“Then tell me you’re safe.”
“Very,” I assure her. Penelope is the only other person who I know supports me. “I’m staying with a…friend.”
“You don’t have any real friends in the Hamptons, Gabby. Who are you with?”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “A good man. I swear. You need to trust me. I know what I’m doing. I refuse to marry or even date that asshole who won’t take no for an answer.”
“What?” my sister yells. “Did he—”
“No! I kneed him in the balls and left the house but nobody cares. Nobody but Grandma, anyway. It’s time I take a stand, P. I have goals and things I want out of life. Not only don’t our parents approve, they actively blackballed me.”
Penelope sighs. “I know, and I’m sorry. Their reach is far. But you have your painting, and you are so talented. Your canvases are natural and evoke so many emotions. Why not try to sell your work? I have everything you’ve done stored in the basement. Nobody can take that away from you.”
Closing my eyes, I agree. “Yeah.” I need to believe in myself to take that step.
“Five minutes, and I’m leaving,” Maddox calls out, his voice deep through my closed bedroom door.
“I have to go, but I’ll be in touch,” I tell my sister.
“Okay. I’m proud of you, holding out for true love and the lifeyouwant,” Penelope says, and in her words, I hear my older sister’s regrets for marrying a man our parents chose. “I never had your passion or courage. I’m happy, I have my baby, and Stu is a good man. The guy they chose for you isn’t. Stand firm, Gabby. Love you.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Love you, too. Can I ask one favor?”
“Anything. You know that.”
“Call Grandma. Tell her you heard from me, and I’m safe, and I’ll get in touch when I’m ready. I’m sure Mom or Dad is monitoring her and her phone.”
Penelope sighs. “I will if you promise to keep in touch so I know you’re safe with your newfriend.”
“Promise. Talk soon.” I disconnect the call. After gathering my purse and taking a quick look in the mirror, I walk out to meet Maddox.
I find him standing by the front door, jingling his keys in one hand.
“Ready!”
His gaze locks on mine, and he frowns as he takes in my outfit.
“Yes, I’m in yesterday’s clothes,” I say, reading his mind. “I can’t go out in your shirt, so I don’t have much of a choice. But once I stop at an ATM, I can fix that. I need to pull out some cash before my father either cuts me off or empties the account.”
Though I have a trust fund given to me by my grandparents, I can’t access the money until I turn thirty. I can withdrawthe interest that’s deposited, but I can’t access the account in the Hamptons. My checking account was funded by my parents during college, and until I get a job, I’m stuck relying on them. My grandmother would give me money, but I hate to ask, wanting to figure out a way to stand on my own two feet.
“If I remember correctly, there’s an ATM near the bar, right?” I ask.
“There is. Come on.” He opens the door and tips his head, indicating I should walk through.
Passing him, I inhale and am treated to his masculine scent, one I recognize as sandalwood. A warm, exotic fragrance with hints of vanilla, it’s my favorite smell. My interest in the arts and sciences are varied, and I’ve taken courses in fragrance making at the Fashion Institute of Technology, using trust fund money my parents can’t track. No way do I want to hear them complain about wasting time and money. I eventually settled into art history, but my memory of different scents remains clear.
And Maddox’s scent, especially when we’re enclosed in his Jeep, makes me want to crawl into his lap, bury my face in his neck and breathe him in for as long as he lets me.
He remains quiet on the trip into town, and I respect his obvious need for silence. I invaded his life enough already.
He parks behind the bar near my convertible, and we both get out of the Jeep. “I take it that’s yours?” He gestures to the BMW.
I nod. “But I’ll be in town for a while. I want to do some shopping after the bank.”
He works the house key off the holder and hands it to me. “There’s a hardware store on the corner of Main. Make yourself a copy and bring me the original when you’re through.”
Surprised, I curl my fingers around the key in his hand, sliding over the roughened calluses on his skin, so different from the smooth touch of the typical men in my life. Men whowouldn’t know a hammer from a wrench. I find a guy who works with his hands surprisingly sexy.
