Page 116 of If This is Love

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GABE

WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, NEW ORLEANS

Gunner and I jumped out of the truck in a parking lot across the street from the contemporary arts center where Destination Destiny’s launch gala was taking place, and I crouched in front of him.

“Gunner,sit.” He plopped his furry, yellow butt on the asphalt, and I pulled his tie out of my pocket to put it on him. “Don’t you know they got a dress code in there, brother?” I fastened the bowtie collar around his neck, adjusting the bow at the center of his neck. “Gotta have a tie on or they’ll throw your ass out.”

Gunner offered a yawn that morphed into a whiny moan as it trailed off.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re telling me.” I rubbed his head as I stood up, my gut twisting with nerves. I was one walk across the street from seeing Ruth after not saying a single word to her for nearly—

For way, way, way too fucking long, but never-fucking-mindthat.

I could only handle what I could handle, and that shitstorm-clusterfuck was too fucking much.

Ugh.

Stepping inside the lobby, I paused in front of a large mirror only long enough to adjust my silver tie and smooth my beard. I slipped my hands in the pockets of my slacks to hide how clammy and shaky they were, and there they would stay, and anyone who wanted to shake with me was just going to have to think I was an asshole. Gunner and I crossed the lobby toward the ballroom and paused at a hostess stand next to the entrance.

“Your name, sir?” the young lady chirped.

“Gabe Martinelli.” I paused awkwardly, attempting to peer inside at the tables. “And Gunner.”

“Gabe and Gunner,” she repeated in a sing-songy tone, then hummed a cheery little tune while she skimmed the tip of a mechanical pencil down a list. “Okey-dokey, it looks like y’all are at table three.” She angled herself toward the ballroom and pointed with the pencil eraser at a cluster of tables near the front of the ballroom. “It’s right over there just next to where Mr. and Mrs. Riley are seated.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled as I tentatively made my way inside.

My gaze homed in on Ruth like a laser immediately. It was like I was equipped with Ruth-seeking technology, and my sights were automatically locked on her the instant we were in the same room. She was on the same side of the room as the table I was assigned to, but standing a few tables over, chatting with Emma and Austin.

“Fuu-uuck,” I grumbled near-silently as I paused awkwardly off to one side.

“Excuseyou,” some snooty older lady huffed as she stepped around me.

I mentally face-palmed for not noticing I’d cut her off. “Sorry,” I called after her.

Checking behind me, I moved all the way to the wall and did my typical shimmying along the edge of the ballroom. When I reached the cluster of tables where I was assigned to sit, I waited next to the wall while I squinted at each of the place cards. I located mine, but the ones next to mine were at an angle that I couldn’t read, and this was fucking stupid anyway.

It didn’t matter if I knew before arriving at the table whether Ruth was seated next to me or not. She either was or she wasn’t, and I had to just surrender to the powers that be.

Gunner followed me as I weaved between the tables and arrived at my chair, pulling it out and sitting immediately. He sat, then slid all the way down to a full sprawl halfway under the table while I stared at my name like I was meditating on the fine, sweeping calligraphy while I fought the urge to check the place cards on either side of me. I had no idea why I was trying to fight the temptation to look. It was like, on some level, I knew exactly what the fuck was going to go down tonight.

My meddling-ass, nosy-ass friends were going to pull some matchmaker bullshit with Ruth and me tonight, and it was going to start with Skye having told the event planner to sit us next to each other.

I finally glanced at the card to my left.

Ms. Ruth Washburn

I blinked slowly, staring at the space in front of my eyes, and exhaled a long, growly sigh.

Gunner growled under the table. This wasn’t his working growl; not a growl intended to pull me back to my sanity. No, this was him telling me to chill the fuck out because he didn’t want to be out like this in the first damn place, so he definitely didn’t want to work if he didn’t have to. AKA me working myself into a bundle of raw nerves and causing an episode when I didn’t actually need to have one, and Gunner having to work his magic rather than snooze.

I diverted my attention to a waiter passing by and lifted my hand to snap at him.

He pivoted and gave me a little bow. “Yes, sir, what can I get you?”

“Whiskey, neat.” I gestured at Gunner’s backside sticking out from under the pristine white tablecloth. “And a water for him.”

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