Chapter 26 Alessia #2
By the time I wind my way down the last bend and pull into her gravel driveway, I’m already bracing myself for the inevitable: What have you been doing since you moved out of my home? Have you met a nice man yet? When are you going to settle down, mija? conversation.
My tires crunch over the gravel as I turn into the driveway, tapping the brakes. But before I can even reach for the door handle, I freeze. Because parked right there, clear as day, is a motorcycle. A very familiar motorcycle.
My stomach drops. There is absolutely no way Gabriel is at my grandma’s house right now.
I climb out of the car slowly, eyes locked on the chrome beast, my stomach doing something weird and traitorous that I refuse to acknowledge. It can’t be his. It shouldn’t be his.
Then, with my heart pounding a little harder than it should be, I step up to the front door and open it. Voices drift from the kitchen. Familiar voices that tell me it is Gabriel who’s chatting up my grandma right now.
“Abuela?” I call out.
“Ah, in here, Alessia!” she replies, sounding far too pleased with herself for this to all be some wild coincidence.
I step inside—and immediately feel like I’ve walked into an alternate dimension.
Because there, underneath my grandma’s sink like some kind of sexy, blue-collar plumber, is Gabriel Carpenter.
Sleeves rolled up. Dirty jeans slung low on his hips.
Hem of his shirt riding up in all the best ways revealing that dark patch of hair that I know leads down to the nicest cock I’ve ever ridden.
Black hair a wreck under a backward baseball cap.
He pops his head out from underneath the sink and flashes me a slow easy smile.
My mouth goes dry.
“Hey, Aly.” He waves at me with a wrench still in his hand. Why is that so hot?
His long-sleeved T-shirt is way too thin for how freezing it is outside. The sleeves are pushed up, tattoos fully on display, even though I know for a fact my grandma hates tattoos with a passion only a woman who drinks Cuban coffee like the world is about to run out could possess.
‘Why put a bumper sticker on a Mercedes?’
That’s what she used to say anytime I even casually mentioned getting a tattoo growing up.
“It’ll be a tiny one that I can cover up, Abuelita.”
“Feo.” (Ugly). And that was the end of the conversation. And yet here she is—smiling. And dios mio! Is she blushing right now?
No. Fucking. Way.
Gabriel reaches to the side of him, lifting a glass that looks suspiciously like a Cuba Libre, with zero ice, because of course my grandma wouldn’t give him ice, and takes a long sip.
“Thanks again, Ms. Martinez.”
She waves him off with a smile, giggling like she’s sixteen and clutching her chest like she’s in a telenovela.
I blink. “What’s happening here?”
My grandma smiles at me, finally tearing her eyes away from Gabriel. “Alessia, this is Gabriel Carpenter. He came over to fix my sink. He lives around the lake.”
I stare at them. “I see that… but why?” Or rather, how the hell did you two even meet?
“He was next door checking out my new neighbor’s bathroom when I saw him leaving.
” She waves her hands like that explains everything.
“He looked like he knew his way around a sink with all those muscles he has. So, I asked if he could take a look at mine. Thing’s been leaking, and I don’t want mold to start growing. ”
I blink at her. “You could have asked me to help, Grandma…”
Gabriel takes another sip of his drink, eyes never leaving my body.
It’s insane how just one look from him is enough to have me shifting on my feet, my nipples hardening, heart racing.
It’s like he’s undressing me with his gaze.
I can practically read the dirty thoughts he’s thinking like they’re written all over his handsome face.
And dammit, I wish I was wearing something a little cuter.
I’m in nothing but a pair of thin, black yoga pants with an oversized red sweatshirt that says the name of the elementary school where I teach at on the front. If I’d known I was seeing him and not hanging with my grandma, I might have put in some effort.
“You don’t know a thing about sinks, Alessia,” my grandma counters in her straightforward, direct manner.
I set the cookies I made onto the counter. “You’re right. But if you need something, you can always call me first.”
She smiles. “I had it handled.”
Point taken. She does not want my help. She is not the helpless woman that my mom tried to act like she was when she first convinced me to move in.
“Here.” I point at the plate. “I made these for you… Happy Valentine’s Day.”
My grandma’s gaze flicks between the cookies and me before she steps forward, pulling me into a hug. Because that’s the thing about her—hot and cold, always giving me hell when I least expect it but loving me harder than anyone else ever has. Probably more than my own mom at times.
“Thank you, mija.” Then, like it’s nothing, she says, “Would you like to stay for lunch? Eduardo and I are having Picadillo. Gabriel’s staying.”
I blink. “Um… you’ve invited your plumber to eat Picadillo with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
And I don’t know why I’m acting surprised. Of course she did. I shift on my feet, throwing a glance at Gabriel, who watches the entire exchange with amusement.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll stick around…” Mostly out of morbid curiosity, but also because if I say no, it’d just seem rude and I’m curious to know what she really thinks about the guy who rides motorcycles and has tattoos all over his arms and chest.
My grandma nods, satisfied, as Gabriel moves to stand. “The fix will require one part I need to pick up from the store,” he says. “I’ll grab it after lunch if that’s alright with you? Should only take about ten minutes to install.”
“Oh, Gabriel, you’re a life saver.” She fans herself dramatically. I swear, this woman is too much. Isn’t her new boyfriend, who she kicked me out of the house for, literally in the other room hearing all this?
“How much do I owe you?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “It’s free.”
“I couldn’t do that,” she shakes her head and moves to her purse to pull out her wallet.
Except I know she could. My grandma is the queen of free.
I remember going with her to the markets in Atlanta during the summers and she’d heckle and negotiate over the price of everything even though it wasn’t that type of place.
It made me proud to be her granddaughter even though it was embarrassing at times.
She always ended up getting some amazing discounts with free stuff.
Gabriel’s gaze connects with mine though he’s responding to her. “It’s on the house.”
Then, like it’s nothing, he takes his drink, stands, and swipes the plate of cookies off the counter on his way into the dining room like this isn’t the first time he’s been here.
But not before he leans in—close enough that I catch the deep, wood and leather scent of him—and takes a discreet sniff of me.
My heart stutters. His hazel brown eyes lock onto mine, filling me with heat. His lips are just an inch away from my face when he says, “You smell like these cookies. I hope my home still smells like them and you too,” he murmurs, before moving past me, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake.
I stand there for a second, pulse still trying to regulate itself, before my gaze snaps to my grandma—who is watching me way too closely. Thin, dark brows nearly lost to her hairline. Brown eyes wide with surprise.
“You two…?” she starts.
“Yes. Gabriel and I have met before, grandma.”
She nods, smug as hell, and surprisingly says nothing more. Which tells me she knows more than I do. And at this point? She probably does.
“Hm…” she hums and then smiles at me. “Let’s eat.”