“Fuck this. I don’t need this place anyway.”
Gabe doesn’t move as Delivery Driver backs up, stopping at the door. “Hey, cook boy. You should fire that bitch.”
He points a thumb my way, making it clear who he means. But then he locks his gaze back on Gabe, anger fraying his control even when his brain knows it’s a losing battle. He puffs up, head tilting wildly as he adds to the charges against me.
“Letting people like this asshole get all up in people’s faces. Fuck this place.”
He storms out, and everyone in the place holds their breath for a second longer. I’m surprised when Martha starts applauding softly. I wasn’t sure she’d take too kindly to Gabe taking it upon himself to kick a customer out.
A couple of other customers, including a few regulars, join in, and heat flushes my face as Gabe turns around and gives me a look that has my stomach flip-flopping.
Never has a man looked at me with such possessiveness, care, and more than a little desire. I’m about point-two seconds from running and launching myself at him, ready to ride him like a cowgirl. Luckily, or maybe it’s unluckily, Martha gets in the way of my straight beeline to Take-Me Town.
“Thank you,” Martha tells Gabe as she comes out, an unfamiliar smile on her face. “Saved me the trouble. I was about to do the same damn thing.” We all know that’s not the least bit true. Even if she’d wanted to, I don’t think Martha, as intimidating as she is, has anything on the fear factor Gabe can inspire. “Though I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do the kicking out next time.”
Gabe nods, and Martha hums, satisfied.
Martha turns to me. “Looks like you’ve got an extra burger and fries. Why don’t you give that to your friend as a thank you? Then help us get caught up and get outta here. You’ve earned it, and Elaine and I can handle this place. We did for years before you came along, honey.”
I start to argue out of habit, the running totals of bills versus tips sizing up in my mind. But tonight, I can’t seem to care. Martha is right. I’ve earned this.
A night off to be young, dumb, and broke, as the song says. I’ve never had that, always too serious, too weighed down with responsibilities, too stuck in could’ve-beens from my past. So tonight, I’m shrugging all that off. And telling the mini-Charlotte on my shoulder to shut up and let me be a little wanton tonight if I want to be.
I look to Elaine, who nods, eyes darting to Gabe and then the door, telling me to take that man and go.
“Thanks.” I shove the cheeseburger plate in front of Gabe, who’s sat back down at the counter, promising, “I’ll be quick.”
He picks up a fry, taking a big bite and talking around it. “I’m here until you’re ready to go. Whenever that is.” And then he winks at me, like a legitimate, actual wink. That’s something I thought guys only did as a cheesy pickup move, but on Gabe, it looks sexy. Like he knows tonight’s something special for me.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I know my face is probably a few shades of bright pink as I get to work.
It seems like everyone in the diner is in on the ‘Get Izzy Out of Here’ plan because every table is beyond easy, asking for refills and a check or saying they haven’t had Martha as a waitress in so long, they’d like to request her. I sneak glances at Gabe, who’s shoving the burger and fries down his throat like he wants to be done as fast as possible.
Me too, man. Me fucking too.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve helped clear out the main floor and Martha’s standing in front of me with a to-go box. “Take this and get out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I take the box, handing it to Gabe to hold while I run to the back. I’m definitely hustling now, elbows damn-near pumping to get to my purse as fast as I can. I take a quick minute to yank a brush through my hair, slick on ChapStick, and pop a mint.
I can’t do much about the fry grease-smelling shirt, so I spritz a little body spray on top of it, hoping French fry-lavender is a pleasing combo.
When I come back out, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but mine meet Gabe’s and never waver. I watch as the light sparks in the darkness there, see the slight crinkles at the corners as his smile blooms in slow motion. “Ready?”
“Yep.” I mean it to sound cool and casual, but it comes out breathy and dreamy.
His smile turns to a cocky smirk, knowing that he’s causing me to lose it. But it’s mutual. For all his chill control, I can feel the swirling tension coming off him in waves. And fuck, do I want to swim in that ocean, get pulled under by his riptide, even if it sets me adrift in his wake after he’s gone.
He holds out a hand, and I slip mine into it, interweaving our fingers. As we walk out, I almost feel like it’s a movie, the diner customers watching out the window as we make our way across the lot.
We stop next to a red SUV and Gabe opens the door for me. I start to climb in and then freeze. “Where are we going?”
“First, we’re going right here. Martha told me there’s cherry pie and ice cream in this box, so we need to eat it now or the ice cream will melt and ruin the pie. We probably could’ve eaten it inside, but I was afraid if I didn’t get you out of there, we’d never leave.”
I laugh, knowing he’s right. “And then?”
He moves in close, not touching his body to mine, but so close that I can feel the electricity flowing between us. I tilt my chin up, inviting him, damn-near begging him to kiss me, wanting to taste him and see if he’s dark and bitter like coffee or sweet and bright like candy. Maybe a mix of the two?
But he doesn’t kiss me, instead using his free hand to cup my jaw. “And then we’ll see where we want to go from there.”
He’s giving me an out. A gentlemanly thing to do, a way to slow the pace to whatever I’m comfortable with. But tonight, I don’t want slow and nice. I want . . . Gabe.
“Cherry pie with cream it is,” I say, teasingly channeling my inner Jessica Rabbit sultriness.
He laughs, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing, but I go with it and laugh back as he helps me into the SUV. He walks around to the driver side, getting in and setting the to-go box on the console between us.
He opens the plastic-wrapped spoon, looking at me only half apologetically. “Martha said you were running short on plasticware, only gave me the one.”
Ooh, that sneaky fox. I know there’s a whole box of plastic spoons, forks, knives, even sporks in the store room. But in this case, I’m not arguing as Gabe scoops up a mouthful of delectable dessert and offers it to me.
I let him feed me and smile as he alternates, feeding himself from the same spoon too. “It’s good, right? Martha’s family recipe.”
He moans appreciatively, and the sound makes me imagine what he’d sound like slipping into me.
His thoughts don’t seem to be as dirty as mine because he asks, “Tell me about you? Who is Isabella Turner?”
The way he looks at me warms me in a different way. Mia and Char know my story, and after working here so long, Elaine does too, but not everyone listens. He seems actually interested, though, not like he’s making polite conversation and expecting a textbook ‘normal childhood’ story.
“Well, let’s see. I wasn’t born here in Roseboro,” I start, looking down. “My family and I lived up near Tacoma, my parents and my big brother. I . . . I lost them when I was only five.”
“I’m sorry,” Gabe says quietly, but not in that uselessly superficial way. Instead, he looks like he genuinely feels bad for me. “What happened?”
“A plane crash,” I whisper. “Uhm, Dad was a businessman. I guess a lot of businessmen have a side hobby, but instead of golf or art or anything like that, he was into airplanes. I only remember little bits, but his home office was filled with models, and he had this Cessna. He’d take us up, fly us over Puget Sound, but I didn’t go up often. I was little and Mom was nervous about me touching something I shouldn’t. So Dad would let me sit in his lap when the plane was grounded, letting me pretend to fly as he promised that one da
y, he’d teach me. They left me at home with a sitter that day. Freak accident that couldn’t have been prevented. Dad . . .”
I choke a bit and clear my throat to cover it. “He did everything right, did all he could. It just wasn’t enough.”
I wipe a tear from beneath my eye and look down. “Sorry, that’s probably more than you wanted to hear.”
I know better than to get too deep into the tragedy of my childhood. Most people don’t truly care or they think I should be over it by now. It’s always safer to gloss over it and move along, but something about Gabe made me feel safe enough to share. That instinct proves accurate when he doesn't flinch away but instead asks for more.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” Gabe says again. “What happened afterward?”
“Well, I was sent to live with my aunt, my mom’s sister. She was the only person left in my family who could care for a young kid. She lived here in Roseboro, so I moved here to stay with her. My grandparents were older, but they helped as much as they could. They passed a few years later, and then it was just me and Reggie.”
I sigh, looking down as I twist the napkin in my hands. “Reggie was kind. She had a lot of love in her, but not much else. She was my mother’s older sister, the wild child of the family. She’d mostly settled down by the time I came around, and taking care of me left her with no time for crazy escapades. But she didn’t have a diploma or any real skills to speak of, and her body was decades older than it should’ve been from the years of abuse. So she couldn’t work much, and when she did, we . . . well, things were like that old Wu Tang track. Rough and tough like leather. But she loved me, and I loved her. She was all I had.”
“Was?” Gabe says quietly. “When did she pass?”
“Three weeks after I graduated high school,” I recall. “Pancreatic cancer. Fast and lethal. The hospital bills sucked up all we had, ironically taking the small inheritance I had left from my parents because we’d been too busy working, didn’t have time to get it transferred out of Reggie’s name. The hospital didn’t care that it was really my money, not hers, saying that since she was technically on the account, they were taking their money first. It was all of it.”
I can’t help but huff a humorless laugh at the memory of the scared eighteen-year-old kid I’d been, begging a guy in a suit to leave me with something as he shrugged his shoulders like there was nothing he could do.
“And that guy I was telling you about?”
“Ah, that guy,” Gabe says, his voice dropping to a fierce rumble. “How’s he fit in?”
“Reggie bought the house a long time ago and had paid it off with my parents’ money to give me a secure place to grow up. But it sits on land that’s owned by someone else, originally Russell’s parents. Their family bought it back when it was mill housing for the factory workers, I think. They wouldn’t sell Reggie the land, but they didn’t charge her much for the lease. After she died, they told me they’d do the same thing for me, which was a huge relief. They were decent people, knew that house was all I had left of my family.”
I growl, my mood shifting, “But when they died, Russell took over and things went to hell in a handbasket. Russell’s the creepy neighbor.”
Gabe looks at me sharply, his voice low and protective. “Any more trouble?”
I shake my head, trying to be reassuring. “No. The gun is put away safely, but I can get to it if he gets squirrelly. I really think he’s more talk and bluster than action, though.” I silently pray that saying the words will make it truer because the reality is, I don’t believe Rusty is harmless and mouthy. I think he’s getting more and more dangerous as each passing day draws him deeper into addiction.
I can tell Gabe doesn’t quite believe me, but he lets it go, surmising with a bit of awe, “But you keep going. You’ve never given up.”
“No . . . I guess I haven’t,” I admit. “Reggie always taught me that education was the way out, said dropping out was her biggest regret. So I worked my ass off in high school to get good grades while helping with the household bills, and I’m still working my butt off, paying my way through college, semester by semester. It’s taking forever, but I’m going to get there.” This time, I don’t need the universe to hear the truth of the words. I’m going to make it happen myself, no matter what.
“I admire that,” Gabe says honestly. “You’ve fought for everything you have, and when you have what you want in life, you can look back and say you earned every bit of it. Not too many people can honestly say that.”
I chuckle, and Gabe tilts his head at the odd response to his compliment. “What?”
“You should meet my friend, Mia. She’s got this saying.” I adopt her fake Russian accent. “Don’t ask for it, Tovarich. Earn it. Do that, and you’ll be rewarded.”
Gabe’s brows shoot together, the question in his chocolate eyes before his mouth forms the word. “Tovarich? Mia’s . . . Russian?”
I lightly tap his arm, careful not to spill the melted mess of ice cream in the to-go box between us. “Very good. She’d be proud. We tease her that she’s pseudo-Russian. Her Papa most definitely is, but Mia was born in the US. Her history is important to her, though, and she has all these ‘Russian’ sayings and can put on an accent that’d make you think she grew up in Central Moscow. She’s a hoot, a rainbow-haired, number-crunching geek who just moved in with her uptight, suit-and-tie-type man.”
Gabe hums, smiling a little as he deadpans, “Sounds like a match made in heaven.” He finishes with, “Wise words, though.”
“So what about—” I ask, but before I can ask about his life story, the light in the parking lot changes. I look over to the front of the diner and see the glowing red ‘Open’ sign has gone dark. Inside, I can see Elaine, Henry, and Martha peering out the door, smiles on their faces as they very obviously talk about the fancy Range Rover in the lot and its two occupants. “Oh, God, they probably think we’re fucking right here in the diner lot,” I mumble, burying my face in my palms.
Gabe’s laugh is a big burst from his belly, filling the cabin of the Rover. “You make a habit of that? Or have a lot of problems with lot lizards?”
I turn my head, glaring at him. “Of course not. The Gravy Train is a classy joint.” I say it with a straight face but can’t hold it, and suddenly, I’m laughing too.
"Maybe we’d better get on out of here?” Gabe asks. “Before they call the cops on questionable activities in their parking lot?”
He’s still asking, kind and sweet, about our progress even as I sense the need churning in him. But he’s got it on lockdown, controlling the wildness I want him to unleash.
“Definitely,” I say before my fear changes my mind. I’m not scared of Gabe, not at all, but maybe of doing something crazy just because I want to.
It’s not the responsible and future-minded Izzy I’ve always been. But a bit of untamed joy in the present moment sounds like something I’ve always needed and pushed aside. Maybe it’s not the right time to indulge, with Russell threatening me, school finals looming, and next semester’s fees due any day. But maybe it’s the conglomeration of those things that makes this the perfect time to let loose for once.
I deserve this. I’ve earned this.
Gabe starts the SUV, the headlights turning on automatically and the instrument panel glow lighting his face. I can see his relief that I agreed, his desire burning my skin where his gaze touches me. It’s a lot to take in, and I inhale, turning toward the window for a moment to let the butterflies in my belly settle.
I see that Elaine’s smile is huge now, a knowing look in her eyes, and then she waves goodbye with a nod, like she’s proud of me for doing something just for me for once.
I wave back, and as Gabe pulls out of the lot and into the light midnight traffic, I sink into the seat, letting the luxurious leather wrap around me. I’ve never done anything like this before.
“So, where are we going, anyway?” I ask as Gabe gives me a dazzling smile, his dimples bookending his white tee
th.
“It’s a secret,” Gabe says with a lift of his brow. “A gem of a place I discovered.”
Chapter 12
Gabriel
Isabella sits quietly in the passenger seat as I drive, the twin headlights of my ‘real’ vehicle stabbing the night. I enjoy this Range Rover a lot more than the nondescript throwaway truck I’ve been using as a work truck, if only for the ride.
It’s interesting to see Isabella tense, then relax as I accelerate out of Roseboro. I suspect she’s been riding that scooter for so long that she’s forgotten what sixty miles an hour feels like as the lights of the city pass us in a blur.
Or maybe her intermittent stiffness is because of me. I have to remember that while I know everything about her, both from her lips and from her file, I’m a virtually unknown entity to her. I’m sure that’s weighing on her as much as the speed with which we’re racing out of town.
We get to the parking area closest to the secluded spot I found, and I come around, opening the door for her. I help her step down, warning, “Careful, it’s a bit of a drop.” The words resonate in my head like warning bells, but I refocus on here and now, on Bella.
Looking in the back of my Rover, I grab a military surplus parka out of the back, nothing fancy but something I keep for bad weather . . . although the camo print has proven useful once or twice for surveillance.
Bella smiles as I shake it out flamboyantly, unzipping it and slipping it over her shoulders. “Nice.”
“Thanks,” I reply, zipping the coat up the front of her, watching as her curves disappear beneath the coat. The oversized parka almost swallows her. She looks . . . adorable, and it makes my heart twist in my chest. “I got it for rainstorms. You know how they can sometimes spring up and catch you unaware.”
“Not just weather. Life does that too,” Bella says, adjusting the cuffs and zipper, and truer words have never been spoken. She certainly caught me unaware, is still surprising me at every turn. “So, where are we going?”
Not So Prince Charming: A Dirty Fairy Tale Page 10
