Once Upon a Proposal (7 page)

He glanced outside. Now that the music was more lively, none of the partygoers were looking their direction, much less approaching the house. “Ethan—the guy trying to raise my kids like they're his own—works for HuntCom.”

As she absorbed that, her eyes visibly cooled. “I…see.”

Her expression, combined with the itch at the back of his neck, assured him that she undoubtedly didn't. At least not from his point of view. “He's in their legal department.”

“What do you want me to do about that?” She set her beer carefully on an antique side table. “Dial up Uncle Harry and ask him to fire Ethan so there's no European job at all? Seems to me that would have been a better plan on your part than trying to pull one over on the judge in your custody battle.”

Coming on the heels of the unpleasantness with Stephanie, her assessment bit like sharp, pointed teeth. “I would never put you in that position,” he said slowly. Truthfully.

He set down his own beer, taking the time to let that quick shard of anger inside him dull. “But that's the second time you've jumped to the conclusion that I wanted something from you specifically because of your association with Hunt. I'll tell you the same thing I told you before. I'm not interested in HuntCom or trying to use your connection there to my advantage.” He didn't count using it to stop his ex-wife from bad-mouthing Bobbie behind her back. “Just because that's what people have wanted from you in the past doesn't mean that's what I want. The only reason I'm even bringing it up
now is because I didn't want you hearing it from someone else and starting to think exactly what you're thinking.”

“So you could have told me before. When you first learned about Uncle Harry.”

“I was wrong, all right? You deserved full disclosure right from the start, but frankly, I was more interested in convincing you to help me follow my attorney's advice!” At least as much of the advice as Gabe could stand to follow. “It wouldn't matter to me if you'd never
heard
of Harrison Hunt.”

He exhaled and found another store of patience from some place that he didn't even know existed.

She was standing there so stiffly in her pretty, torn gown, as if she were braced for the inevitable worst, and just then he wanted to string up everyone from their thumbs who'd ever put such doubt in her.

“Bobbie,” he began again, more calmly. “I'm a simple man. I build things. I don't go around manipulating people and situations. I'm just trying to hold onto my kids. Despite your suspicions that nobody could possibly want something from you simply because you are
you,
I'm telling you the truth. I just need you to help me level the playing field when I get to court.”

She chewed her lower lip. “I work in a coffee shop, Gabe. I can barely pay my own bills. How on earth is that going to provide any sort of leveling?”

“Not everything is about money.” He could almost hear the Gannon family collectively gasping. “And I'm not exactly standing in the welfare lines. A lot of what I have is tied up in the company, but that doesn't mean I can't provide just as well for my children as Stephanie does, courtesy of her husband's billable hours.” It would just take a helluva lot larger chunk of his income, but he'd deal with it.

“If you're going to change your mind about all this, then let me know now,” he added, “because the closer we get to
the hearing, the worse it'll be if you do. I'm trying to prove my stability and now that Steph thinks we're engaged, if we turn out suddenly not to be right before we go to court, she'll try using that to her advantage.”

Bobbie pushed her fingers through her hair, holding the mass of long curls away from her heart-shaped face. She closed her gray eyes and shook her head a little. Her dark hair slid in curling ribbons against her pale skin. “I'm not going to change my mind.” She opened her eyes again, dropping her hands. A smile that struck him as oddly sad played around her soft lips. “In it until the end, and all that, right?”

He didn't even realize how much he'd been afraid she would reconsider until the relief hit him after her words. “Right.” His throat felt unaccountably tight.

“Do me a favor? While we're pretending for everyone else, don't pretend with me. Custody of your children is so much more important than me ruining some stupid fund-raising dinner for a jerk. If you think I'm becoming a hindrance, you have to tell me, so—”

He caught her face in his hands and her eyes went wide as her voice trailed off. “Have a little faith in yourself, Bobbie. I do.”

She blinked, looking startled, and moistened her lips. “I'll…try.”

“Good.” He realized he was staring at her glistening lower lip and made himself drop his hands. “Good,” he said again and picked up his beer to wash down the gruffness in his throat. “Now that we've got that straightened out, maybe we should go join the party. Do you want to dance?” She was young and beautiful. Of course she'd want to dance. And he wasn't hypocritical enough to deny that putting his arms around her for the few measures of a song was an appealing notion.

“I'm not much good at it.” She lifted her skirt a few inches,
smiling wryly. “My coordination only seems to come together when I'm playing sports.”

“What about yoga?”

“Well.” She tilted her hand back and forth, suddenly looking discomfited. “I guess I do passably well. Sometimes.”

He knew only too well that she'd looked more than passably sexy in her yoga getup. He took another pull of cold beer, willing his body back into order. “That leaves a lot of other sports still. Tiddlywinks. Boxing.”

The dimple in her cheek appeared. “Neither, I'm afraid.” She shrugged, looking more at ease. “I like golf and softball. Volleyball. Basketball was a no-go for obvious reasons.” She waved her hand at herself. “I did run track in school, though. High jump. Hurdles. Relay.”

All of which required plenty of coordination. “Discus,” he offered.

“Ah.” Her smile broadened suddenly, mischievously. “Discobolos. The Discus Thrower.” Her gaze ran down his body as if she were comparing him to Myron's famous Greek sculpture. “I can imagine that.”

The heat running up his spine might have been embarrassment. It was more likely knowing she was comparing him to a naked statue and, judging by her expression, he wasn't faring too badly.

He let out a laugh aimed more at himself than anything and drank down the rest of the beer. This is what he got for spending months—years—focused on things more important than his sex life. Now it was an effort to think about anything else.

“Outside,” he suggested. The chilly night air would have to suffice since a cold shower wasn't available as long as he was at Fiona's.

She nodded and headed for the doorway. Her chin ducked for a moment, but not quickly enough to hide her flushed
cheeks from him. “Maybe Fiona will open her gifts soon and we can go home.” She didn't wait for him, but hurried outside, still holding her torn skirt off to the side.

He let out a long, long breath and started to follow. But a sparkle on the carpet caught his attention and he bent down to pick it up.

A tiny, faceted daisy winked up at him.

Smiling slightly, he slipped the hairpin into his pocket and followed Bobbie into the night.

Fiona, they soon found, was not even remotely close to opening her gifts. Even though his grandmother had complained loudly about the party, she was the one in the center of the dance floor cutting a rug with Gabe's father.

Gabe stood behind Bobbie, where she'd stopped to watch from the edge of the crowded dance floor. It was even more crowded around the wooden square, though, which was his only excuse for standing so close to her that he could smell that hint of lemony freshness in her hair. And when a couple brushed against them as they sidled through to the dance floor, it was only natural for Gabe to slide his arm around Bobbie's waist to keep her from being knocked sideways.

She looked up at him and her eyes seemed darker, more like the smoky color of her dress in the soft light from the twinkling strands circling the tent above their heads. “Thanks.”

He managed a nod. He could feel the natural curve of her waist beneath the smooth, silky fabric of her gown.

“Fiona and your father are putting everyone else to shame.”

He nodded again, making himself look away from her face. On the opposite side of the dance floor, he could see his mother standing arm-in-arm with Stephanie. Fortunately, both of them seemed more interested in whatever they were talking about—most likely the spectacle Fiona was making of herself as she swung around with abandon to a song he
was pretty sure Lisette listened to on her MP3 player—than in paying him any heed.

Barely a few minutes had passed when the pounding song ended, though, giving way to a slower beat. He could hear his grandmother's breathless laughter amid the small exodus from the dance floor.

He leaned down so Bobbie would hear. “This is more my speed. You game?” His arm was still wrapped around her waist and he felt her quick inhale.

“I suppose I can't do more damage to my dress than I've already done.” She gave a little turn right out from beneath his arm, then caught his hand in hers as she stepped off the grass onto the dance floor.

Fiona passed by them, smiling benevolently. “That's what I've been waiting to see.” She patted their arms before stepping off the dance floor. “Where's that boy with the cocktails?” he heard her asking.

“I hope I'm as fabulous as she is when I'm her age.” Bobbie stepped into his arms, though her gaze seemed carefully fixed on Fiona's movements.

“You're pretty fabulous now.” God knew she felt fabulous. He'd have to be dead not to know it. And lately, since he'd met her, he was feeling more alive than he had in years.

Her lips curving, she looked up at him through the dark fringe of her eyelashes. “You're just saying that because I've fallen in with your plans.”

They were barely shuffling around on the crowded dance floor. He tucked his knuckle beneath her softly pointed chin and nudged it upward.

Her playful smile slowly died as he looked into her wide eyes. “I'm saying it because it's true.”

“Gabe—” Her soft voice broke off.

He'd never before thought his thumb had a mind of its
own, but evidently it did, brushing across the fullness of her lower lip.

Her gaze flickered. “Let's not forget what we're really doing here.”

His left hand seemed damnably independent, too, sliding more firmly around her back, drawing her silk-draped curves even closer against him. “What I'm really doing,” he murmured in her ear, “is trying not to kiss you right now.”

Her head went back a little further. Her long, spiraling curls tickled his fingers pressing against her spine. “Really?”

“Don't be surprised,” he reminded. “You started it.” His lips closed over hers.

That quick inhale. That faint little
mmming
sound of delight. It burned through him as suddenly as the flare of a match. Only this flame wasn't going to burn itself out quickly…or easily. Just then, as unwise as he knew it was, he didn't care. His fingertips pressed into the smooth arch of her back and he felt her hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders—

“Oh. I'm so sorry!”

Gabe barely heard the exclamation, but Bobbie yanked back from him. “It's not your fault,” he heard her breathless assurance.

Feeling half-witted, he realized the woman dancing behind them had stepped on Bobbie's dress that she'd forgotten to hold up, making the tear ten times worse, and ten times more noticeable.

Her face was flushed and she didn't meet his eyes when she turned back toward him. “I have to go.”

“It's just a tear—”

“I know.” She was already backing away from him. Physically and mentally. “But I, um, I should do something about it.” Her lips stretched. “Fortunately, I don't have to go far.”

“I'll come with you.”

“No!” She shook her head. “Stay. Fiona will miss you. I'll just…later. We'll…later.”

Nonsensical, but perfectly meaningful.

She looked panicked.

So he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from getting any more ideas, and let her go. “All right.”

She barely hesitated before hurrying from beneath the warmth and light of the tent. He watched her as she practically ran in her high heels and flapping hem across the lawn and down the slight hill toward her carriage house.

She might as well have been Cinderella on the run.

Inside his pocket, he rolled her tiny, sharp-edged hair clip between his fingers.

Unfortunately, in this fairy tale, he knew he was no prince.

Not when he'd long ago stopped believing in happily-ever-afters.

“S
o, how was the birthday party last night?” Bobbie's sister Tommi, looking flushed from the heat of the kitchen, flicked open the top few buttons of her white chef's jacket and sat down on one of the barstools next to where Bobbie was sitting, filling salt shakers. It was the only “payment” Tommi would accept for the delicious crab bisque and baguettes that Bobbie had scarfed down for lunch.

The afternoon shift was over, the waitstaff and last of the customers departed, and this being Monday, Tommi wouldn't be reopening in a few hours again for dinner like on the other days of the week. “It was okay. I didn't stay all that long, actually.” Bobbie focused hard on not letting the plastic funnel overflow. “Aside from Fiona, I didn't really know anyone.”

“Wasn't her Mr. Handyman grandson there?”

Bobbie nodded casually. “Gabe? Sure. Of course. Most of Fiona's family were there.”

Tommi's fingertips slowly drummed the bar's surface. “So…?”

There was never any fooling the Fairchild women. Not their mother, Cornelia, nor Cornelia's daughters.

But Bobbie could still try. She'd warned Gabe that she wouldn't lie to her family. And even though she knew it would be better to tell them herself than chance them hearing about their “engagement” through gossip, she still couldn't summon any enthusiasm for admitting to them what she'd agreed to. No matter what the reason, none of them would approve of her participation in something deceitful.

“So…nothing.” Bobbie tucked her tongue between her teeth, moving the salt shaker to the trio of filled ones before sliding another in its place. She glanced at her sister's tired face. “I wish you'd hire another sous chef,” she said. The guy who'd held the position had been gone for over a month now. “This place has gotten way too busy for you to handle everything alone.”

Tommi just shrugged. “We'll see. Finding the right person isn't all that easy. Is there something going on between you and Gabe?”

Bobbie scattered salt across the bar before quickly redirecting the funnel. “Why would you think that?”

Tommi smoothly scooped the salt off the black granite and into the tall, empty coffee cup from Between the Bean that Bobbie had left sitting beside her. “Maybe the fact that you can't say the man's name without looking flushed.”

“What can I say? I'm still not exactly proud of the way I attacked his lips the day we met.” Tommi knew about that episode but Bobbie hadn't admitted that any more lip-locking had occurred—instigated by either one of them.

“Fair enough. Except you've also now filled four salt shakers with sugar. Which is pretty odd even for you, so I'm thinking there's still something on your mind.”

Bobbie blinked. She looked down at the plastic container she'd grabbed from Tommi's shelves and groaned. The label on it did say
sugar.

She dumped the funnel's contents back into the container. “Some help I am, huh?” She slid off the black barstool, heading toward the narrow swinging doors that led to the kitchen. “I'll fix it.”

But Tommi caught her by the cowl neck of her orange sweater, halting her escape. “The salt can wait. What's really going on? You've never been this preoccupied, not even when you were in the throes of infatuation for Larry-the-political-dweeb.”

Bobbie tugged her collar free. “It's complicated.”

“Why? Because he's too old for you?”

“He is not!”

Tommi gave her a serenely patient smile. “I
knew
you were interested in him,” she said with the superiority of a year-older sister.

Bobbie exhaled. “Fat lot of good it will do me,” she muttered. She picked up the sugar container. “He's not exactly long-term material,” she said before pushing through the swinging doors. She slid the heavy container back into its spot on the orderly dry goods shelves and retrieved the one marked
salt
instead. She also grabbed four empty salt shakers from storage and when she carried everything back out to the wine bar, Tommi was tipping the incorrect contents into the empty coffee cup.

“I'm going to take it as a sign that you've realized Lawrence was all wrong for you, considering the words
long
and
term
have even reentered your vocabulary.”

Bobbie slid onto the barstool again. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Doesn't make it any less humiliating the way he dumped me.”

“He has no class.”

“Gabe said that, too.”

Tommi's dark eyes sparkled. “Ah. I'm liking him more and more.”

Bobbie couldn't help but smile. “You would like him,” she said after a moment. “He's a good man. Works hard.” She looked down at the large plastic container, but in her mind all she could see was his handsome face. “And there's nothing he won't do for his kids.”

Tommi fit the caps back on the salt shakers and pushed them to one side before reaching for the fresh ones Bobbie had brought out from the kitchen. “There are two, right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She propped her elbows on the bar, resting her chin on her hands. “Lisette and Todd. She's twelve and I'm not sure which she's more passionate about—ballet or rap music. Which isn't exactly the music Gabe wants her listening to, but he definitely knows he has to pick his battles where she's concerned. And Todd's ten and so much smarter than he realizes. Honestly, the boy's a whiz when it comes to computers.” She smiled to herself. “He ought to be in HuntCom's research and development department.”

Tommi reached over and pulled the lid off the salt container when Bobbie didn't make any move to. She scooped out a portion to fill the funnel. “Gabe doesn't have them full-time?”

“No, but not for lack of trying. Last week he had them for several days, though. Their mother was out of town.” Her lips twisted when she thought of Gabe's former wife. The woman had stood at least five inches taller than Bobbie and she'd worn her self-confidence as easily as she had the numbingly sophisticated gown that had shown off her impeccable figure to its best advantage. “She was at the party, too.”

Tommi's smooth motions as she filled the shakers came to a brief pause. “His ex-wife was at Fiona's birthday party? How…well-adjusted.”

Bobbie let out a soft snort. “Not exactly.” She filled her sister in on Gabe's mother's connection to Stephanie. “His ex and her husband are planning to move outside the country again and take the kids, naturally. Gabe's trying to get their custody arrangement changed so he'll be able to spend more time with the kids, keep them with him for at least part of the year.”

“That sounds fairly admirable of him. Seems like there are a lot of men around these days who would happily leave the responsibility to someone else.” With the spare efficiency that came with long practice, Tommi capped the shakers and gathered them all up in her hands to take around to the tables that had already been draped with fresh, white linens for the next day. “But you think Gabe's not long-term material.”

Bobbie twisted around on her stool, watching Tommi. “He says he's not,” she corrected. “Can't get much plainer than that.”

“Not unless he packs up and leaves, I suppose,” Tommi agreed. Finished with her task, she moved to the large front window that was stenciled in gold with
The Corner Bistro
and looked out on the rain-drenched street. “Hard to believe it's going to be Christmas in a couple of months,” she murmured. “Your Gabe sounds like a man who comes with a closetful of baggage.”

Bobbie bristled. “Which means what, exactly?”

Tommi glanced over her shoulder. “Meaning just that, sis. You said yourself it was complicated. You don't have to get defensive.”

Bobbie exhaled and deliberately relaxed her shoulders. “Well, the complications get even more twisted.”

From across the cozy bistro, she saw her sister's smooth brown eyebrows lift warily. “How…twisted?”

Bobbie wrapped her fingers around the sides of the seat be
neath her. “Some people at the party might think I'm engaged to marry him,” she admitted slowly.

Tommi's hands lifted. “Why would they think that?”

“Because-I-told-his-ex-wife-we-were.”

There. She'd admitted it.

Which still didn't make her own behavior feel any more real.

Her sister put a hand to her head, released the clip holding her smooth, dark hair up in the back and thrust her fingers through the strands as if she'd developed a sudden headache. She pulled out the nearest chair and sat down.

Bobbie picked at a tiny jag in her thumbnail. “And Gabe figures she's not likely to keep the news to herself,” she added more slowly. “Bobbie.”

Her shoulders hunched again, even though she tried to stop them. “I told you it was complicated.”

“Why don't you start at the beginning and un-complicate it for me, then.”

So Bobbie did. Skirting a few of the more intimate details—like how she'd been dissolving from the inside out when she'd danced with Gabe beneath the tent's twinkling lights or how she'd known that if he'd disregarded her words and followed her anyway when she'd left, she would have invited him in for a whole lot more than coffee and a good-night kiss—she told her sister everything.

And when she was finished, she didn't know if she felt more exhausted or relieved. “I promised him that all of you would have our backs.”

Tommi gave a half a laugh, though she didn't sound amused. “Who would I know to tell otherwise?”

“Ethan—that's Stephanie's current husband—works for HuntCom,” Bobbie reminded her. “Not that I think Uncle
Harry would care about any of this, but I guess I wouldn't want to chance it. He's not exactly predictable.”

“And if you want to look at the money and the board seats he gave us in this particular light, you could say he's been known to be protective of us.”

“Right.” Bobbie brushed her hands down the thighs of her blue jeans and pushed off the barstool. “I do want to help Gabe—he
really
loves those kids, Tom—but I would hate for someone's career to be jeopardized. Even if he is married to the first cousin of the Wicked Witch.”

“There's no earthly reason why Uncle Harry would ever learn about any of this from me.” Tommi's voice turned brisk. “I haven't talked to him in weeks. I'm certainly not going to tell him.”

“What if Mom does?”

“She wouldn't for the same reasons. Are you clear on the reasons why
you're
doing this?”

“I'm just helping Fiona's grandson,” Bobbie insisted. “I know it's not going to lead anywhere…permanent.” But she also couldn't stop from wishing otherwise.

“I know Fiona means a lot to you.” Her sister grimaced wryly. “But I can also see a look in your eyes when you talk about Gabe that doesn't have anything to do with his grandmother. So just…watch yourself, okay?”

“I'm not under any illusions,” she assured. Having her sister's support went a long way toward settling the nerves inside her. “Now, since I didn't even fill any salt shakers, I owe you for the therapy session
and
the lunch.”

Tommi smiled again, this time for real. “And when have you ever paid for lunch before?”

Bobbie laughed. They both knew that Tommi would have refused to take her money even if she'd offered it. “Well is there something else I can do around here to help you out?”

Tommi shook her head. “I'm going to catch up on the books a little and then call it a day myself.”

“Good.” Bobbie retrieved her hooded jacket from where she'd dumped it at the end of the wine bar and slid her arms into it. “You look like you need a long bath and a tall glass of one of those Italian wines you like.” She leaned over and hugged her sister, who was still sitting near the front door. “And hire another sous chef, already, so you don't have to work so hard.”

Tommi hugged her back. “You work on straightening out your own life and leave me to worry about the bistro,” she advised lightly. “What are you dressing up as for Halloween at the Bean tomorrow?” The coffee shop's employees always dressed in costumes for the holiday.

Bobbie lifted her shoulders. “I haven't thought about it much.” She'd been more than a little preoccupied of late, though the kids had brought up the issue when they'd been at her house. Their mother considered trick-or-treating too déclassé, but they were planning to dress up for school, though neither child had been particularly enthusiastic about their store-bought costumes.

Tommi looked surprised. And Bobbie couldn't blame her. Since she'd been a girl, she'd always enjoyed putting thought and effort into her Halloween costumes. Even when she had nothing else to do on the day but answer the door and hand out sweets to the children who came knocking. “Aren't you working?”

“Yeah. I've got the morning shift all this week.” Even though she usually came and went through the restaurant's back door, she flipped open the lock on the brass-trimmed front glass door. It was pouring, and she had managed to find a coveted street parking spot down the block, which meant leaving through the front door was quicker. “I'll figure out some thing.”

“Go as a bride,” Tommi suggested.

“Ha ha.” But she managed to laugh, too, as she left her sister to lock up behind her.

When she got home, she let the dogs outside. They loved to play in the rain, so she put them on their chains and left them to it while she went to her closet to find some inspiration for a Halloween costume.

When her phone rang a little while later, she very nearly ignored it, since the only one to call her lately had been Quentin Rich. But it kept ringing and ringing, so she pushed herself off the floor of her closet and went to the phone.