She beams at me. “What are you up to? You’ve been in town a lot lately.”
“I was helping the Troubadours with their Bark in the Park event yesterday.”
“Oh, how fun! I was going to stop by but couldn’t make it out in time.”
“Next time.” I assure her as another customer walks in.
We catch up between customers, and by lunch, Gabby still hasn’t responded so I order us some sandwiches to go and head back to her house.
She’s not home. Weird.
Chase should’ve been at the clubhouse by now, and I don’t remember her saying she planned to work at the office today. Letting myself in, I eat lunch and make myself comfortable at her dining table.
A few hours later, Gabby pulls into the driveway and slowly comes inside. Her eyes are void of emotion and her shoulders are slumped. She looks absolutely defeated.
“What are you doing here?” Her monotone voice has me on alert.
“I brought lunch over. I texted you.”
She rifles through her bag until she finds her phone. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see it.”
“Where were you?”
“I was at the coffee shop getting some work done.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Hm.”
“Is the sandwich in the fridge?”
“Yeah,” I eye her warily, trying to piece together what could’ve changed between yesterday and today.
“Did you and Chase have a fight?”
“What? No.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just tired.” She gives me a pathetic grin and sits down at the table with her food.
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
Shoving a big bite in her mouth, she speaks around the food, “Yep.”
“Okay.”
I don’t want to pry but everything about her screamsnot okay.
Gabby’s still quiet when we leave for the game later. Ivory even notices and asks her what’s wrong, but Gabby offers a lame excuse about it being a busy time. At least keep your lies straight, my girl. Nothing gets her out of the funk. Not even Ivory and me teasing her about how hot Chase winking at her while biting his jersey is. Instead, she closes in on herself more as the night goes on.
So much for talking about my predicament with Grant.
“Grant, you need to leave now if you’re going to make it,” Teresa says, stopping just inside my office with her hands on her hips. I shuffle papers around my desk, anything to distract me from needing to make my way to my parent’s upper-crust club. I’ve thrown myself into work the last few days, anything to distract myself from the impending doom of my mother’s birthday dinner.
With the best puppy dog eyes I can manage, I ask, “Do I have to?”
“Stomp your foot and maybe you’ll get your way.”
