taking a slow sip of my drink.
She shrugs, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It all worked out. You said he was going to break up with Kacey anyway.”
I sit back, letting out a low chuckle. She still won’t meet my gaze, her focus darting everywhere else. Still no apology. Deflecting. Looking for a way to blame someone else for her mistake. Figures.
“And do you always make out with your targets?” I ask, lowering my voice just enough to make her squirm. “Grab their crotches, and squeeze?”
Her eyes snap to mine, flashing with heat as her glare sharpens. “No. I don’t do that. Ever. That was…” She doesn’t finish her sentence like she’s struggling to find the words to explain what happened there.
Fuck if I don’t like hearing that. Stupid, right? She was working, plain and simple. But if she never does that, then why the hell did she do it to me? Maybe because there was a shred of her that wanted me despite thinking I was someone else.
“Interesting,” I say, dragging the word out just enough to needle her.
“Don’t gloat,” she snaps, but my chuckle spills out anyway.
“No gloating,” I say, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “I just find it fascinating, that’s all. Did you get what you were after with that grab? Get a good sense of what’s hanging between my legs? Need another check?”
“Stop. This is the strangest blind date ever.”