“Vi—”
“You think you get to come in here and make assumptions about who I am? You don’t know me, Gabe Atwood. You don’t know a damn thing about me other than you want me and you hate me for it. I don’t know why and I don’t care, but you’d be wise to stop taking your issues out on Lily.”
“I—”
“I’m going to finish cleaning up here. Have Lily text me about when she needs to be picked up from camp.”
Arms crossed, she dismissed him from her presence.
Tail between his legs, he slinked off the truck.
His dislike of Violet boiled down to nothing more than her past as a traveler. She was obviously smart and educated, funny and wildly sexy. He wasn’t looking to get into a relationship, hell, he was terrible with people, but he found himself wondering why he was fighting his attraction to Violet so hard.
Every time she opened her mouth, he was mesmerized, wanting to hear what crazy thing she was going to say next.
When she moved, he tracked her, the curvy lines of her body pulling his eyes along.
And when she watched him with her emerald eyes, he hardened, ready for her at every turn.
Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t given her enough of a chance to prove who she really was. Maybe, she was more than he’d given her credit for.
He hated when Miles was right.
5
Violet stewed on her anger for two weeks. It always seemed like things with Gabe were one step forward then ten steps back.
He’d soften and talk to her, only to turn around and scowl, accusation in his eyes. Every time she thought about those last moments on the truck, she grew hot with rage. He made it out like she was some kind of raving party girl instead of a responsible, adult woman. As if she wasn’t good enough to be around his daughter.
It was what she’d suspected all along, but to hear him say it outright hurt like a son of a bitch.
She’d hung out with Lily five afternoons in the last two weeks, each time the arrangement was made between her and Lily, not Gabe.
Violet slid a pan into the oven of her little house’s kitchen, then turned to take in her day’s work. While not the prettiest of solutions, the bare plank flooring looked far better than the old carpet had. The natural wood color went nicely with the warm blue she’d painted the walls. When she’d moved in there’d been a sickening abundance of cabbage roses, so it hadn’t taken much to make some major improvements.
Three weeks post-finger-cutting, she was healing well. She still wore a bandage over her finger, but that was more cosmetic than anything else. The stitches were gone and her skin had knitted together as best it could. It wasn’t as simple of an adjustment as she’s thought it would be, but she was getting there. Still sensitive, some of the work she was doing around the house sent sharp pangs up her arm, but it was a small price to pay.
She set the timer on the stove, flipped on some music, and got back to work. Two steps up the ladder, she jumped when someone pounded on her door.
“Come in,” she yelled, not bothering to get down.
When the door swung open, Gabe stood in the doorframe, tool belt around his waist, hands on hips.
“You didn’t even know who the hell was at the door. What if I was a serial killer?”
Still angry, Violet didn’t bother to answer him. She just turned around and took another step up the ladder. His heavy footfalls crossed the room.
Clearly, he wasn’t big on taking hints.
“You’re going to ignore me? Is that how we’re going to play this?”
“Is there something you wanted, Gabe?”
She turned on the ladder and pressed herself back, Gabe’s thick arms caging her legs in as he held the frame of the ladder.
His face was level with her crotch and he was closer than he’d ever been before. He looked like he was fresh out of the shower, his hair damp and shiny. His face was clean-shaven and smooth.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he looked up at her, his voice gravelly.
“Sure. It’s not like you judged me even though you know nothing about me.”
“I know you love to cook.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wow. Are you sure your name isn’t Sherlock?”
“I know you’re smart and love to read.”
“Only because I told you.”
“I know you’re sexy and I can’t keep my eyes off you.”
“You can too and you do all the time.”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you do. Is it because you’re into self-torture or you think I’m that horrible of a person, that you’re too angry with yourself to look at me?”
“You don’t pull any punches, do you, Violet?”
“A waste of time,” she told him. “I love life, Gabe. I like to learn and live and be happy. If you can’t handle that, if that makes me too irresponsible to hang out with your daughter, I’ll be sad as hell, but that crappy decision is on you, not me. You want to go around torturing yourself for wanting me, that’s on you too. I’m a hell of a catch.”
He chuckled under his breath. “I bet you are.”
Violet crossed her arms. “Don’t think you can come in here with one tiny apology and that cute smile, thinking I’m that forgiving.”
If anything, his smile grew, deepening his dimples. “You think my smile’s cute?”
She arched a brow and stared at him.
He straightened. “Cut me a break, Violet. I’m not great with people to begin with. When you add Lily into the mix, I might go a little overboard.”
“Might?”
“I do,” he admitted. “I said I was sorry.”
“I heard.”
“And I showed up to help even though you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks.” He looked around and she liked to think maybe he wasn’t too appalled at what he saw. It was hard to look at things with an unbiased eye now that she’d been working on the house for so long. “What are you working on now?”
“Everything.”
“At once?”
“I like to move from project to project.”
Gabe shook his head. “You’re better off to do something start to finish.”
“I don’t work that way,” she told him.
“I do.” He looked up at her, laughter in his eyes. “You’re going to fight me every step of the way, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Probably.”
His lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “I’m looking forward to it. Now”—he looked around—“let’s get started.”
It took Gabe less than thirty minutes to change out the faucet in the bathroom. She’d tried multiple times to loosen the nuts under the sink, but they’d never even budged. It had taken him a few seconds, if that.
Had she known he was planning to come by, she would have picked up a little. It hadn’t dawned on her, until he’d stepped into the bathroom and gotten a face full of her bra as it hung, drying over the shower curtain rod, that things might not be as tidy as they could be.
To his credit, he’d just stopped short for a second, then carried on as if it hadn’t happened.
For her part, Violet stayed out of his way and went to the kitchen where she was more useful. She prepped a salad with more toppings than greens and threw in some rolls she had in the freezer. The least she could do was feed the guy after all his hard work apologizing.
She snorted at the thought. But while his apology was somewhat lacking, she had a grudging respect for his honesty. Tact may not have been his strong suit, but he hadn’t been too proud to say he was sorry.
There was something to be said about that.
When the oven timer beeped, she gloved up and pulled out the chicken parm, then slid it onto the counter.
“I knew I smelled food.” Gabe suddenly appeared on the other side of the counter. He reached into the salad bowl, pulled out an artichoke heart, and popped it into his mouth. “Got the sink fixed in the bathroom and the dripping shower head. You know the fan
needs to be replaced in there. It’s not supposed to make that ticking noise.”
“I know,” she told him. “It’s in the pile of electrical stuff. That’s one thing I won’t touch.”
“Smart woman. Want me to work on it?”
“It’s up to you. I was going to eat.” She set out a plate for herself and held another in her hand. “Are you hungry?”
“Always,” he admitted.
Violet handed the plate to him and they helped themselves. He followed her to the small table in the dining area and they ate in silence for a few minutes.
“What happened to Lily’s mother?” Violet asked.
It was a question that had been weighing on her for weeks. Since Mindy Atwood had boiled some of Gabe’s poor attitude on being a single parent, it made her wonder what the story was there.
“She opted out of being a parent,” he said, forking more food into his mouth and avoiding her eyes.
“Must have been a hard decision,” Violet told him. It was hard to imagine what might bring someone to give up their own child.
“Not as hard as staying and raising a baby,” he replied, his voice hard with anger.
“How old was Lily?”
“Nine months.”
“Has she seen her since?”
Gabe shook his head. “No.”
Violet pushed her plate away, her food suddenly sitting like a rock in her stomach. “Does Lily ask about her?”
He sent her a look she couldn’t quite decipher and kept eating. Knowing Gabe, she’d pissed him off with her questioning.
“Lily stopped asking a couple years ago where her mom was or when she was coming home. She finally realized that she was gone for good.”
“Maybe she’s dead,” Violet offered. “Maybe that’s why she hasn’t come back.”
“I’ve got a private investigator that searches records once every few months, in case she pops up. Nothing so far.”
Violet couldn’t imagine being a parent at all, let along a single parent who’s been left high and dry.
“Were you two together when she left?”
“Is this the inquisition?” he growled as he pushed his empty plate away.
She shrugged. “You can ask me anything you want if it makes you feel better.”
“Why’d you come to Fortune’s Bay? If you were so happy traveling the world with nothing but your backpack, why’d you come here?”
“Because I wanted to find out if I belong somewhere.”
His dark eyes watched her closely, as if she was going to expound on her answer. There wasn’t much more to add so she stayed quiet.
“We weren’t together when she left. Hell, we weren’t even together when she got pregnant. We barely knew each other.”
“I’m sorry for Lily,” she told him. “I wish she got a chance to know her mom.”
“I think Lily stopped caring.”
Violet shook her head. “No. She just stopped talking about it.”
Maybe Violet was right. Maybe Lily had just stopped talking to him about missing her mother.
What a sad thought that was.
He’d offered to help clean up after dinner, but Violet had refused. She’d sent him back to the bathroom with the fan that needed to be replaced and he’d gotten to work.
Their conversation had led to a few thoughts circling his mind: Lily and her feelings about being abandoned by her mother, but something else Violet said too—her desire to find somewhere she belonged.
He hadn’t asked her more about it; the look on her face when she’d spoke the words—a mix of vulnerability and challenge—had made him feel vaguely intrusive. Brazen as she was, bold and firm, he got the feeling she was a little lost, too. On the opposite hand of Lily’s mom, Violet was putting a life on the road behind her, searching for some kind of home.
Hands on hips, he hung his head.
Didn’t that make her the exact opposite of everything he’d thought she was?
It was quite possible he’d pegged her all wrong. As he helped her fix up her grandmother’s old home, it occurred to him that he might be one to help her find somewhere to belong instead of pushing her away.
When the vent was installed, he wiped his hands on a rag and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. The sounds of Otis Redding singing filled the house with soul and warmth. The place was in disarray, but not as bad as he first thought. Some updates would go a long way as would new flooring and paint. As he approached the kitchen he stopped at a framed picture on the wall.
He leaned in closer and shook his head.
He’d be damned if Violet didn’t look exactly like her mother and sisters. Their hair color was all the same vibrant red, freckles dotting their skin. One of the sisters was a bit taller than the others, Violet’s mother older obviously, but they all looked alike.
“Prince Edward Island,” Violet’s voice came from behind him. “My sister Heather is a big Anne of Green Gables fan. We’ve been there a few times.”
“I can’t believe how much you all look alike,” he told her. “It’s unreal.”
“My poor father.” Violet laughed. “Only one of us got his blue eyes. The rest of us got everything from Mom.”
“Is this him?” Gabe pointed to another picture of Violet and an older blond man. They stood atop a mountain, skis strapped to their backs as they smiled in the bright sunshine.
“Yeah. Tuckerman’s Ravine.” When he just looked at her, she continued. “Mt. Washington, New Hampshire. Highest peak in the northeast.”
He looked back at the picture. “I can see some of him in you.”
“Make sure you tell him that if you ever meet him.” She laughed. “He’d like to hear it.”
“Where do your sisters live?”
“Heather is a nurse working with Doctors without Borders in Africa. Rose is a travel blogger who does freelance photography. When I spoke with her yesterday, she was in Iceland. Ivy is living in the Caribbean and working as a historical tour guide for tourists.”
“Who’s the oldest?”
“Rose.” She handed him a picture of the four girls as kids, none of them older than Lily’s age. His focus stuck on Violet, maybe seven, and her smile beamed at the camera, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Then Heather, then me, then Ivy.”
“And where was this one taken?”
“Dead Man’s Bluff, here in Fortune’s Bay. I found that picture here at my grandmother’s house when I moved in.”
“So, you have been to town before.”
“Once or twice when we passed through.”
He handed the picture back to her. “You and your family must be close.”
She let out a dry laugh. “Probably closer than any family should be. No child should have to live in a yurt with their family of six. That’s just torture.”
“What the hell is a yurt?”
“Like a hut, out in the middle of the wilderness.” She went to the kitchen and he followed. “You know what I love, Gabe?”
Leery, he asked, “What’s that?”
“Running water.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
“Refrigerators. The internet. Cake.”
Gabe laughed. “No cake in the yurt?”
“If there was, I had to share it. I hate sharing cake.”
“So, growing up with all the freedom you had, you were still just a regular kid, fighting with your siblings and wanting what other people had?”
“Just the cake mostly, but yeah, same as everyone else. Except when we fought, our parents kicked us out and let us hash it out wherever we were. There was no getting sent to our rooms because we never really had any.”
“I can’t even imagine that. I like having my own space.”
Violet nodded and sat herself up on the counter. “Me too. I think it was less about my independence when I left the nest and more about having my own space. Things that were just mine.” She shrugged. “Maybe that makes me sound selfish.”
“No, I get it. I’m an
only child so I was on my own a lot and got used to having space. Even living with Lily tries my patience sometimes.” He leaned on the counter across from her. How easy it would be take the few steps and close the distance between them. He’d skate his fingertips across her chest where freckles peppered her skin, and she’d wrap her legs around his waist.
It was easy to imagine, but taking the steps weren’t as effortless.
Gabe stayed rooted to his spot, watching as she swung her legs back and forth, her toes painted a bright aqua blue.
“I’ve had a lot of time to imagine what I wanted in a home if I ever made one, so living here has been fun. I get to pull out some of those old dreams and work on making them a reality.”
He looked around, not exactly seeing any dreams come true. Reading his expression, Violet laughed and kicked her foot out toward him, which he caught.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” she told him. “It’ll get there.”
Gabe held her foot in his hand. A foot that had walked across countries and climbed mountains, yet still felt small and delicate.
“I believe you,” he said, giving her a squeeze and letting her go.
“You’re not so bad, you know.” She smiled. “When you stop glowering and start talking, I dare say, you’re rather likable.”
“Wow,” he said, brows raised. “Likable. Try not to go overboard with the compliments.”
“A few weeks ago, you accused me of being a bad role model for your daughter. You’re lucky I let you in here at all.”
“You didn’t let me in. Your door was unlocked and I walked in.”
“After I invited you.”
That was Violet, always arguing to the last second.
“I could say the same for you, that when you start opening up and being yourself, you’re likable too.”
Her brows drew down and her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. “Yeah, being called likable doesn’t feel that good, does it?”
Gabe shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”
A Dash of Destiny in Fortune's Bay: A Fortune's Bay Novella Page 5
