Oh, God, the competence porn! Is there anything this man can’t do? He’s cooking with both hands, flipping the fish, then testing the pasta, stirring the spinach. Everything smells amazing, like butter and lemon and garlic. My stomach growls.
Plus the dog adores him. Buck is lying at Gabe’s feet, gazing up at him like Gabe… well, like Gabe wields the can opener. But also probably the frisbee and the ball launcher and the treat jar and the soft fleecy bed. Gabe squats for a moment and gives Buck’s head an affectionate ruffle.
Honestly, I kind of get it. After today, I want to sit at his feet and stare up at him adoringly, too. Especially if he’d stroke my hair.
Instead, I ask if he needs any help. He says, “No. But I want to show you something.”
“I want you to show me something, too,” I say.
Whoops! I meant to think them, but the words fell out of my mouth, husky and suggestive.
I’m rewarded by a full-on Gabriel Wilder smile, which is rare and beautiful. He has a dimple in one cheek and laugh lines at the corners of his dark eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
That’s it, though. He doesn’t look at me the way he did at the door, or take me up on my not-at-all-subtle come-on.
At the door, he’d stared at me like he wanted to get me out of his robe as fast as possible. My whole body got hot and melty. I was going to let him kiss me, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it, and I wasn’t going to stop with kissing. I would worry about the consequences later. Life is short.
And then Buck got in the way.
“Look,” he says. “You see how it’s translucent here, but not here?”
I’m leaning in close to see the fish, and yeah, I see it.
“That’s how you know it’s done, when it’s no longer translucent. People overcook fish in the worst way. You have to have a visual. You can’t do it with a thermometer. By the time you get the guideline temp, it’s way too late.”
He takes the fish off the heat, drains the pasta, heaps the spaghetti onto two plates, and arranges the spinach and fish on top. It’s even pretty to look at.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to feel rejected because I basically told him I wanted to have sex with him and he showed me how to cook trout perfectly.
He sets two places across from each other at his kitchen table. Nothing super fancy, just plates and cloth napkins and silverware. But then he gets up again, goes and gets two wine glasses and a bottle, and comes back. “You okay with white?” he asks. “Red’s too heavy for trout.”
“Who are you?” I demand.
He laughs at that. “Just a guy who loves good fish, cooked right, and served with the right drink. Believe me, it’s not like I know wine pairings for everything. Okay, reds with steak. And beer with everything else. Especially Chinese and Indian.”
The food tastes as good as it looks. The trout’s flaky and buttery and crispy and lemony and oh my God I have to close my eyes so I can fully enjoy it. When I open them, he’s looking at me, and that’s more like it.
“Lucy,” he says, all dark and intent. “You have to stop that.”
We’re both frozen, me trying to figure out if he means it in that bossy, intensely hot way it sounds, and him—
“Oh, shit,” he says suddenly, and then I hear it, too. The sound of someone—well, something—heaving and retching in the next room. He’s out of his seat in an instant, running for the pantry.
I get up to follow—to see if I can help—but he calls, “Stay out there. You don’t need to see this.”
“What—?”
“He got my sweatshirt out of the laundry and chewed it, and—well, you got the rest.”
He’s gone a long time. When he comes back, he sinks into his seat, looking exhausted.
And then suddenly I’m laughing, because poor Gabe. “That’s a lot of barf for one day,” I say, between gasps, and, “I did ruin your sweatshirt. In the end.”
For a second, he stares at me, and then he starts laughing, too, the two of us belly laughing, getting control for a second, and then setting each other off again. It feels so good to laugh, and I can’t think how long it’s been since something really set me off.
When we both stop, we sit down and manage to finish our now mostly cold but still delicious meal. I’m still feeling the afterglow of laughing with him, seeing and hearing him laugh, him letting go and enjoying himself. I know it doesn’t happen often, because even on the boat today, he didn’t laugh or smile a ton. I don’t think he lets himself. I think he cares too much about making everything run smoothly and taking care of everyone.
“What’s it like growing up with five siblings?” I ask.
“Lots of fun. Never quiet. Never boring. There’s always someone to do something with. Throw a football, go swimming or fishing or hunting, accidentally burn down a deserted shed.”
“You did that?”
“Uh-huh,” he says. “No one got hurt. Brody and I had to earn the money to pay back the owner. We learned our lesson. Sort of. We weren’t very good at generalizing, so we didn’t see setting off firecrackers in the Haverill’s barn as an instance of the same dumbass thinking. Luckily, we were able to put out the fire before we had to earn the money to rebuild the barn, because that definitely would have set us back. You have siblings?”
I shake my head. “Only child.”
“Just you and your parents?”
Now we’re into territory I stay away from. “Yup.” That’s the simplest version. “And a few pets. Mostly cats, guinea pigs and hamsters. I always wanted a dog.” I reach down and scratch Buck’s head, and he gives me a toned-down version of the adoring-Gabe look.
“You getting a chance to hang with your mom while you’re here?” he asks.
“Yup. I had breakfast with her and Gregg, and then dinner night before last. Gregg seems like a good guy.”
Gregg had grilled up chicken breasts outside the Airstream, and we’d talked about his marketing issues with his bike store, among other things. I’d made a few suggestions for how he could tweak his approach. He’d been super grateful.
My mom had beamed most of the night, like she could imagine nothing better than watching Gregg and me chat while she sat back and sipped her wine.
“Gregg’s great,” Gabe says. “We get a lot of referrals from him, and vice versa. The bike touring crowd and the adventure crowd overlap.”
I steer the conversation back to Gabe. “So all your brothers work for you?”
Some of the light goes out of his face. “Since we lost my dad,” he says, matter of factly, but I know the tone hides a lot of pain.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It was a long time ago.”
“You sure take good care of your family.”
His eyes fly to mine, surprised.
“I see the way you watch out for them. Amanda, Brody, even Hanna. You’re fierce. In a good way.”
He turns his head away, but I can tell he’s pleased.
“You done?” he asks, reaching for my plate. I nod, and he stands and clears for us. I start to fill the sink to do the dishes, but he waves me off. “Fill the sink with warm soapy water and leave everything,” he says. “Let’s go watch a movie.”
“What makes you think we’ll be able to agree on a movie?” I ask, teasing.
“Oh, we’re not going to agree,” he says. “We’re watching A River Runs Through It.”