Page 20 of Reaching Gavin

Chapter Eight

“Oh my God,I thought you were going to solicit me.”

Why did I have to say everything I was thinking around him? It seemed like I had absolutely no filter in the presence of Gavin North. I couldn’t imagine what he thought about me. Actually, I could and none of it was good.

But he only laughed. “You looked a little lost.”

That was probably the nicest thing he could say, given that I was wandering around downtown Seattle holding a plate of foie gras. Since I was probably going to say whatever popped into my head, I might as well be honest with him. “I just walked out on a really bad date.” I held up the plate. “And I stole the appetizer.”

“Is that foie gras?” Gavin asked, craning his head to see.

“It is. Or it was—if I don’t get it out of this summer heat then it won’t be much of anything soon.” I glanced down at the delicate dish, hoping it wasn’t ruined from standing outside. I wanted to eat it along with all of my feelings about tonight. Possibly with a spoon. Definitely with a bottle of wine.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a ride home, if you give me a little of that.” Gavin waved me toward the car: a shiny, new Tesla.

As far as being propositioned on a street corner, it seems like a reasonable deal and I didn’t have a better option. It would probably take 15 or 20 minutes to get an Uber down here this late on a Friday night. I got in and smiled sheepishly at him, clutching the foie gras like a French life raft. He was still dressed for work in his suit. I wondered if he had just gotten done with his meeting, but I didn’t have the guts to ask. The last thing I needed was a reminder that he had chosen Trevor to go to that meeting.

“I’m all the way out in Bellevue if that’s okay,” I told him, trying to buckle my seat belt while holding the dish.

Gavin leaned over the center console, so close that I could smell the almond scent of his shampoo, and did it for me. His hand slid up the strap, smoothing and tightening it over my shoulder, before brushing swiftly over the bare skin of my collarbone.

Fireworks. It stole my breath for a moment.

“I was headed that way anyway.” The words were thick as he turned his attention to the steering wheel and gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Okay,” I said in a small voice as I struggled to regain control over my renegade faculties, all of which seemed alarmingly tuned to Gavin’s frequency.

I wanted to ask him what he was headed to — or rather who. I kept my mouth set. Gavin checked both of his mirrors, put on his signal, and pulled back into traffic. Not only was he a perfect gentleman, he was a perfect driver. I was beginning to suspect the entire Gavin North package was almost perfect, except that girlfriend business. Still, as he began to drive me home, I wondered if I was getting more than I bargained for like a whole heap of wanting what I couldn’t have.

“You saved my life.”I shook mist from my hair as I flipped on the hall light. It had begun to finally drizzle as soon as we reached the condo, turning the summer night into an indoors-only affair. Typical, fickle Seattle move.

“I saved your shoes,” he corrected me with a laugh. He paused at the door as though waiting for an invitation. He filled the door frame, small rain droplets dusting the broad shoulders of his suit jacket.

I beckoned him inside as I peeled my heels from my swollen feet. Asking him in was the least I could do after he’d driven me home through downtown traffic on a Friday night. There was no sign of Lillian, a small mercy since I’d sworn on my celibacy to get access to her guest room for the summer. I’d promised her no sex. No one-nightstands. I hadn’t exactly promised her no men altogether. There had to be some rational exceptions for delivery guys and maintenance workers. Men who didn’t count as men. Like Gavin, who wasn’t a man. He was my boss.

Maybe I needed to wear a rubber band around my wrist to remind me of that very important fact.

Sure, he wasn’t the boss I had been expecting. He had all his hair for one thing. And yes, he had surprised me more than once. Taking things in stride, cracking jokes, delivering his intern and her shoes halfway across the city. Because Gavin was a good guy who despite some rough edges took time for other people. He genuinely cared.

About his job, I reminded myself as I eyed the wine rack in the corner. That was why he was here now. Because he saw his intern home in the rain. It was why if I offered him a glass of the Montepulciano I grabbed from Trader Joe’s, he would say no. That, and the fact that he probably preferred to drink wine that cost more than ten bucks. Because if he accepted a glass of wine, that might signal that he wanted to spend time together socially. But was offering the wine the equivalent overture? In the end, the Texan in me—the part of me cursed with carefully cultivated social graces—won out.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?” I picked up the bottle so he could see the label in an effort at full disclosure. Cheap wine. Company intern. Gentlemanly boss. I knew what his answer would be before he opened his mouth.

“Sure.”

My mouth fell open like a broken mailbox, and before I could clamp it shut again, he shrugged off his suit jacket and began unfastening his cufflinks. My jaw remained unhinged even as I backed into the kitchen to look for the corkscrew. It took mental coaching, the likes I imagined Olympic athletes employed, to talk myself into turning away from him to look in the drawer. I had no idea what to expect when I turned around. What if he took his shirt off? What if he’d stripped to his birthday suit?

It took two tries to get the cork out of the bottle and when it popped free, I felt a wave of relief. Grabbing two wine glasses, I quickly poured a safe amount of wine for each of us. There were no mental gymnastics needed to convince me to turn back around. Gavin was lounging on the sofa with his arms crossed behind his head. He’d rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie but was otherwise clothed. My heart flipped with unreasonable, if fleeting, disappointment. Later, there would be a lecture in front of the mirror. One where I reminded myself that I’d chosen the path of being single, followed by a stern tongue-lashing regarding inappropriate fantasies about my boss.

“Sorry, it’s cheap.” I wished I could swallow it back as soon as I said it, my cheeks turning the same shade as the wine I handed him.

“No worries.” He shrugged as if that didn’t bother him. “I remember the college days and Two-Buck Chuck.” He didn’t bother swirling it, instead he took a long drink. “Definitely better than that.”

“This one cost ten dollars,” I said with mock smugness. I couldn’t decide where to sit. Next to him seemed wrong—like a clear signal that we were on a spontaneous date. Across the room might seem like too much space as though I was afraid he would think we were on a date. I opted for the opposite end of the couch, leaving three-quarters of a cushion between us.

“I’m clearly paying you too much.” He grinned and angled his body toward mine, a dark strand falling across his forehead. Even his hair seemed to be off the clock.

“You aren’t paying me anything,” I reminded him.