Chapter Seven
DIANE
Things truly were starting to work in my favor. On Tuesday morning, before I left for my first tour, I received a request on the tutoring platform. I immediately replied—I wasn't going to turn down any money that came my way.
I was giddy as I dressed, putting on my name tag and grabbing the yellow umbrella I used for larger groups, which made me easy to spot. I had thirty people today, so I’d most definitely need it.
The day was unexpectedly windy and cloudy, yet I put on my best smile as I walked with the tourists on the Freedom Trail. This was my most popular tour. I'd done it more than a hundred times already, but I was still excited.
Celia asked me once how I could keep my enthusiasm while reciting the same thing for the hundredth time. But each group reacted differently, so the experience was fresh for me every time.
I had three back-to-back groups. Usually, I invited them to ask as many questions as possible at the end of the tour, but after the last one, I needed to hurry home in time for my tutoring class. I bid everyone goodbye after they handed me their tips.
Once I arrived home, I was surprised to see Gabe’s car. It was six o’clock, but I figured CEOs stayed later at the office. My stomach somersaulted at the sight.
Good gracious, I can't react like this every time I come home.
I sprinted up the staircase and opened my laptop. I'd made it with ten minutes to spare.
I immediately plugged in my password and login data on the platform. As I checked my phone for the onetime passcode for double security, I realized I had a message from Gabe. My stomach somersaulted again. Smiling, I opened the app.
Gabe: Hey, I heard you come up the stairs. Are you free this evening?
Hmm. What does he have in mind?
Diane: Later, yes. But I have a tutoring class starting in a few minutes.
Gabe: Good luck. Come downstairs afterward.
Ha, that sounded a bit like an order, but I didn't have time to properly tease him back.
I focused on the screen, and my client connected a few seconds later. It was a French lady in her fifties named Antoinette. She was starting a new job in the US in three months and wanted to improve her English as much as possible. I’d signed up as both a French and English tutor.
"Hi, Antoinette. Nice to meet you."
"Hi, Diane."
We started right away. I had specifically requested to work with adults because I didn't have any experience with kids. Antoinette’s English was decent, but I knew we could do even better. Three months was a long time. I dearly hoped she wanted to meet up regularly.
I kept glancing at my phone now and again. I was trying to check if Gabe had explained what he had in mind for tonight, but I didn't want to be unprofessional; I had my camera on, and it was easy to notice any movement.
One hour later, Antoinette said, "Oh, I believe we’re up."
"Yes, we are. Do you want to meet weekly?"
"I don’t think that’s going to be enough. I really want to be able to converse in English more often. Do you have time twice a week?"
Did I have time? Goodness, I did. "Yes, of course," I said, trying to keep it together and not burst out in a happy dance.
"Good. Then I'll book through the website."
"Great. See you, Antoinette."
"Wait, are you sure you don't want me to do any homework?"
I shook my head. "No, not yet. I think that would definitely take the fun out of it. And I honestly don't think you need it."
"All right, then. See you later this week."
"Yes," I said before closing my laptop.
I looked around, sighing. I had yet to buy my twinkle lights and drapes. The plan was to make this place cozy, make it mine. I was warming up to it. All the cracks just meant the house was old and had character.
Then I remembered I was going to meet Gabe downstairs.
Grabbing the phone, I checked my messages and completely deflated when I realized he hadn't written anything back.
What exactly was I expecting? That he'd want to throw a party together?
Maybe he just wanted to go through some rules regarding cohabitating.
I went downstairs, shoving the phone into my back pocket. The staircase creaked under every step, but I liked it. It wasn't creepy, just old. I wondered who lived here before and what their stories were. Why did they move out?
A strange smell snapped me out of my thoughts. Someone was cooking, but Gabe told me he wasn't any good at that. I sniffed the air. It smelled like burned food.
I jumped down the last four steps, nearly breaking my ankle because I skidded on the floor, then went into the living room. The door to the kitchen was open. Wafts of black smoke were coming out of it.
"For fuck's sake," Gabe exclaimed.
His voice had come from inside, so I hurried that way, trying to ignore my pulse going up.
The smoke was even darker in there, and I wondered how the detector hadn't gone off. I looked up at the ceiling and saw Gabe had removed it. He'd also opened the window.
"Can I help?" I asked.
He looked in my direction. "Great. You weren't supposed to see this part."
I grinned. "What's this?"
"I wanted to return the favor for dinner," he said, pointing to the scorched pan in the sink.
"That's probably going to need about a year or two to soften up," I remarked.
"If it's salvageable at all."
"It is. I've saved a few pans after Celia tried to cook.”
I stepped past him, making sure not to accidentally touch him, and inspected the pan. It looked absolutely dreadful. Had he fried peas? There was no way to tell.
Gabe moved close enough for me to feel the heat of his body.
I straightened up, carefully turning, and took stock of him. He'd rolled up his sleeves and was wearing an apron. Fuck me, the only way he'd be sexier was if he took off his clothes and went commando.
You never know. Maybe I'll have the chance to spy on him naked while I live here.
Great, we’d been in the same room for almost two minutes, and my thoughts were already spinning out of control.
"You didn't have to cook. My dinner was to thank you for your help, remember? We're roommates. We could share tasks. I don’t mind cooking."
"We're back to roommates territory, huh? You were very insistent on the term neighbor before," he said with a chuckle. "Anyway, I've got it covered. I'd only put half the ingredients in that pan."
There was another one on the stove.
"What are you cooking?" I asked.
"It's a surprise," he said.
I peeked in the pan, but he moved in front of me. I narrowed my eyes. "Really? I can't help, then?"
"I'm preparing dinner."
In our tango to get to the pan, we'd ended up far closer than I intended. Now my heart rate was completely haywire.
I stepped back and said, "Okay. So what do you want me to do?"
His eyes flashed. "Wait in the living room."
"I’ll open windows in the living room to get rid of the smoke.”
"Perfect."
I took one last look at him before leaving the kitchen. Yum. Even with an apron covering the front of his body, he was incredibly appealing. I'd never thought a shirt with cuff links went with an apron, but he’d proved me wrong.
I opened one window, then realized I had to open them all to get the smoke out.
Once I'd done that, I inspected my outfit. I was still wearing jeans and my company-mandated polo shirt in the same shade of yellow as our umbrellas. I suddenly felt completely underdressed, even though that was nonsense considering we were at home.
Would it be terribly ridiculous if I went back upstairs to change?
Oh, I didn't care if it was. I wanted to look my best.
I scooted up the stairs a little faster than usual and could barely draw my breath when I reached the top. The staircase was a good workout. It was going to give me a kickass butt. Even more points for this place.
I decided on a cute, simple dress, light blue with wide straps.
I had a thing for straps. I didn't know why, but I had several dresses like that.
This one was tight around my waist and ass, but it didn't show any cleavage.
I walked back down the stairs slowly because if I made my steps too wide, I risked tearing it.
To my surprise, Gabe had already set the table and brought out two platters with food.
"Gabe?" I called out, but he didn’t answer.
On one platter was clearly steak. Next to it was a heap of veggies. They weren't burned, but they looked both overcooked and undercooked. That was just my first impression, of course. Some things tasted better than they looked.
"You're fast. I went to change too," Gabe said. "I reeked."
I turned around and nearly swallowed my tongue. He'd put on a T-shirt with short sleeves, and it was the first time I realized his ink extended up his arms. God, it was so damn sexy.
"Yeah, I figured it was better to get out of those clothes," I said, happy to come up with a perfectly good reason for changing that wasn’t because I wanted to doll up.
This is not a date. Damn, don't forget that.
"Shall we?"
"Yes, please."
“I’ll do the honors.” He put a steak on my plate and one on his as I served the veggies.
The first bad sign was that I gave my arm a workout trying to cut the steak.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. This is beyond well done. It's scorched,” he said.
I shoved it into my mouth anyway, not wanting to be rude, but I could barely chew it.
Hoping the veggies would compensate, I ate a spoonful and had to fight my gag reflex. I could only taste soy sauce and honey or sugar, possibly lime. It was a combination I usually loved, but something was terribly off.
I didn't have to say anything, though, because Gabe tasted it and then spit it back out in a napkin. I did the same.
"Right. That was my last attempt at cooking." And then he started laughing.
"Let me just look in the fridge, okay? I'm sure I can whip up something from there."
His laughter subsided. "No. I wanted to treat you to dinner."
"Then let's order something in. You know what's good in the neighborhood? I haven't looked yet."
Gabe straightened and moved slightly toward me. "I'll do one better. Let's go out. I know some great restaurants."
“I'm sure everywhere is booked."
He lifted one corner of his mouth in a smirk. “I’ll get us a table.”
"All right, let's see you try." Boston restaurants were very hard to get into during the tourist season, especially at the last minute.
"What do you like to eat?" he asked me.
"Seafood or mac and cheese. Actually, no. Steak."
"I know just the spot," he exclaimed, then grabbed his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen before putting it to his ear. "Hello. Gabe Whitley here. I’d like a table for two for tonight. Yes, I’ll wait." A few seconds later, he added, “Excellent, thank you.”
After disconnecting the call, he glanced at me. "We've got a table at Rare.”
I stilled in my seat. "Wait, what?" Rare was hands down the most expensive restaurant in the city. As a tour guide—it was literally my job to know about these things. "No, Gabe, you cannot take me to Rare."
"Yes, I can. I'm doing it."
I cleared my throat. "That's very expensive."
"You wanted steak. It's the best steak place I know."
I grinned. "I can recite ten more off the top of my head that are delicious."
He smiled. "But could we get into any of them without reservations?"
"Well, you got us into Rare," I said. My voice was hoarse. "I bet you can get us in anywhere."
He shook his head. "No, that's the thing. I've got a contingency at several restaurants where I eat regularly, one of which is Rare."
I’d never get used to the difference in our tax brackets. Then again, why should I? I was simply renting the attic.
He came closer. "If you think you won't like it, or that you won't be comfortable, I’ll cancel it and we can figure out something else. But if the only reason you don't want to go is—”
“Because it costs an arm and a leg—”
“Because it's more expensive than usual, then leave that to me, all right? I'll take care of everything."
I considered his words. I was curious, and Gabe seemed to want to go there.
"Fine, but we do need to change, right?"
He laughed. "Yes, they have a very strict dress code."
"What do you mean, strict? Long gowns or something?"
"No, they want business attire. Men are required to wear a suit."
"I can work with that," I said. My dress was cute but would not be good enough for Rare. “I’m going upstairs.”
We rose from the table at the same time.
"You do that. I’ll throw these away and start the dishwasher, then put on a suit."
As I stepped past him, I accidentally tripped on the hardwood floor. I caught the edge of the table, but my butt collided with his crotch.
My face was on fire. Hell, my entire body was.
Gabe groaned, and I looked up at him. "Are you hurt?"
He pinched his eyes closed.
"Gabe?" I asked.
"I’m good."
"God, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I'm such a klutz. How can I make it up to you?"
He smiled, but it was strained. He probably was in pain. I sucked in a deep breath.
“Let’s hurry up so we don’t miss the reservation,” he choked out.
"I'll go change really quick."
I walked away, looking over my shoulder just before I left. Gabe’s face was stuck in a grimace.
Oh good Lord. Should I suggest he put ice on it?
No, just mind your own business. He probably knows how to take care of his own dick.
I hope I didn't break it.
I went upstairs with careful steps. The way this evening was going, I wouldn't put it past me to rip my dress.
By the time I reached the attic, I already knew what I wanted to wear. It was in one of the garbage bags I hadn’t opened, but I had a steamer, so I could smooth it out in no time.
I took out the dress I wore at my graduation dinner. It was pink silk and went all the way to the floor. I hadn't worn it since then because I didn't often go to fancy restaurants. But tonight was the night.
I was going to knock Gabe’s socks off. It was the least I could do after I'd demolished his dick.