I cast a glance at her. “Am I right?”
She nods. “What else?” Her tone is cautious, curious.
“You collect pretty rocks.”
Now her eyes round, her mouth falling open. “How could you possibly know that?” she demands, but there’s a hint of laughter in her voice.
Pursing my lips, I pull the small bag I’ve been carrying around for the last two days from my pocket, handing it to her.
“Sometimes you put one on the ledge when you’re working. It’s like you’re a magpie,” I tease.
Gabrielle shakes open the small blue bag, the small stones tinkling as they fall into her palm.
Her mouth rounds at the pretty colors.
“You got these for me?” she asks.
I can feel the blush crawling up my skin.
“Actually, they’re mine,” I admit. “I have quite a few. But these, I wanted you to have.”
She looks aghast. “I can’t take them if they’re yours, Hudson.”
“They’re not mine. They’re yours, now.” I nudge her shoulder.
Her fingers close around them. “Thank you.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“What else do you know?” she whispers.
I mull it over for a moment before I answer, my words softer than before.
“You’re scared of the dark.”
She flinches. “Lots of people don’t like the dark.”
“I saw your face,” I say quietly. “When we first met. And it was… I never want to see that look on your face again, sweetheart.”
Her arm trembles slightly against mine.
“I’m not going to ask,” I say gently. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m a pretty good listener.”
Her head dips in acknowledgement, a chunk of hair falling down to hide her face from me.
Jumping up, I eye the last of the clean-up. Most of it’s done, just the bigger pots that held tonight’s pasta dishes left. Lifting the lid, I take in the amount of food that’s left with a frown.
When I get out a bag, Gabrielle’s buttery scent washes over me.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
Shrugging, I move to scoop the leftovers into the bag. “Getting rid of the waste. These are the last pots, and then we’re clocking off for the night.”
There’s no answer, and I glance around to where Gabby is standing, her face creased into a deep frown.
“Do you know how many people would love a meal like this?” she says hesitantly, sweeping her hand to indicate the four pots sitting there.
“I know. I hate wasting food.”
