A car door slammed behind her, and she was too distraught to even tell him to be careful with her baby. “Hey. Come away from the edge.” He grasped her biceps and led her back, away from the drop-off, turning her to face him. His thumb and forefinger caught her chin. His concerned expression was blurry through her veil of tears. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She didn’t know if it was the concern bathing her, or her tumultuous feelings, but the truth spilled from her lips. “That wasn’t the first dress I got from Mr. Perez. I had one when I was twelve.”
He didn’t respond, just watched her with that patient green gaze.
“My mother too. They matched.” The feelings receded as she spoke, an odd disassociation taking over her body. Her voice was flat, her tears still coming, but she couldn’t feel them. A temporary respite, this freedom from feeling. “We came home, and my father saw us. He called me into his office and he made me cut up the dress.”
Gabe’s mouth tightened, and he cupped her cheek. “What the hell.”
She was too distraught to register the intimate touch. The excuses for her father rose up in her throat, the excuses she’d always fallen back on. “He was trying to teach me about fiscal responsibility,” she tried to explain, even though a part of her understood how absurd that was. “I was twelve, and it was a fancy gown. I had no place to wear it, really. The money could have been better spent.”
Gabe squinted at her. “You don’t actually believe that’s the best way to teach a twelve-year-old that sort of lesson, do you?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Are you feeling guilty about buying that dress today?”
Fear and anxiety twisted up inside her. “Yes. My purchase today was frivolous.”
“It was. Do you have the money?”
“Yes.”
“Is it your money?”
It was. She hadn’t touched much of her salary when she’d been at the foundation. She also had a trust fund from her grandmother she rarely tapped. None of her money came from her father, not since she was eighteen. “Yes.”
“Did the dress make you happy?”
“Yes.” It had, in between the anxiety.
“Does that happiness hurt anyone, Eve?”
“No.”
His lips curved up. “Those are the things I ask my clients sometimes. If something brings you joy and hurts no one else, I don’t see the harm in indulging yourself every now and again.”
She swallowed. What an utterly simple way of looking at life. She could barely wrap her mind around not cluttering up her every desire with guilt and worry.
“Listen.” He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “You’re not twelve. No one can scold you for the things you buy with your money.”
It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how close they were standing. He was so much bigger than her she had to crane her neck up to look at him.
Please don’t go smelling him again.
“I know I don’t know you well, but I can assure you, life is short. You should do what makes you happy.”
I don’t know you well.Her desire to smell him vanished. Well, not completely, but it was definitely dampened.
That was right. She took a step back, swiping her hand over her cheeks and clearing her throat, embarrassment creeping up on her. He didn’t know her well, and between this and the butt incident last night, he probably thought she was a strange, overemotional pervert. “I’m sorry I cried all over you.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I would—I would like to go for a walk, I think.” She glanced up at him, memorizing his red-tipped lashes and his pretty face. He was so beautiful and uncomplicated, and she was a mass of feelings and secrets and longings. “Can you take the car back?” She tossed him the keys before he could agree. He caught them automatically.
He frowned. “Walking? All the way back?”
“It’s not far. I know this area. There’s a trail.”
