Page 4 of Just A Little Love

“I’ll do you one better.” He motioned me over and put his unlocked phone in my hand. His company website was already opened on the screen with his picture, front and center. I’d be damned— he was real.

I poked around the site before switching over to a search app. I glanced at him, and half expected him to be annoyed since I’d commandeered his phone. What I found instead was an indulgent smile that reached his eyes. The warmth of his gaze reached my core. Since I wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl, I wouldn’t describe it as butterflies, but it totally was butterflies.

“What’s your favorite project you’ve done?” I asked when I handed the phone back to him.

“Oh, that’s easy.” He did a quick search before he gave the phone back to me. On the screen was a dedicated art installation space attached to Tate Modern in London. His picture and bio were on the page, discussing the innovative design elements that had gone into it.

“Yeah, okay.” I got up from the bench seat I’d settled on, grabbed all my stuff off the counter, and returned to the booth. After I’d dropped everything and ignored his wince at the mess, I stuck out my hand to him.

“Hi, I’m Rory.”

Chapter 3

Gabriel

“Hi, Rory. Gabriel, but please call me Gabe.” I said, and stuck out my hand to clasp his smaller one. His grip was firm and confident. Rory met my gaze, but the day's exhaustion was evident in the smudged circles under his eyes. My daddy instincts were in overdrive, and I desperately needed to check myself before I did something foolish.

“Nice to meet you. This was a happy accident. I wasn’t originally going to stop, but I haven’t had cocoa with Margaret in a while. She makes the best, and I earned a fix. Breakfast was long ago, and there was no time for lunch today.”

Rory’s smile was open and genuine. I was a considerable believer in listening to your gut, and mine was telling me the signals were endless green flags. My gut also thought Rory required a keeper.

“No lunch? It’s after eight. You must be starving.” Rory shrugged. “You need to eat something. The salad sounds pretty good.” Rory wrinkled his nose at my suggestion. His apparent aversion fit well with his sweatshirt under his cardigan. Cartoon potato chip bags and soda cans underlined with the phrase “I’m here for the snacks!” danced across his chest.

“Salads have too much lettuce,” Rory sighed.

The powerful urge to boop his nose and remind him to behave threatened to override my good intentions.

“You can ask them to make the salad but remove the lettuce. They will probably give you a funny look, but it usually works if it’s a full one like these.” I had to laugh at the comically shocked look on his face.

“What? This is a game-changer. I love everything in them except the lettuce part.”

He laughed at himself, and I joined in with him. This was the type of silliness Reed and Jakob had with each other that made me low-key envious. Regardless of my envy, I knew it wouldn’t change anything. I was at least five, maybe ten, years away from being able to slow down and consider a little relationship. Getting to the top was one thing, but staying there was another beast.

“Alright, boys, what are you having?” Margaret gently placed Rory’s cocoa, overflowing with whipped cream, on the table. She pulled out her order pad from her apron pocket and gave us an expectant look.

“Rory, do you know what you want?” When he kept studying the menu, I asked. “Or do you need more time?”

“Ugh. I can’t decide, and everything looks good.”

“I’m going all in for carbs and calories. A loaded cheeseburger and sweet potato fries, please.” I closed my menu and replaced it behind the napkin dispenser.

“That sounds good. Me too, please.”

“And two salads, please. Can they be without lettuce if it’s not too much trouble?” Margaret laughed at the request, but agreed. Rory looked on in amazement but didn’t say a word.

“Before we go any farther, tell me about this house.”

Rory pulled out all the papers he’d stuffed into the bag to move them to the booth. My attempts to hide my appalled expression at his disorganization failed, and Rory gave me a sheepish look. The mess resembled a rat’s nest. I started straightening the papers into tidy piles when I couldn't stand it anymore.

“When I went through the house, I found countless papers my uncle crammed in a box labeled ‘house shit.’ It’s accurate, butnot helpful. I think it’s like surveys or foundations or something. I’m really not sure exactly what it is. He had been working on some historic dedication, but it looked like he had never sent in the application. Honestly, I don’t know what most of this stuff means. I'm running out of time on the reprieve I got from the city. ”

Rory’s frustration was obvious, and I resisted the urge to squeeze his hand across the table.

“They built the house in 1890, and one of the original Victorian homes built in the Fernwood neighborhood. It sits on the bluffs with a cut-out staircase down to the beach.“

I couldn’t hide my stunned expression. Houses on that side of town were worth a fortune.

“It’s the house I love, but I know the value is in the land,” Rory continued.

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