Page 32 of Reaching Gavin

“Double ouch. You used him to get to me! I’m going to have to rub that in later,” she teased.

“Getting to play Skee-Ball was just a bonus,” I added.

She edged closer, ball in hand, and glanced over her shoulder as if looking for him. “Really? You’re not interested in him at all?”

“Gavin is my boss,” I explained. Why did I get the feeling he had put her up to this? I felt like I was being passed a note in study hall. “He’s just taking pity on me, because he found me in the office late on Friday night. Nothing is happening between us.”

“He’s so not taking pity on you. He’s got it bad for you. But don’t tell him I told you that,” she added conspiratorially.

So, she wasn’t put up to this, and she wasn’t just playing matchmaker—if it was true. And if it was true, did it change anything? No. Did it still make my insides feel like they were melting into a pile of gooey cheese? Yes.

“And you’ve got it bad for him,” she guessed.

“Who’s got it bad for what?” Gavin asked, coming up to us with his hands behind his back.

“Me!” Imogen chirped. “I’ve got it bad for historical preservation. I was just telling your brilliant intern that. She was asking about the theater.”

I liked Imogen. I couldn’t help it. I suspected she would make our lives a living hell as we tried to move forward on this project, but it was nice to know that she was all bark and no bite. Plus, whatever sibling rivalry—however good-natured it was—that caused her to want to embarrass him at every turn didn’t include me. She could have told him the truth: that I was totally into him. I knew she had she seen right through my flimsy excuse. Still, she hadn’t. I could see myself becoming friends with her. Maybe if I wound up with a job in Seattle next year, we could hang out.

“I’m going to grab a beer,” Imogen announced far-too-dramatically before disappearing into the crowd.

Maybe in a year I wouldn’t be humiliated by her blatant attempts at matchmaking.

“Where did you go anyway?” I eyed him suspiciously and tried to grab for the hands he still kept behind his back.

“I told you I would win,” he said smugly. From behind his back he produced a top shelf prize, and not just any prize, the very one eight- year-old me would have picked out: a My Little Pony with rainbow hair and a variety of accessories.

To my everlasting horror I squealed.

“I chose correctly then?” he asked.

I grabbed it out of his hands. “How did you know?”

“You told me you were from Texas. That you grew up on a ranch. I assumed a pony was a safe bet.”

He had assumed correctly. Although it was really less of an assumption and more that he’d paid attention. That made the prize that much sweeter. “I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid.”

“I can probably win you another at the rate you’re keeping up with me.” He rubbed his hands together like he was warming up for the next round.

“Oh please.” I scooped up my pile of tickets, plucking the last one from the machine, and beelined toward the prize counter. He might have been the first to win, but neither of us were walking away empty-handed. As they counted the tickets for me, I tried to ignore the staccato beat of my heart. He had been paying attention. He’d picked the thing off the top shelf of prizes that I would have chosen as a little girl. He’d been paying attention. I couldn’t get over that fact. I scanned the other prizes looking for the perfect one to win for him. What did I really know about him? Except that he was humble when he didn’t have to be. That he loved his family and obviously treated them like a priority, even when his kid sister was being annoying. That he worked hard and he chose to build his own success. All of that told me that he was a good man, but it didn’t tell me about who he was as a kid. I wanted to find that giddy, optimistic, inner child, he’d learned to keep hidden in the office. Just like he had found mine.

I bypassed a selection of superhero toys and transformers before my eyes landed on the perfect thing.

“That one.” I pointed up to the highest possible shelf, the one that stocked the best prizes. The guy behind the counter had to use a step-stool to get it down.

“You still have five left,” he told me.

I opted for a Tootsie Roll.

When I found Gavin at our table, I pranced up holding my own prize behind my back. Imogen was nowhere to be seen. “Where did your sister go?”

“She begged out early. Apparently, there are bars and clubs that she needed to get to,” he said wryly.

“Doesn’t she know this is the hottest place in town?” I teased.

He spread his hands on the table. “I tried to tell her.”

“Well, all is not lost. I got you a prize.” I pulled it out from behind my back and presented him with the box of Legos. When complete, the set would create a replica of the Seattle Space Needle.

“This is,” he hesitated, before adding, “perfect.” The words were thick and spoken with emotion. Gavin looked up, his eyes smoky with some barely suppressed desire, but before he could express what he was feeling, I placed the Tootsie Roll on top of the box.

“Does this count as bonus points?”

It affectively broke the heady tension building between us. Gavin tore his eyes away from me and grinned. “You win.”

Somehow tonight it felt like we had both won.