Chapter 31
Mack strides across the parking lot and picks me off my feet. He inhales my hair and mumbles, “I don't think I’m going to be able to ever let you out of my sight again.” He pulls back, his face creased with his concern. "You ok?"
He's pulling me back into a hug before I even have the chance to respond. I let myself sag into him, let myself enjoy those strong arms wrapped around me, the solid feel of his chest beneath me. I swear I feel the ghost of pressure against my hair again as if Mack just dropped another kiss there.
"Gabriella, are you ok?" He somehow peels my bag from my shoulder while I'm still cuddled in his arms.
I press my face into his shoulder and do my best not to break down sobbing.
"Thirty seconds," I finally manage to gasp. "Give me thirty seconds."
It's probably a selfish thing to ask for, but right now I don't care. I want to close my eyes and let this man hug me and pretend, even for thirty seconds, that he's mine and that his hug can really make it all ok.
We head to my house afterward. There’s a huge, flatbed dumpster in the gravel drive that’s waiting to be emptied. A piece of my couch is sticking out of the top. It’s amazing how much progress the Haven MCC prospects have made in just a few days of work.
The stuff that’s salvageable has been boxed up for temporary storage. Mack says it will be easier for the contractor to work if he doesn’t have to move my stuff around. The stuff that’s not has been thrown in the dumpster, which has been emptied twice already.
Now, it’s mostly empty inside--a shell that echoes and reminds me how much I’ve lost. Mooch follows us in; his toenails make clicking noises against the tile.
“Gabriella, are you sure you’re ok?” Mack says again, setting down a paper bag on the counter.
Most of the kitchen cabinets don't have doors and the drawers are all missing. It even looks like someone took a sledgehammer to the countertops.
“I'm fine, Mack. That’s not the first dead body I’ve seen--not even the first gunshot victim.”
“But I’m guessing it’s the first one that’s had a note to you pinned to the shirt.”
I nod and chew my lip. I hadn't told the first deputy that showed up about the note. I waited until Mike and Dylan showed up and told Dylan first. Part of me feels really guilty about that--like I might be harming an investigation. The other part of me wants my brother back.
“What do you have there?” I ask, mostly to change the subject.
“My world famous margaritas.” He pulls some plastic cups and a bottle of pre-made margaritas out of the bag.
I laugh. “World famous, huh?”
“It says so right on the bottle.”
“Do you always carry margaritas in your truck?” I ask. “Because I know you didn’t stop at the store after I called.”
He huffs a little self-conscious laugh. “I was going to bring you up here after I picked you up from work, if you wanted. I’ve got both our swimsuits in the bag, too.”
I grin. “A man with a plan, huh?”
He shrugs.
“Let me guess…” I tap my chin. “You picked the red swimsuit for me, didn’t you?”
Mack gives a sheepish little grin. “Mebbe.”
I laugh.
“It wasn’t all self-serving,” he says. “I’m going to get the stuff out of the bottom of the pool.”
Mack tears open the plastic cup package and fills two of them with ice from the freezer. Miraculously, the fridge survived the vandalism. I guess I shouldn't be surprised--I’ve been waiting for that thing to die for forever.
“So what is the self-serving part?” I finally ask, after Mack pours and hands me a margarita. “You said it wasn't all self-serving.”
“See? This is why it’s hard that you’re so smart. I mean, I really like it, but it makes it harder to get away with stuff,” he says.
“What were you trying to get away with?” I sip the margarita. I have to admit, it’s pretty dang good.
“Maybe not get away with something, but I was trying to work up to something. You know, set the mood.”
I grin. “Oh, yeah? What for?”
Mack faces me and braces his arms on the counter. “I like you. I want to date you. Actually, I’m past that point--I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“What?” I can’t help but yelp. It comes out as a strangled squawk.
“I don’t think I stuttered.”
But nobody’s that direct. At least, not guys. Not when it comes to dating. I narrow my eyes and twist my mouth to the side, trying to figure it out.
He chuckles. “What?”
“Just trying to figure out what your game is.”
He laughs. “My game is that I like you and I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“Like, what does that mean to you?”
Mack raises his eyebrows. “It means we go do things together to find out if there’s something there.”
“Something there for what?”
“A permanent relationship. Marriage.”
“Huh.” I chew my lip for a second, ignoring the butterflies having a riot in my stomach. “I guess that would be ok.”
“You’re lucky I’m secure in myself.”
“I just want to make sure that you’re sure,” I say.
"You think I do this for everyone I meet?" His eyebrows are raised; he’s smiling. "You think I move in and hug them, make out with them, and make them my world-famous margaritas?"
"I don't know," I say, flustered. "You're a really nice guy!"
Mack tips his head back and laughs. I stare at him for several seconds, just enjoying it.
I dare anyone not to stare at this guy when he laughs, though.
It's one of the most jaw-droppingly beautiful things I've ever seen.
His eyes crinkle shut, his grin stretches, and he just looks so stupidly gorgeous that I can't hardly handle it. It shocks me every time he does it.
"Gabriella, I've never moved in with a woman before.
I've never wanted to, not even when I was dating someone.
" Mack says, "I'm just trying not to move too fast and scare you off.
Besides, there's the whole 'we’re living together to keep you safe' thing.
I don't want to shoot my shot and then have you leave. "
"Shoot your shot?" I repeat dumbly.
"Drink the margarita, Gabs."
"Ok."
He braces his huge arms on the counter and I take another sip of the margarita. He wasn't lying--it's amazing. It gets better with every sip. Between the cocktail, the excellent view of Mack’s arms, and his eyes resting heavily on me, I'm feeling lots of things.
Mack says, "See, sometimes you look at me like that and I think I should make a move. But then what if you don't want that? What if all you feel for me is friendship with a little splash of lust?"
I don't bother telling him that if that's all this was, that would still make it better than every single dating experience I've ever had.
Because usually with me, it's one or the other.
There's either lust or friendship. I've found it hard to find a guy I like both in and out of the bedroom.
And the last one I dated--Edward Cubbins?
That was a trainwreck from beginning to end.
But I'm more than a little overwhelmed and I don't know what to say to Mack, so I take another sip from my glass. "This is really good."
He smiles and shakes his head. "I'm going to go get those beer bottles from the bottom of the pool while you figure out what you're thinking. Let me know once you figure it out, ok?"
"Ok."