Helen Lacey - Once Upon a Bride

But there she was. All perfection and professionalism in her silky blue shirt and knee-length black skirt. Once he got that image clear in his head, Gabe noticed she wasn’t alone. Jed sat on his haunches at her side.

“Am I stretching the boundaries of friendship?” she asked, and held out the lead.

He nodded. Were they friends now? No. Definitely not. “Absolutely.”

She chewed at her bottom lip. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Gabe shrugged. “What’s the big emergency?”

She exhaled heavily. “He chewed off a piece of my sofa and broke the table in the living room when I left him home on Tuesday. Then he terrorized my parents’ cat when I left him there yesterday. Mary-Jayne said she’d take him tomorrow and Saturday. She’s got a fully enclosed yard and a dog, which will keep him company. But today I’m all out of options. I can’t take him to the store and...and...I don’t know what else to do.”

Her frustration was clear, and Gabe knew he’d give her exactly what she wanted. Because saying no to Lauren was becoming increasingly difficult. “Okay.”

“O-okay?” she echoed hesitantly.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Relief flooded her face. “Thanks. I...I owe you for this.”

Gabe shrugged again. He didn’t want her owing him anything. Owing could lead to collecting...and that was out of the question. “No problem,” he said, and took the lead.

“So dinner?” she asked and took a step back. “Tonight. I’ll cook. My way of saying thanks.”

His back straightened. “You don’t need to—”

“I insist,” she said quickly, and then looked as though she was itching to get away. “Say, seven o’clock?”

She left, and Gabe didn’t go back inside until she disappeared around the hedge.

* * *

Dinner. Great idea. Not.

What were you thinking?

Lauren spent the day chastising herself and making sure she didn’t let on to her mother that she’d somehow invited Gabe into the inner sanctum of her house, her kitchen and her solitary life. But she’d made the offer and it was too late to back out now. Besides, he was doing her a favor looking after the dog. Dinner really was the least she could do in return. He’d helped her out, and it was her way of saying thank-you. It was nothing. Just a simple meal between neighbors.

Only, simple seemed at odds with the way her nerves rattled just thinking about it.

She stopped by the supermarket on the way home, and by the time she pulled into the driveway, it was nearly six. She jumped into the shower, dried off, applied a little makeup and changed into loose-fitting cargo pants and a red knit top. By six-thirty she was in the kitchen marinating steaks and prepping a salad. And ignoring the knot in the pit of her stomach as best she could.

The doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock.

Jed rushed down the hallway the moment she opened the door, clearly eager to get to his food bowl in the laundry.

“Hi,” she said, and stepped back.

“Hi, yourself,” Gabe said as he crossed the threshold.

He closed the door, and she didn’t linger. Instead, she pivoted on her heels and headed back to the kitchen. By the time she’d made her way back behind the countertop, he was by the door, watching her. She looked up and met his gaze. He looked so good in his jeans and navy T-shirt, her breath stuck in her throat. She noticed a tattoo braid that encircled one biceps peeking out from the edge of his sleeve. She’d never liked ink much, but it suited him. It was sexy. Everything about Gabe was sexy. His broad shoulders, black hair, dazzling blue eyes... The combination was devastating. And dangerous.

Be immune to sexy.

He moved and rested against the door frame, crossing his arms, and Lauren was instantly absorbed by the image it evoked.

“You know, you really shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said, and Lauren quickly realized she’d been caught staring. Or ogling. “I might start thinking you aren’t serious about that vow of yours.”

Her skin warmed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His lips curled at the edges. “I never do.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Then what do you believe, Lauren?” he asked, and met her gaze.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

His stare was unwavering. “I think you do.”

“You’re talking about what you overheard at the wedding?” She shrugged as casually as she could manage. “I thought we’d agreed not to talk about that.”

He half smiled. “Did we? You said you wanted a passionless relationship.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t want to talk about that with him. Not when her pulse was racing so erratically. She remembered how he knew her secrets. He knew what she wanted. “Yes,” she replied and hated that it tasted like a lie. “Passion is overrated.”

“Do you think?” he asked quietly, his intense gaze locked with hers. “And chemistry?”

“Even more overrated.”

“That’s a handy line when you’re in denial.”

She tried but couldn’t drag her gaze away. “I’m not in denial,” she insisted. “About...anything.”

About you. That was what she meant. And he knew it, too.

“Good,” he said, almost as though he was trying to convince himself. “Shall I open this?” he asked, and gestured to the wine bottle he carried.

Lauren nodded and grabbed two glasses and a corkscrew from the cupboard, laying them on the counter. “How do you like your steak?”

“Medium rare,” he replied. “You?”

She shrugged. “Same. Did Jed behave himself today? No disasters? No sacrificial sneakers?”

He grinned and grabbed the corkscrew. “It was moderately better than the last time.”

She laughed softly. “He’s usually very civilized when Cameron is around.”

“He’s pining,” Gabe said, and popped the cork. “Missing the people he loves most. It’s natural he would.”

Lauren nodded. “You’re right. And it’s only for a few more days. I heard from Cameron’s house sitter this morning, and she’s flying back into Bellandale on Sunday afternoon.”

He passed her a glass of wine, and Lauren’s fingers tingled when they briefly touched his. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. “How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“Just over a year.”

“It’s...nice. My sister, Bianca, would love it,” he said easily and rested against the countertop. “She’s into decorating.”

Lauren pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard. “Do you have one of those large Italian-American families?”

“There are four of us. Aaron is thirty five and the eldest. He’s divorced and has twin four-year-old boys. And then there’s me, three years younger.” He grinned a little. “Then Luca, who’s thirty and married to his IT job, and Bianca, who is twenty-six and the baby of the family.”

She nodded. “And your parents?”

“There’s only my mom,” he explained, watching her with such blistering intensity, Lauren found it hard to concentrate on preparing their meal. “My dad died fifteen years ago.”

Her expression softened. “I’m sorry. Were you close?”

“Very.”

She nodded again. “What did he—”

“Lung cancer.”

The awful words hung in the air between them, and an old pain jabbed between her ribs. She pushed the memory off as quickly as it came.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I feel very lucky to still have both my parents.”

“And there’s only you and Cameron?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “And he’s actually my half brother. Our mother married my dad when he was three years old. I would have loved a sister, though. I mean, we’re really close, but a big family would be wonderful.”