He secures the post, and I toss my hands up. “So you were a jock. I wasn’t wrong about that.”
He studies me for a moment, not looking at me like I’m insane, but like I’m some sort of puzzle he’s trying to figure out. “I mean, I liked sports. Still do. Loved to play football and baseball, and now I love to watch. Is that really a bad thing?”
“It is if it’s your whole identity.” I try not to think about all the jocks in high school who made my life a living hell. Their whole life revolved around sports and making me miserable.
Was Gabe one of them? I imagine he was a little bit smarter about it if he was. Probably didn’t just outright torment but took his time.Like he’s doing with me now.
“Sounds a little judgy. I take it you don’t like sports.”
I roll my eyes at him, and he cackles, shaking his head and moving to another post.
“You look like my ex-wife when you do that.”
“Ex?” I find myself stupidly asking.
He nods as he motions for me to hold the post for him, and I do. “Yeah. My daughter’s mom.”
The information doesn’t matter. He’s straight. He’s still a total dude-bro, jock-type who so isn’t my type of man. But for some reason, it sends a heightened awareness through me as I stand so close I can smell his cologne or body wash—some woodsy, manly scent mixed with sweat and earth. “And I look like her?”
He grins. “No, not at all, but she does roll her eyes at me a lot. Did last night, that’s for sure.”
I shift from foot to foot, uncomfortable and unsure why. “You spend a lot of time with your ex?”
“Not really, no, but she wanted to make sure I was okay with the bomb she dropped on me.” His eyes meet mine, and he looks a little sad. “She’s having a baby.”
“And you’re not the father?” I blurt out but stop myself from letting my eyes widen in horror at my own brazenness.
“Nope,” he says seamlessly. “Her new husband is the father.”
I frown. “So she needs you to be okay with her having a baby with her current husband?”
He laughs gently. “Yup. She wants to make sure I’m not influencing our daughter negatively.”
“That sounds complicated,” I say, and he grins at me, shaking his head.
“It is.”
“Crest,” I say, and he looks confused for only a minute before he realizes I’m answering his ridiculous question about toothpaste.
He smirks. “Only right answer.”
Damn him.
So much for not engaging. But his smile is so relaxed and beautiful. Could anyone really blame me?
8
GABE
“You know, Marvin is looking a little chubby,” I say as I work on the outside of the greenhouse. I don’t really need Dakota’s help for this part, but for the past few days, he’s been out here with me.
Mostly grumbling but talking a little bit here and there. He hasn’t told me anything about his family really, other than he inherited this house from his grandparents. And he certainly hasn’t told me why he insisted on only one worker being here, but little things.
I’ll take it. Why I want to get this man talking to me, I can’t explain. He’s just on my mind a lot. I find myself thinking about him at the most random times, especially when I’m brushing my teeth with Crest toothpaste. The thought alone makes me smile. He didn’t have to give me that answer, but he did.
There’s just something really interesting about Dakota Gordon.
“Don’t fat shame my cat,” he says, and I glance over at him to see if he’s being serious—which I’m learning Dakota usually is. But I’m surprised to find a small smile on his lips.
