JON SHOOK HIS HEAD AS TYLER offered to refill his wineglass, his brother only belatedly noticing that Jon hadn’t finished his first glass yet.
“Driving,” Jon said at Tyler’s enquiring look.
Tyler didn’t say anything, but Jon guessed from the dawning understanding in his brother’s eyes that they would be having a conversation about his abstinence in the near future.
Great. Exactly what he wanted. Not.
He glanced toward the hall for the second time in as many minutes, very aware that Gabby had been gone for a long time. Judging by their casual demeanors, neither Tyler nor Ally seemed to find her extended absence unusual but they were still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage, totally wrapped up in one another. They probably wouldn’t notice if Jon jumped on the table and started doing the chicken dance.
It was possible he wouldn’t have noticed Gabby’s absence, either, had he not been sitting next to her. He’d felt her tense when he’d asked about her girlfriend. And even though she’d brushed off his assumption and made a joke about it, he’d felt her continuing tension. She’d practically vibrated with it, like a plucked harp string.
He’d hurt her feelings. Unintentionally, but the result was the same. He might be a lot of things, and she might be a pain in the ass, but if he could take back the moment, he would.
He was about to suggest Ally go in search of her absent guest when Gabby returned. Jon studied her face as she sat. She was wearing a polite social smile but he could see the unhappiness behind her eyes.
Damn.
He was going to have to apologize. Not that he hadn’t already done so, but clearly he was going to have to try again.
He reached for his glass, his fingers closing around the stem. Only when he was carrying the wine to his mouth did he register what he was doing. He reversed the action without drinking.
Two months. That was how long he’d sentenced himself to abstinence. Not because he truly believed he had a drinking problem, more to prove to himself that he could stop if he wanted to.
It occurred to him that a guy who didn’t have a drinking problem should be finding it a hell of a lot easier to go without than he had the past few days. Certainly he probably shouldn’t keep catching himself fantasizing about grabbing a six-pack on the way home from work, or imagining the warm creep of alcohol stealing over his body and numbing his mind.
“So, Jon, what’s this mysterious apartment you’re staying in like? Tyler tells me it’s around the corner from the workshop,” Ally said, drawing his thoughts back to the moment.
“It’s a serviced apartment. Nothing mysterious about it that I can see,” he said.
“Great. Then I guess the coast is clear for Tyler and I to come over for dinner one night soon.” Ally had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
He was well aware that his sister-in-law was quietly campaigning for a closer relationship between him and his brother. It was never going to happen, for a variety of reasons, but Ally would realize that soon enough on her own without him pointing it out to her.
“Sure. As long as you like take-out pizza.”
“You’re as bad as Gabby,” Tyler said. “I swear I was never that pathetic when I was single.”
“Isn’t there a rule about not dissing a person on their birthday?” Gabby said.
“No. And even if there was, it’s not until Saturday, so I’m in the clear,” Tyler said.
“I can cook,” Gabby said.
“Ditto,” Jon said, because he figured he owed it to her to provide backup.
“Microwaving frozen meals doesn’t count,” Ally said.
“Toast does,” Jon said. There was an echo, and he realized Gabby had said the same thing simultaneously.
She glanced at him, disconcerted. He offered her a faint smile. Not too big, since he didn’t want to push his luck.
Her gaze became frosty.
He was still in her black books, then. It figured. She hadn’t liked him much before he’d got her sexuality wrong—she would probably go home and burn an effigy of him in her yard after tonight’s events.
Ally served lemon cheesecake for dessert—Gabby’s favorite, apparently—and they all watched as Gabby dutifully blew out the single candle. They moved to the couches while Tyler prepared coffees with their shiny new espresso machine.
Jon’s gaze kept drifting to the wall clock, trying to calculate when it would be acceptable for him to leave. Immediately after coffee? Or would that mark him as the crassest of social boors?
He jiggled his leg impatiently, willing Tyler to hurry. Once the coffee was ready, Jon gulped his down while it was still too hot and earned himself a burned tongue for his troubles. Finally he decided he must be in the clear and made his excuses.
It wasn’t until he was on the porch, the door closed behind him that he remembered he’d planned to apologize to Gabby again.
He turned, raising his hand to knock, but lowered it without doing so. The least he could do was apologize in private, save Gabby a rehashing of what had obviously been an embarrassing moment.
He’d have to find a few minutes alone with her at work tomorrow. No doubt she’d find some way to give him a hard time. But he’d do the right thing because, contrary to what she obviously believed, he wasn’t a bad guy.
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT BY THE time Gabby let herself into her apartment. She threw her bag onto the couch and checked her answering machine—nothing—then walked to her bedroom and into the ensuite.
Flicking on the light, she gave herself a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before beginning her nightly ritual. First, she washed her face, then patted it dry and smoothed a lightly scented moisturizer onto her face, neck and shoulders. She switched to almond-scented body lotion for her arms, hands and legs, working it in with long, smooth strokes.
At least you didn’t give up everything. Apparently, you still care if your skin is nice.
Her hands stilled on her calf. Somehow, she’d managed to keep a lid on her emotions. But now she was in the safety of her own home and it was time to come clean with herself.
More than time—about four years overdue, in fact.
She straightened, and for the second time that night she stared at her own image in the mirror, trying to understand herself.
Was she still in love with Tyler? Was that what all this was about? Had she been kidding herself for years when all along she’d been holding a candle, pining, hoping?
Dear God. Please don’t let me be that woman. Please don’t let me be that pathetic.
She didn’t want it to be true. But the facts were pretty damned convincing. She’d gone on exactly one date since she’d broken up with Tyler. One date in four years. And it wasn’t through lack of invitations, either. She’d had her share of admirers in those first few years of being single again. She couldn’t remember what excuses she’d come up with for not accepting any of the offers to see a movie or go out for dinner. She simply hadn’t been interested, and eventually the offers had dried up.
If she was being honest, she’d have to admit she hadn’t really noticed or cared. She’d been too busy organizing Tyler’s business—whipping it into shape when she first came on board then doing all she could to help lift him to the next level in subsequent years. Too busy recasting herself as Tyler’s faithful sidekick, the sexless, tireless little buddy who never let him down.
What did you think was going to happen—that he’d admire your skill with a balance sheet so much that he’d finally fall all the way in love