And I hoped he and Lotus were a thing.
Because there were all sorts of dreams.
We just had to open our hearts so they could come true.
After cheeseburgers with the girls, I was using Gabe’s kitchen as a test kitchen for some new cookies I wanted to try in the coffee cubby case of The Surf Club, when Gabe came home.
I was scraping cookies off the baking trays and onto the cooling racks when he appeared.
I smiled at him.
He said, “Jesus Christ, what’s that fucking amazing smell?”
I smiled harder.
God, yes.
I loved this man.
I put down the tray, flicked off the oven mitt, nabbed a still-warm, but not-hot cookie and walked to him.
“Test cookie, and you’re my taster.” I handed it to him. “Molasses and date. Tell me what you think.”
He didn’t nibble.
He bit down on half of it, then his head tipped to the side, his lips tipped up, and after he swallowed, he said, “Winner.”
I reached up and tugged on his beard, and Gabe didn’t resist my invitation.
He dropped his head and kissed me.
Then he hooked an arm around me and pulled me closer.
Mm.
“Story isn’t long, so I can make it quick, and we can move past it,” he stated.
Cancel that mm.
He’d been working a case that day.
Did something happen at work?
“Christian Darvill,” he began.
Oh.
Him.
I didn’t really care, but even so, I was mildly curious what they found out about him.
Gabe told me.
“Married, one daughter already, another on the way,” he said. “He’s an ER nurse. Deep dives into his cell, computer use, social media and personnel records share he’s a dedicated family man and a dependable medical professional. The man doesn’t so much as follow some pop singer’s Instagram page for an opportunity to perv. His wife and him are in a pickleball league. He shares drop-off and pickup with her at daycare. And he has only cursory contact with high school buds, many of whom have not kept their noses as clean as Darvill. Then again, they didn’t learn the lesson he learned.”
“Interesting,” I mumbled.
“Considering Darvill did get his hand slapped about shit like this,” Gabe continued, “Brody went deeper. But he didn’t find any secret social media accounts or anything uncool in his deleted caches, because the man doesn’t even delete his caches since he has nothing to hide, and phone and car GPS show nothing but work, home, gym, daycare, family life and social travel. He could be a mastermind at hiding he’s still a dick. But it seems like he’s just no longer a dick.”
