Page 73 of Tattletale

“One more bite,”Gabriel urges. “Please?”

Mouth full, I shake my head, pressing my lips together firmly. He scoots his chair around the small table to get closer to me. The corner of his chair catches the tablecloth, twisting it slightly. It’s shocking it’s still so clean and pristine. Over the past hour, we’ve had platters upon platters of savory souffles, sinfully delectable French bakery desserts, and the most delicious coffee I’ve ever tasted. Not a drop was spilled on the luxury tablecloth or the matching cloth napkin in my lap.

“I sold this entire date on the croissant. You have to try it.”

I hold my stomach. “Gabriel, please. I’m not trying to be dainty and modest. I truly am so full, it hurts. One more bite of anything, and I will pop like an overfilled, human-shaped balloon. You don’t want to see that.”

Gabriel tilts his head to one side and squints one eye. “I’ll risk it.” He picks up the fluffy croissant that’s slathered in thick milk chocolate and sprinkled with a dash of salt. He touches it to my lips, chocolate side first. “One little bite, and I’ll leave you alone.”

My jaw creaks open reluctantly. With his eyes locked on mine, Gabriel slides the tip of the croissant as far into my mouth as my lips allow.

“Bite,” he instructs.

I clamp down on the bread half-heartedly. He tears the pastry away from my mouth, leaving a small bite to melt on my tongue. The flavor is chaotic, explosive, and probably the most invigorating sweet I’ve ever had. I slowly chew, savoring the sensation.

Gabriel stares at me expectantly, pumping his brows. “Amazing, right?”

“I…Wow.Um, it’s a little…smoky?”

“The chef uses a Hawaiian-style black lava salt instead of a traditional sea salt. It’s genius.”

“It’s so delicious. I don’t even regret that bite.”

He lifts the croissant up once more. “You want another?”

“You’re going to be the death of me.” But I open my mouth and let him feed me another nibble.

Gabriel takes a bite of the croissant himself, then sets it down on the antique-looking plate. The entire bed-and-breakfast, called Sugar, has a 19th-century Victorian air about it. It’s meticulously decorated, but all the subtle features blend so seamlessly that it’s easy to overlook all the intricacies.

Gabriel wraps his arm around the back of my chair. Immediately, I feel the warmth of his body and have to resist the urge to scoot my chair away. I love everything about this date except one thing. The ambiance, the food, the conversation—it’s all perfection…but the man next to me is not the one I love.

“What’s on your mind, Fiona?” Gabriel asks, seeming to read the distraction in my expression.

“I was just thinking that I understand you owning The Dollhouse, and The Crusader, but this place? It doesn’t seemto suit you. How did you end up with a bed-and-breakfast like this?”

Gabriel drops his arm. He folds his arms over his chest and leans away from me. “So, we’re going in deep on date one?”

It’s hard to read his reaction. I can’t tell if he’s offended or intrigued. “I didn’t know that was a deep question. I’m sorry—”

“Oh, I’m happy to,” he says, “but you have to promise me that if I open up to you, you’ll do the same. An even exchange. Can you do that for me, Fiona?”

“Yes,”I say, knowing damn well it’s another lie.

“I fell in love for the first time here, at this very bed-and-breakfast. I was only nineteen.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Thought I knew everything. Anyway, back then, it was called Our Good Lady, or some nonsense like that. I don’t know how I stumbled upon this place, honestly. I was raised in California, so I suppose I was curious to know what the east side of the country thought good wine was.”

“California wine is better?”

“Oh,” he scoffs, “supremely so. Not that I should’ve known that at nineteen”—he winks—“but these vineyards have a unique charm.”

“Your parents let you drink wine?”

“Under their supervision, since I was fourteen. My father was a sommelier. We didn’t drink to get drunk. We drank to learn and appreciate art.”

There’s that word again.Art—the way Gabriel seems to view everything in his world.

“My father used to let me drink his whiskey so I could learn to tell the difference between single and double malt just by tasting it,” I admit.

“Oh,”Gabriel says with a smirk. “I didn’t realize you were such a sophisticated drinker.”

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