“Are you okay? You seem a little jumpy today,” Vince asked, his craggy features even more pronounced with his slight scowl.
“I'm fine,” she said, smoothing back her hair for what felt like the hundredth time. “Just wondering if it's going to be the two of us all day. Are Maggie or Remy going to be here today?” She deliberately made her tone light. Asking too many questions about Remy might look strange or overly familiar. She didn't want to cross over any boundaries with her employer.
“From what I hear, we're on our own today,” Vince answered with an easy smile. Her co-worker was such great company, but for some reason it wasn't enough. Not today. Not when she couldn't keep Remy out of her thoughts.
A funny feeling pricked at her insides. She couldn't put her finger on it, but Vince's answer left her feeling a little deflated. Focus on work, she reminded herself. Keeping herself busy doing what she loved was the perfect antidote for thoughts of Remy clouding her mind. She'd never wanted to feel this way about anyone. Life was far simpler when you didn't attach yourself to people.
The door jangled as a tall man with salt and pepper hair stepped over the threshold. Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo combined with a white dress shirt, the man looked a little overdressed for a bakery. Truthfully, he looked as if he was decked out to attend a formal gala or a benefit at an opera house. In his arms was a bouquet of peach colored roses...big, plump roses that almost seemed too perfect to be real. He strode right up to the counter, earning himself some stares from a few customers. A little boy sitting at a nearby table stuck out a chubby finger coated in chocolate and pointed at him. “Look, Mama. He looks like a penguin.”
Gabrielle barely had time to laugh at the cute toddler before the man addressed her, his expression radiating an upbeat vibe.
“Miss Gabrielle Turner?”
“Yes, that's me.” Before she knew it the roses were being pushed into her arms along with a cream colored envelope.
“Enjoy,” the man said with a nod of his head, before turning on his heel and leaving as quickly as he'd arrived.
“Whoa,” Vince said, coming up behind her. “Those are incredible! I thought you didn't have a boyfriend.”
“I don't,” Gabrielle said, her face feeling a bit heated under Vince's scrutiny and the unexpected floral delivery. She raised them to her nose, inhaling the fragrant scent that immediately brought to mind memories of her mother's rose scented perfume. As a child she'd sneaked in to her mother's boudoir whenever she had the opportunity and spritzed herself on her wrists and behind the ears with her favorite fragrance. She'd never fooled her mother, who had always caught a whiff of her scent and laughingly scolded her. A longing to see her mother again rose up inside her, sharp and swift.
“Let me take those for you and find a vase.” The sound of Vince's voice intruded on her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. He jutted his chin in the direction of the card. “Go ahead and read it. You must have a secret admirer.” Vince whistled jauntily as he made his way to the back of the bakery, his arm full of the prettiest roses she'd ever seen in her life.
Secret admirer? There was only one person who could have sent her these roses. Only one man whom she hoped had signed the note inside this card. Gently, she pulled the flap open and took out the card. The handwriting on the cream colored stationary was bold and precise.
Dear Gabrielle,
I tried without success to find roses that might be as visually stunning as you are. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy them. I would very much like to take you out tomorrow night. Please be ready at 6:30 sharp. Casual clothes are fine. Looking forward to seeing you again.
Warmly,
Remy
A feeling of joy washed over her. There was no other word for it. The tuxedo-ed delivery man. The gorgeous roses. The endearing note. It was a little overwhelming to be the recipient of such a romantic gesture. The little voice of self doubt inside her questioned whether she deserved it.
“Miss. Miss.” A customer's voice broke into her revery. Startled, she placed the note back in the card and shoved it into her apron pocket. There would be plenty of time to read it again later when she wasn't on the clock. And to wonder whether she'd gotten in way over her head by committing herself to a date with Remy Donahue.
*
Hour by hour, minute by minute, Remy had been counting down the hands on the clock until his night with Gabrielle. The anticipation was wreaking havoc on his concentration. He wondered if she'd liked her flowers. Roses weren't everyone's cup of tea, but for some reason, Gabrielle reminded him of the sweet, fragrant blooms. Soft and pretty. He chuckled at the memory of the way she'd scolded him for following after her in his car. She'd definitely shown him her thorns!
As a way of killing some time and getting his head out of the clouds, he'd stopped by his parents' house to check in on them. Only Dad and Mac were at the house since Mom had made a quick trip to the supermarket to pick up dinner. Mac, who was the only one of his brothers living at home, had challenged him to a game of chess. For Remy it was a fool's gamble, considering Mac's prowess at the game. He'd been playing in tournaments ever since they were kids, winning more times than not. He could have gone professional if he'd wanted to, but a few bad experiences with his competitors had caused him to give up those aspirations. Now, he had his own, modest woodworking business. And, although Mac didn't do happy, Remy liked to think his brother was reasonably content with his life.
“Checkmate!” Mac announced in a deep, measured voice. He sat back in his chair and folded his brawny arms over his massive chest. A shared childhood had taught Remy that the slight easing of Mac's features and the tiniest of creases around his mouth indicated he was pleased at his victory. More times than not, Mac struggled with his emotions. He was the king of the poker face.
“Why do you even challenge me to a match? I haven't beaten you in years,” Remy grumbled. Just when he'd thought a victory had been in reach, Mac had swooped in and outplayed him.
Mac chuckled. “Because you always provide me with a challenge. You make it interesting.”
Coming from Mac, he considered it the height of compliments.
“Hey, boys. Have you two got a minute?” Dad appeared in the kitchen, leaning on his cane before sitting down in one of the hard backed chairs.
Remy glanced at his watch. “Just one minute, actually. I've got a date tonight.” He tried to stop himself from grinning ear to ear, but he couldn't make this giddy, goofy feeling disappear.
Mac shook his head, his face scrunched up as if he'd smelled something foul. “Whoever she is, you're already a goner.”
Alec Donahue attempted to whistle. The sound coming out of his mouth was encouraging, but a far cry from a regular whistle. The residual effects from the stroke were still there, even though Alec continued to fight on his road towards recovery. “So thass why you look so sharp.”
Mac nudged him in the shoulder. “Don't give him compliments. He already has a big head.”
Remy nudged him back. “I'm not conceited, just convinced.”
Mac smirked, which was saying something considering he prided himself on being stoic.
“Dad, what's on your mind?” Mac cut straight to the point.
Remy's gaze narrowed as he noticed the look of worry stamped on his father's face.
“Have either of you boys noticed something different about your mother?”
Remy swung his gaze towards Mac. They made eye contact and shrugged. Immediately, he felt a pang of guilt shoot straight through him. Lately he'd been so consumed by his gallery and thoughts of Gabrielle, he feared he'd somehow missed a huge red flag. Was his mother depressed? Had she been feeling utterly overwhelmed?
“Different how?” Remy asked. Now that he thought of it, she had been a little scattered lately.
“She's a little all over the place. Forgetful.” Alec's eyebrows were knit together. He shook his head as if he was having trouble putting his finger on it. “And she mixed up my meds last night. It's n
ot like her.”
Remy frowned. The incident from the other day at the bakery popped into his mind. It had been peculiar to have his mother show up at Sweet Treats when she had a doctor's appointment and he'd already offered to cover for her. Something about it troubled him. “She forgot her doctor's appointment the other day. And she mentioned burning some pots. I think it might be the stress of everything that's gone down the last few months.”
“My fault. Because of me.” His father shuddered, his shoulders heaving with the effort. Mac shot Remy an irritated look. “No, Dad. Stop it. Not because of you.”
Remy leaned over and placed his arm around his father's shoulder. “Hey, I didn't mean it like that. You're not the cause of anything. We were all terrified to lose you. It was a scary, chaotic time. She's probably still feeling a little rattled by it, that's all.”
“These are s-s-supposed to be our golden years,” Alec said, his words slurring a little bit. Even though the stroke had caused muscle weakness and occasional slurring of his speech, he continued to get stronger each day due to physical and speech therapy sessions.
“And they still can be golden years,” Mac said. “This too shall pass.”
Remy nodded in agreement. He hated seeing his father blaming himself for the stroke that had nearly taken him from them. The Donahue clan had happily rallied around him, knowing that he, along with their mother, was the glue that held them all together.
“I've got an idea. Why don't we check in with Sarah and run this by her,” Remy suggested. “Maybe she'll have some ideas or suggestions about getting her a check up.” Blue's wife Sarah was a nurse at Breeze Point Hospital. She'd been a major asset during their father's medical crisis. Now, as an official member of the Donahue family, he knew she would do whatever she could to help out and to allay their fears.
“S-sounds good,” Alec said, making a shooing motion with his hands. “Go on your date before someone else s-scoops her up.”
Mac patted his father on the back as they all chuckled at the idea of it.
Remy winked at his father. “I'd like to see someone try,” he cracked. “I think this one might be a keeper.”
As he darted out of the kitchen and made his way outside, Mac's deep laughter combined with his father's low chuckle trailed after him. He didn't mind the laughter. Not one bit. He knew why they were laughing. Within his family he'd earned the nickname of “the romantic” due to his desire to bring beauty and romanticism into the lives of the women he dated. He'd always believed in being a gentleman and making women feel appreciated and admired. And maybe there had been a woman or two he'd been over the moon about in the past. He'd never been the type to hold those feelings in. But those feelings had paled in comparison to what he felt for Gabrielle.
As he made his way over to the Sea Crest Apartments he reminded himself not to go overboard tonight. Tonight was about baby steps, not about overwhelming her by telling her how he felt. It would be hard not to tell her he was crazy about her, but he needed to wait on it, to let those feelings marinate. Gabrielle already seemed skeptical about him, so there was no need to push any of her warning buttons. He chuckled to himself. He didn't want to send her running for cover.
Hmph! His family thought he was kidding about his date being a keeper. Little did they know, he was dead serious. Some things in life you just knew on instinct. Loving Gabrielle had never been a choice. She'd clamped on to his heart strings and wouldn't let go. It was a humbling feeling.
When Gabrielle opened her door to him, he sucked in a sharp breath. Even though she was dressed in a very simple yet fashionable outfit, the mere sight of her knocked him for a loop. He'd never had trouble communicating, but for one instant he found himself without words. All the anticipation about tonight had left him tongue tied and nervous.
After she invited him in, he stepped into her apartment, his gaze settling on her simple décor and no frills style. He couldn't be certain, but he had the feeling the furniture came courtesy of the apartment complex. Everything was a dull shade of brown. A chocolate colored sofa. A dark brown rug. Beige curtains. Here and there, she'd thrown in accents of color....red throw pillows and a purple and black oriental rug in the living room. In that moment he wanted to take her by the hand and offer her the world. Although he knew material possessions were fleeting, he wanted Gabrielle to have an easier life than the one he suspected she'd been living.
“You said casual. I can change if this is too simple.” She pulled at her shirt, tugging it down past her hips. The pink shirt was a good color with her mocha complexion. She'd paired it with black leggings and ballet flats. It was perfect. She'd pulled her hair back off her face into a high ponytail. The overall look was classic and timeless.
“Don't change a thing. You look great.”
“Thanks. So do you,” she said, looking him up and down with an expression of silent admiration. He'd worn his best pair of slacks and a charcoal gray, short-sleeved top. Gabrielle grabbed her purse and he held the door open as they both walked out.
Once they were in the car he popped in a jazz CD of one of his favorite artists. As he drove Remy caught the sight of her fingers tapping against her legs to the upbeat rhythms. Jazz music didn't appeal to everyone, but it seemed to vibe with Gabrielle. Within minutes he pulled up to a parking lot on Sea Street, right near the downtown area by Main Street.
“Where are we going?” Gabrielle asked as he took her hand and helped her out of the car.
He pointed to the building adjacent to the lot. “This is my new gallery space. There's no sign up yet, but right up there,” he pointed up at the front of the building, “there'll be a sign that says Remy Chastain Donahue Art Gallery.”
“That's a mouthful,” she said with a teasing smile.
“Is it too much? It's a combination of my birth and adoptive names.” he asked. He wanted Gabrielle to give him a thumbs up on his art gallery. For some reason her approval meant the world to him. He held his breath waiting for her answer.
“Of course not. I like how you use both your birth name and your adopted name. As you said before, it honors both your families.”
He paused for a moment to look at Gabrielle. Not only was she stunning, but she possessed a wisdom and grace of a much older person. She'd lived. He could tell by the way she carried herself and the things that came out of her mouth. She was a wise soul. At the same time there was a fragility about her, as if she lacked a bit of self confidence. Perhaps life had thrown her a few curve balls. Would she ever open up to him and let him in to her world? There were so many things he wanted answers to, but would never presume to ask.
The psalm from Corinthians came to mind. “Love is patient, love is kind.” He wanted to live up to that truth. In her own time, Gabrielle would reveal herself to him. And when she did, he would accept her with open arms.
Remy unlocked the doors to his gallery, flipping on the light and ushering Gabrielle inside. He stood behind her and regarded it with a critical eye. The gallery space was wide open and inviting. The hardwood floors were gleaming and polished. It looked very modern and tasteful. When he looked at the white walls he could envision his paintings hanging there. It wasn't difficult to imagine a crowd gathered here for one of his showings. All his family and friends standing amongst one another and supporting his artistic endeavors. Of course Gabrielle would be there, he imagined, standing right by his side.
“This is really a great space,” Gabrielle said, her eyes roving all over the space. She walked around, her head swiveling in all different directions. “It's nice and roomy. And it will allow for the main focus to be on your pieces.”
“That's a good point,” he said with a nod. “Why don't I show you the loft space.” He directed her towards the stairs, leading her up to the second floor. The moment they exited the stairwell Gabrielle let out a gasp. The smell of Italian food wafted in the air as a violinist began playing a haunting tune. An elegant table for two had been set up in the middle of the room. In the center of the
table sat a small bowl of floating candles, which cast a romantic glow over the room.
A server attired in a black suit stood nearby waiting to serve them their meal. Remy took her by the hand and led her toward the table. Before the server could do it, Remy pulled out her chair for her.
Gabrielle looked around with wide eyes. “I can't believe that you went to all this trouble for me.”
“It wasn't any trouble, chere. It just took a little planning.” He wasn't about to admit how he'd agonized over the details. He'd fretted so much about the menu and the set up that he'd ended up consulting his sister-in-law, Sarah, and swearing her to secrecy. It had felt good to confide in someone about his feelings for Gabrielle. Sarah was one of the sweetest and most supportive people he'd ever known. She'd been happy to help him with the details for this evening and delighted that he trusted her enough to share his feelings with her.
Within minutes the server had returned with their appetizers, a pear salad with feta cheese. She placed glasses of sparkling water and red wine in front of their place settings. Conversation flew as he managed to put Gabrielle at ease and open up the lines of communication. She seemed fascinated by his profession, which made him feel ten feet tall. He loved being an artist. It was truly the only profession he'd ever entertained as a career.
“How did you get started as an artist?” she asked after their starter plates were removed from the table.
“As far back as I can remember I wanted to be an artist. I can remember painting as early as five or six years old.” He splayed his hands out on the table, resisting the urge to reach for her hand to hold. “Back in New Orleans I used to draw the big steamboats that I would see chugging down the river. They were rough drawings, but if I close my eyes I can still picture those steamboats as vividly as if it were yesterday. And I remember that feeling of wanting so badly to recreate it on paper. There was one called the River Queen—“She leaned forward in her chair. “I remember that one! My grandfather used to take me to see the steamboats also.” Gabrielle's voice rose an octave with enthusiasm. “The River Queen always sounded so exotic to me.”
Until You Loved Me (Seven Brides, Seven Brothers Book 3) Page 5
