“Later, pretty girl,” he says with a final squeeze of my thigh before placing his hand back on the wheel. “You need to eat first.”
I sag back in the warm leather. He’s not wrong, I am starving and exhausted. The car slows as we pull up to a box outside a huge iron gate with spikes atop it. Gabriel rolls down the window, cool damp air entering the car and sending shivers down my arm. He reaches outside, punching in a code. A loudbeep sounds out before the iron gates swing open slowly. I notice cameras watching us inch forward inside the gates.
Nervousness radiates off the man next to me. He always seems so smooth, so confident, but right now, he taps his fingers anxiously. He pulls to a stop and quickly throws open the door. Grabbing the Chinese from the back, he runs around to open my door. I willingly take his hand, letting him pull me from the comfort of the seat and into the cold rain. We run for the door, cool drops falling on my head, my shirt, my arms, soaking me in seconds. I can’t help the peal of laughter that leaves my chest as I run through the rain. Call it a release of tension, temporary madness, an adrenaline fueled moment of chaos—but I feel free, as if the weight of the world has lifted from my shoulders and I can just enjoy this moment. I haven’t felt this way since I was a kid, spinning and swirling in the rain with no care of how wet and miserable I’d be later.
Carefree. I’m carefree at this moment. And I don’t want to let that feeling go.
Once he plugs in a code to the fancy computerized home entry, we duck into the warmth of the house and the door slams shut behind me. I stand on his welcome mat, dripping water onto the dark wood floor. I’d feel bad about the puddle I’m making, but I’m too awestruck by the home in front of me. It’s huge. Open stairs lead up to a second story with a wide catwalk overlooking the open concept main floor. Windows surrounded by dark metal make up the entire back wall of the home, showing off the beautiful views of the forest outside. It smells just like him—masculine and woodsy. It’s as if we’re somehow both in nature and inside. The home is tranquil, modern, cozy, and unique. It’s everything my beige, cookie-cutter home isn’t. And I love it.
“This is your home?” I ask for the second time tonight as my eyes roam to take in the space.
Gabriel stands before me, his dark hair plastered to his forehead due to the water weighing it down. He clutches the giant bag stuffed with Chinese food in his tattooed hand. Beneath his onyx locks, his blue eyes hold a small shimmer of uncertainty.
“Do you like it?” His tone is more vulnerable than I’ve heard him before. It’s endearing.
I take a few steps inside the home, taking in the airy space and all the small colorful details.
“I love it,” I finally reply as I flash Gabriel a wide grin. His shoulders visibly relax as he lets out a breath.
“Come on.” He holds out his hand and leads me through the house to the kitchen. The two-toned cabinets are somehow warm and modern; the high-end appliances look as if they’ve never been used. “Let’s get you warmed up and fed.”
I take a seat on one of the barstools that sit at the end of the massive island while Gabriel moves around the space. He pulls down plates and starts to unpack the containers of sweet and savory goodness. I watch as he fills my plate high with rice, noodles, and chicken. I smile gently, realizing that I’m content to just be here, with him, in this moment. It’s nice.
When was the last time I felt this at ease?
“So, how does a genius tech expert like you end up with a place like this?” I ask him as he moves to grab me a clean fork from a drawer behind him and places it on my plate. He slides the food across the island to me. “Did you build this house for an ex or what?”
I can’t help the slight tinge of jealousy that colors my tone. I know it’s silly. I’m married. But I don’t like the thought of another woman being important to him.
“No,” he responds as he starts dishing up his own food. “I, uh—” he stumbles over his words slightly and I can’t tell if he’s nervous or uncertain. “Hired a decorator. She did all this.”
When his plate is also loaded, he prowls around the island and takes a seat on the stool next to me.
“But why here?” I push. “Why not the city or something?”
He makes a noise of disgust. “I hate the city. Too many people. Too much noise.” His shoulders shrug as he scoops a bite of food onto his fork. “It’s peaceful here.”
I understand exactly what he means. Seattle is nice for a day, for an event, but it’s loud and dirty. And the traffic is fucking unbearable.
“What about you?” he asks between bites. “What brought you out here?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I moved here in high school and just never left.” The half-truth rolls easily off my tongue after years of practicing the same story. It’s not really a lie, more like an omission.
“But why the move in high school?” he questions.
Most people don’t ask.
My pulse quickens and my palms start to sweat. My fork slips from my hand and clatters loudly to the floor. The sound is deafening in the silence that stretches between us.
“Here, I got it,” Gabriel offers as he bends to pick up the fork.
I slide off my stool, seeing my out. “Actually, I’m getting kind of full,” I lie. “Could I maybe borrow a sweatshirt to change into? I’m freezing.”
Gabriel rises to his full height and crowds into my space. He towers above me, his icy eyes searching my face. He’s not just assessing me, it’s as if he’s staring straight into my soul.
“Of course,” he relents. “Upstairs. Turn left at the top of the landing. Last door in the hallway. Grab anything you want out of the closet.”
I don’t wait for him to change his mind or ask any more questions. I spin on my heel and head for the stairs. The open design makes me feel like I’m ascending into the air. It’ssomewhere between cool and eerie. If I weren’t so eager to put space between myself and the man downstairs with questions that I’m not ready to answer, I’d take the time to truly enjoy the home. Instead, I pound up the stairs and down the hallway without a glance over my shoulder. I hate that my past still controls my present so intensely, but sometimes it’s easier to run away from your problems than it is to face them. I should know, I’ve been running for a long time.
