It was on the tip of my tongue to ask who the hell was he then, but my mind answered the question for me when a flashback to Micah and Jodi’s wedding occurred. It was of Gabriel standing and introducing me to the rest of the guests as his future wife.
A ripple of some unknown emotion moved through my belly. Needing the support, I pressed my hand against the wall beside me.
“I don’t have any new songs,” I admitted.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His deep voice rumbled. He stood from the couch and moved closer.
Before I knew what he was doing, he took my chin with his hand, lifting my face toward his.
“You ate dinner, but there’s always room for dessert.”
I pursed my lips in confusion.
“There’s a place that sells the best deep-fried ice cream—"
“Let me guess,” I said, interrupting. “This side of the Mississippi.”
His laughter again had a short melody playing in my head, but it was fleeting.
“I was going to say, in the state of Texas, but we can go with that.”
“I’ve never had fried ice cream.”
“Good. This’ll be one of our many firsts together.” He took my hand in his and led me to the door.
“Wait,” I pulled back and glanced down at the ripped jeans and forest green off-the-shoulder T-shirt I'd been wearing all day, “I need to change.”
He ran his eyes up and down my body, pausing at my neckline. His eyes darkened.
“You’re perfect just like that.”
I hesitated, waiting for the backhand of that compliment to come around. When it never came, I released a breath, forcing myself to remember that Gabe wasn’t Nate. My ex always had a way of adding an insult to a supposed compliment. After nine years of that, you sort of expect it.
“Thanks,” I said, finally.
Minutes later, I was in the passenger seat of Gabe’s car as he backed out of the driveway.
“Where are we going tonight?” I asked. “And is it crowded?” I hadn’t had many people recognize me the few times I was out in Harlington, but I was afraid of getting too comfortable.
I still wasn’t ready for the media to know where I was.
“Place called The Rustic,” Gabe replied. “It’s a bar on the edge of town.”
“I thought you mentioned something about dessert.” I unabashedly pouted. I’d started to have my heart set on having something sweet.
He turned toward me with a grin playing on his lips.God, he has such a perfect smile. His bottom lip was slightly more plump than the top. Both were the perfect shade of pink. The beard that surrounded his mouth added to its allure.
He let out a deep chuckle. “She likes sweets,” he commented. “Noted. And we are. The Rustic sells the fried ice cream I told you about.”
With a frown and wrinkle in my forehead, I asked, “A bar that makes fried ice cream?”
“Trust me on this, Cinnamon. You’ll enjoy it.”
“Cinnamon?” I inquired.
He threw another smile my way. I adjusted myself in my seat, scooting closer to the passenger side door.
“For the color of your eyes.” He motioned with his head in my direction.
