The masterpiece of a cake that was going to rock the world of a five-year-old.
“Hey!” I snapped, but I did this at his departing back. “You stole my cake!”
“Text me the address,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll deliver it.”
Wait.
What?
“Gabe,” I called, scurrying after him (and dang, I was totally scurrying, how embarrassing—fortunately, he was still walking away from me so he couldn’t see it). “Gabe!” I raised my voice when he ignored me.
His shit-hot, anvil-gray-blue Jeep Wrangler was in one of the three coveted guest parking spots just outside the security gate.
He’d even reversed into the spot, something I would never in a million years attempt to do, even if it wasn’t such a tight squeeze to perform that miracle maneuver like that spot was.
He stopped at it, and I made it to him.
“You can’t make my delivery,” I informed him.
“Why not?” he asked all the while terrifying me as he juggled the cake and opened his passenger-side door.
My hands flew out to spot the precious parcel. “Oh my God, don’t drop that.”
“I’m not gonna drop it,” he muttered as he set it carefully on his passenger seat. He then slammed the door on it.
I flinched then peeked inside and saw my baby was all good even if the entire strong, reliable Jeep shook with the door slam.
He started to round the grille.
I chased after him. “Gabe.”
Since he wasn’t stopping, I grabbed his arm.
When I did, he stopped dead and turned his cobalt-blue eyes, first, to my hand on his arm, then to me.
Kill me.
Kill me dead.
The bright, vivid blue of his eyes in that gorgeous, tanned face with that head of black, black hair, that thick, well-kept beard and the fringe of spiky black lashes making the blue almost impossible, and all that aimed at me while my fingers were curled around the bulge of his steely bicep?
Jump him! Dreamer screamed.
Retreat! Retreat! RETREAT! Logic shouted.
“Text me the address, Willow,” Gabe said, pulling from my touch.
He kept walking toward the driver’s side.
I kept following.
“Why are you making my delivery?” I asked.
He opened his door, kept his hand on it and turned to look down at me.
“You look ready to drop,” he answered.
Fantastic.
