Page 22 of If This is Love

“Yeah,” he agreed, finishing up one palm with a special waterproof bandaid. “Blessed. That sounds like the right word for that.”

We fell into silence again as Gabe took my other hand and repeated the process of cleaning my other palm. His thumb absently rubbed my fingers again, and his featherlight touch combined with my heartache recalling everything I’d lost,plusbeing alone with Gabe—which just felt a littlenaughtyand rebellious—was weirdly making me tingle in places that really didn’t have a reason to be tingling. Places that hadn’t tingled since Michael was here.

“I thought he’d done something shitty to you, and someone like you doesn’t deserve that,” Gabe cut through my uncomfortable thoughts. “That’s why I was being grouchy just now. It’s nice to hear you talk about him like that.”

“Oh…” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was so flattering and heartwarming, and I really didn’t mind that he’d grumbled a little. A man like him had more than earned the right to grumble sometimes. “I didn’t think you were…”

He had finished bandaging my hand and was putting everything away so quickly that it caught me off guard, and I couldn’t finish my sentence before he’d stepped out of the room.

As soon as he disappeared around the corner, I clamped my knees together. “Oh my good lord, I am in so much trouble.”

GABE

ALGIERS POINT, NEW ORLEANS

Ihad Ruth’s phone number. It was right there, saved in my phone,Ruth Washburn: Executive Director of Destination Destiny, and I could call her at any moment if I chose. I also knew where she lived—only two streets over and one block down from my house. After driving Ruth and Jax back home yesterday morning, I had stuck around long enough to make sure she was comfortable on the crutches, and then I insisted she take my phone number in case she needed help with anything while her ankle was out of commission. She’d given me hers in return, and for the following twenty-eight hours and counting, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Abouther.

About how I could call her or go by her house with a perfectly good, neighborly reason to do so. About how the newest phone number saved in my contacts belonged to a woman who was the exact physical embodiment of my perfect woman, and how she was sweet, humble, kind, and devoted in addition to that. About how everything about her that I’d observed in the few minutes I spent with her yesterday was everything I’d ever wanted andnever even knewI’d always wanted in a woman.

Except for the part about her being a widow.

Holy hell, I hadn’t expected that at all.

That meant I couldn’t even entertain the idea of doing something about all these new feelings and my potent attraction to her. Widows were like pregnant women or mothers or abuse survivors; women I was wired to protect, not go after like a horny teenager.

And I certainly wasn’t a teenager anymore, but since encountering my fantasy woman in the flesh, I’d been hornier than ever.

But at the same time, my feelings—the ones unrelated to my dick—were intense, and Ruth was laid up with injuries that left her vulnerable, and that instinct to protect her had been coming in loud and hot for twenty-eight hours straight.

It was 11:30 a.m. on Sunday, and I had been concocting a solution to at least partially placate my need to look after her since before the sun came up. And I’d finally figured out my plan.

Sundays on Algiers Point revolved around one thing: the weekly squad lunch get-together.

And one member of the squad was the perfect cover for my plan: my favorite pushy cookie-baker, Liza.

All I would have to do is casually mention that I’d bumped into Ruth yesterday and that she was laid up with a sprained ankle, and then Liza would take the reins. Then I could just go along for the ride, hidden in plain sight as just another helpful neighbor.

I managed to not smoke all morning. Partially because I hadn’t been able to get through the whole day yesterday without caving, but also because the idea of being around Ruth while reeking of cigarettes was mortifying for some reason. I also waited until the last moment to shower and then took the time to actually comb my hair into place and trim my beard. It always looked better when it was shorter, and I needed all the help I could get. I chose a long-sleeve, navy blue Henley shirt because I’d overheard Chloe tell Luke that navy brought out his eyes, and I had the same gray eyes, andagain, I needed all the help I could get.

Not that I’d be getting anything beyond a smile and wave from her, but never-fucking-mindthat. It wasn’t aboutthat. It was about making sure she was okay.

I took one last look in the mirror before heading out and immediately glowered at my reflection. I looked like a nervous guy right before a first date. A guy who was trying too hard. And this certainly wasn’t a fuckingdate—in my dreams, literally,ha—so I raked my fingers through my hair to mess it up a little.

And then, it was finally time to leave.

Sunday lunch always took place at the home of Scott and Ophelia McCarthy-Latimer, a couple in their forties who’d lived in the neighborhood forever and always had an open doorandkitchen. Their house was at the opposite end of my street, and for the first time ever, I headed over without Luke having to text me and remind me that going to the Sunday gathering was good for me. I was even going to show up on time.

After all, I wasn’t planning to stay long. Just long enough to find Liza so she could execute my plan, and then, I would get to see Ruth.

I was passing Connor and Liza’s house when I saw Carson McDermott’s distinctive, sick-as-fuck silver Audi RS7 pull up to the curb in front of the McCarthy-Latimer house. Carson was another trust fund baby who was a lifelong friend of Brennan’s and had literally never come to the Sunday lunch gathering. Him showing up right then practically screamed that something extra was going on. It also meant there could be a hell of a lot more people in the McCarthy-Latimer house than usual for Sunday lunch. Brennan’s parents and Carson’s parents were lifelong friends too,andit was the first Sunday lunch since Brennan and Skye returned from their honeymoon, andoh man,there might be a lot of chaos hiding behind that door.

I might have to abandon my plan altogether. However, since I’d already been seen showing up, I had to at least ride out the chaos long enough to keep everyone from wondering why I disappeared before even going inside. Although, they would already be wondering why I was here so early, so...

“Hey, Gabe,” Carson said, pausing on the sidewalk with his hand extended while Gunner and I closed the distance between us. “How are you doing?”

“Doing good.” I shook with him firmly and quickly before gesturing for him to go ahead. “You?”

---