Mistletoe Hero

Chapter Six

Quinn and Lilah called the meeting to a close just in time-over the past hour and a half, the cheerfully decorated cafeteria walls had started closing in on Gabe. I need to get out of here. He was preoccupied enough with his growing unease that he nodded at something Patrick said without really hearing it.

“Great!” The other man clapped him congenially on the shoulder. “You just let me know what night works best for you.”

Gabe paused, not sure what he’d just agreed to, but telling himself that, whatever it was, it couldn’t be any stranger than telling Adele Momsen he’d build her a pirate ship. Rather, a partial facade of a ship. Kasey, from the family-owned Kerrigan Farms, had said there was a company that rented “bouncies” and ball pits-popular attractions for kids who wanted to jump inside inflatable structures or play amidst hundreds of spongy balls. She thought she remembered something from their catalog where participants could literally dive into an open pit. Assuming her phone call to them tomorrow was productive, Gabe would start work on a raised platform that would emulate the deck of a ship, complete with a plank.

By Gabe’s early teens, he’d been antsy, wanting to leave Mistletoe and the proximity of an unloving father who made him feel vaguely guilty for his very existence. Looking ahead to the financial independence he’d need to escape, Gabe had started mowing lawns and helping elderly neighbors-including Adele Momsen’s mother-clean out their rain gutters. He’d kept an organized spiral notebook of his clients and what they’d paid him. To this day, he kept an organized to-do list and studied it each morning over coffee.

A couple of weeks ago, it had been a simple, even predictable, compilation: pick up materials at Waide Supply, meet with Linda Berdino about her yard, tell the Winchesters that they really did need to hire a certified plumber.

And then Arianne Waide had happened.

Gabe’s list had morphed radically. One, find new home. Two, build pirate ship.

Patrick Flannery shrugged into his jacket. “So I’ll catch you later for that pool game.”

Three, make new friend. Apparently. “Sure,” Gabe said. At least now he knew what he’d agreed to.

With a nod and parting smile for Mrs. Momsen, he made a beeline for the exit and the promise of fresh air. He was almost there when Tara Hunaker sidled into his peripheral vision.

“Gabriel?” Her low, smoky voice might have been more seductive if it weren’t so affected. And if he didn’t know her better.

The week he’d spent working for her had ensured that he would never look at her and see a beautiful woman.

“I wanted to apologize for my knee-jerk reaction to the pirate fundraiser,” she said, her expression beseeching.

“Good idea,” he said. “Mrs. Momsen’s right over there.”

“Fair enough. I’ll talk to her as soon as we’re done. Have to say, I never would have expected to see you here, but I’m glad-”

“Gabe!”

Arianne bounded toward them with all the restraint and self-consciousness of a puppy, a complete contrast to Tara’s studied expressions and come-hither voice.

Despite whatever chaos Arianne had wreaked on his life, he’d choose dealing with her over Tara Hunaker any day. He flicked the latter a dismissive glance. “If you’ll excuse us?”

He stepped to the side and waited for Arianne to reach him.

At close range, her smile was nearly blinding. “You were magnificent!” She threw her arms around him.

Gabe stiffened. She was hugging him? People didn’t hug him. He wasn’t…He didn’t-“Miss Waide?” Unhand me.

Not that her embrace was unpleasant. Quite the contrary. She was soft and lush, round in exactly the right places despite her diminutive size. Her warmth radiated through him, the scent of raspberries teasing his senses. He was startled by the urge to pull her tight and breathe her in.

His newfound claustrophobia kicked in with a vengeance, and he jerked back a step. He half expected her to look stung by the rudeness, but instead, her rueful smile was apologetic.

“That was probably overkill, hmm?” she admitted. “I do tend to come on strong.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he deadpanned.

“I just wanted to say thank you before you disappeared into the night. You made sweet Mrs. Momsen’s entire year, agreeing to help with that ship.”

He shifted his weight, unused to this level of gratitude. When he fenced in someone’s backyard, they usually just handed him a check. “Hey, she’s the one who had the good idea. I’m just the hired muscle.”

“Except that we’re not paying you,” Arianne reminded him with a laugh. “Oh, but we’ll definitely reimburse you for the supplies. Jennifer Gideon is the PTA treasurer-just make sure she gets your receipts. And we’ll help with construction, too. It’s too much work for one person in such a short time frame. Patrick and I-”

“You have a lot of experience with carpentry?” Gabe interrupted.

“I helped my brothers build a tree house! Although, technically, it collapsed,” she added, not looking the least bit abashed by this admission.

He raised an eyebrow.

“It was an educational experience! Now that I’ve learned from my mistakes, I-”

“Night,” Patrick called as he walked past toward the exit. “It was nice to meet you, Arianne.”

“You, too.” She shot the man one of her uninhibited, all-encompassing grins, and something sharp shifted inside Gabe.

Something like…possessiveness? Though he’d told himself he didn’t want to be saddled with an unrelentingly cheerful sidekick, he was growing accustomed to-maybe even appreciative of-those smiles.

“And I’ll see you this week for that pool game?” Patrick asked. But he didn’t give Gabe a chance to answer before he quickly shifted his gaze back to Arianne. “Hey! Why don’t you join us? You and Quinn? That is, if you think she’d-”

“Oh, she would!” Arianne assured him, her tone delighted. “It’s a date. So to speak.”

Gabe simply stared, his strange new to-do list slipping further out of his control. Four, go on double date.

QUINN SHIFTED in the passenger seat-she’d been uncharacteristically fidgety in the ten minutes since they’d left her house. “So would you classify this as a date, or-?”

“If it’s not, you certainly went through a lot of trouble with your appearance for no reason,” Arianne teased. “I lost count of the times you’ve asked how you look.”

Quinn sniffed. “Only twice! But I see your point. I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I? It’s not like I never date.”

“True, but when was the last time you went out with a guy you were really interested in? If it helps your nerves at all,” Arianne offered, “I think he likes you, too. I got the impression Patrick only asked me to come play pool because he was using me as a way to invite you.”

“Well, I appreciate you sacrificing your Thursday night for my sake,” Quinn said.

Arianne sent her a sidelong grin. “Hey, there are worse ways to spend an evening than shooting pool with friends.” And Gabe.

What were his thoughts on tonight’s outing? When Patrick had asked her about making this a foursome, she’d seized the chance to help Quinn jump-start her love life, not pausing to check with Gabe first. Arianne hadn’t spoken directly to him since Tuesday night’s volunteer meeting, although she had left a message on his cell phone that Kasey Kerrigan had put a deposit on the ball pit and that the principal had approved their walk-the-plank benefit.

She turned the car into the parking lot of the pool-hall-slash-dance-hall. On Tap was a favorite local hangout, known for its outdated jukebox and eye-watering hot wings. To kick off the weekend, the owners offered half-price pool and various drink specials on Thursdays, so Arianne wasn’t surprised to find that the lot was nearly three-quarters full.

“You’re sure you aren’t the tiniest bit anxious?” Quinn asked as Arianne parked the car.

“Me? Why would I be?”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Gabe Sloan? Maybe you remember him? Guy you asked out who said no, and yet here you are on a-”

“It’s definitely not a date for us. We’re more like…the chaperones for you and Patrick. But don’t worry. I promise to turn a blind eye if you two crazy kids want to make out.”

They got out of the car, and Arianne spotted Gabe’s red truck among the other vehicles. A frisson of anticipation zinged through her-involuntary and completely unwise. Still, she heard herself ask, “Just for the sake of argument, if I wanted to know how I looked-”

Quinn flashed a thumbs-up. “Gorgeous. Different but gorgeous.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Though both women were wearing dark jeans, Arianne’s top was nothing like her friend’s fuzzy pastel sweater. Arianne had second-guessed her first choice-a long-sleeved V-neck-because of how revealing it would be when she leaned across the pool table. She didn’t need to distract her opponents with cleavage to win. Instead, she’d gone with a black turtleneck that looked fairly dramatic with her coloring. She’d braided her hair and selected a pair of long silver earrings Rachel had given her for Christmas one year.

The noise hit them before they’d even reached the front door-a buzz of voices, billiard balls clicking against each other as they spun across the green and the guitar-heavy angst of an ’80s hair-band ballad. Inside, Arianne felt absorbed by the sound and energy of the crowd.

“There they are,” Quinn said from behind her.

The men had already secured a pool table and were selecting cues. Gabe took a practice shot, and Arianne’s mouth went dry as she watched the play of muscles beneath his T-shirt. The scuffed leather jacket he’d worn the other night was draped over a nearby chair.

Quinn laughed suddenly. “I feel like I missed the uniform memo.”

“What?” With disciplined effort, Arianne did not check out Gabe’s denim-clad backside as he bent again.

“You two look like twins. Or at least partners in crime,” she amended.

Gabe and Arianne were both clad in monochromatic black. Patrick was more colorful in a red-and-blue-striped shirt with khakis. He brightened visibly when he spotted the women approaching.

“Quinn! Ari. Looks like we just beat the rush,” Patrick observed. “This was the last table available.”

Gabe nodded his hello. “Ladies.” His gaze flicked from Quinn to Arianne. His features were unreadable, but Arianne could have sworn that his glance lingered. Her skin warmed. Did he like what he saw?

“Can I get either of you a drink?” Patrick volunteered.

“I’ll take a beer.” Arianne pulled a five-dollar bill out of her pocket.

“I’ll come with you,” Quinn said.

Patrick grinned at her, then turned to Gabe. “Ready for a refill?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He’d placed the triangle on the felt and was racking the balls.

The two teachers headed for the bar, leaving Arianne and Gabe alone.

“I hope this is okay with you,” she said. “Quinn and I joining your boys’ night?”

He raised his eyes just long enough to give her a pointed look. Was he implying that it was unlike her to worry about boundaries?

She cleared her throat. “You got my message about the plank and ball pit? We’re officially a ‘go.’”

“Yep.”

“Have you had time to think about the actual ship yet?”

“Yep.”

She walked toward the wall where the cues hung. “So, are you any good at pool?” If he said yep, she was bashing him with one of the sticks.

“Not bad.” But there was a spark of underlying mischief in his tone that made her suspect he was being modest. “You?”

“I hold my own.” She studied a stick, then rolled it over the table to make sure it wasn’t warped. “My brothers taught me to play. Tanner used to be the black sheep of our family. For a while, I thought he might skip college and just hustle pool for a living. But he went on to get a prestigious degree and a job in finance. Just goes to show people can change, huh?”

Gabe leaned against the side of the table, his expression pained. “If that’s your way of suggesting I-”

“I wasn’t ‘suggesting’ anything, only making conversation.” She peered up at him with innocent eyes. “Do you always think everything’s about you?”

He shook his head at her denial. “Like I’m going to trust someone dressed as a junior cat burglar?”

“You’re one to talk,” she rejoined, raking her gaze over him. “Quinn said we look like twins.”

That startled a rusty laugh out of him. “Arianne, we couldn’t be less alike if we tried.”

After Patrick and Quinn returned with the beverages, it soon became clear that Gabe and Arianne had at least one thing in common-they were definitely better at pool than their companions.

Quinn reached blindly toward the wall rack and grabbed the closest cue stick to her. “Do we have to play by the formal rules of calling a shot for it to count?” She wrinkled her nose. “If I have to give up the ones I make out of sheer dumb luck, I could be in trouble.”

“How about for the first game, while we’re getting warmed up, we only call the last pocket to win?” Patrick suggested. He grinned boyishly. “I’m out of practice, but even when I played, I was never exactly pool-shark material. No pointing and laughing, I beg you.”

“And,” Quinn added, “no accidentally knocking your opponents’ balls in just to give yourself competition.”

Arianne studied the ceiling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m starting to think,” Patrick said, “that Quinn and I should not be on the same team. No offense, Quinn.”

“None taken,” she agreed cheerfully. “It would be a slaughter.”

“So how do we want to pair up?” Arianne asked. “Girls against guys?”

“Or you and Patrick can take on Quinn and me,” Gabe suggested.

That met with everyone’s approval, and they flipped a coin to see which team would break. Patrick did an all right job with that task, although no balls were pocketed. Quinn put in a stripe but scratched in the process. Arianne knocked in two solids before misjudging a bank, and then it was Gabe’s turn. He sank three consecutive balls, one of which was a beautiful behind-the-back shot.

“All right, now you’re just showing off,” Arianne chided.

He dazzled her with a lazy smile. “Maybe.”

It was criminal that he had a smile like that and so seldom used it.

On the other hand, at least he wasn’t abusing its power-irresponsibly flashing it at unsuspecting women. When he grinned at her, Arianne couldn’t even look away. She wanted to go to him, run her thumb over the dimpled brackets along his mouth, brush her finger over those lips…

“Um, guys?” Quinn’s voice was hesitant. “It’s still our team’s turn, right?”

Embarrassment warmed Arianne as she realized she’d lost track of time and place staring at Gabe. Then again, he’d been staring back. His smile had disappeared, but he looked no less sexy without it. Stop gawking already! Arianne whirled around to the railing where her beer sat. She sipped slowly, taking a moment to compose herself. With her back turned, she missed Gabe’s shot.

Apparently so did he. She caught his soft “damn” and smiled against her glass. Her flustered reaction to him wouldn’t be nearly as humiliating if he was equally rattled.

They completed another round of turns with Patrick making the only shot. Though Quinn missed, she made strategic progress by leaving absolutely nothing for Arianne. Gabe lined up a shot, but put too much spin on the ball, ricocheting it off the corner tip instead of into the pocket.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Patrick, you’re up. I believe it’s my turn to get drinks? Anyone need anything?”

When Quinn and Patrick both accepted a second round, Arianne slid off the stool where she’d been perched. “I’ll help carry.”

Of course you will, Gabe thought ruefully. Last week he’d had the exasperated thought that Arianne Waide was difficult to escape. She had a certain aura of inevitability, but he no longer found that annoying. When had that changed?

Maybe at Tuesday’s festival meeting, when she’d been so protective of grandmotherly Mrs. Momsen and so sincere in her gratitude. In small doses, Arianne’s exuberance could be refreshing.

Or maybe his feelings toward her had softened tonight when he’d caught sight of her in the formfitting turtleneck. It was difficult to think of her as nothing more than an adorable pain in the butt when she looked so artlessly sophisticated.

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed. As they walked through the crowd, Gabe wondered if she was aware of the way men’s gazes followed her. It occurred to him for the first time to be surprised that she, unlike her happily married brothers, was single.

They reached the bar, politely elbowing their way into the waiting throng.

“Lot more crowded tonight than on Wednesdays,” Gabe noted.

She slanted an assessing look at him, searching for something.

“What?”

“I have a question that’s none of my business.”

“And you’re showing restraint and decided not to ask?”

“Hell, no. I was just debating the best way to broach it.” She smiled at him unrepentantly.

Gabe smothered a laugh, not wanting to encourage her. “You’re something else.”

“Lovable,” she supplied promptly. “That’s what my family calls me.”

“Maybe when you’re in earshot.”

“Why, Mr. Sloan, did you just make a joke?”

“No, I was serious.” But he grinned down at her.

“So why don’t we see more of you in here on the weekends?” she asked. “You used to drop by on occasional Fridays and Saturdays.”

“My God, you really are a stalker.”

The blush climbing her cheeks belied the dismissive way she rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like I memorized your schedule. It’s just that you don’t exactly blend into the crowd.”

His humor faded. She didn’t know how accurate the statement was. Even before his escalating flirtation and doomed one-night stand with Shay had made him an outcast in Mistletoe, he’d never even felt as though he belonged in his own home. He had early memories of feeling self-conscious in school when the class worked on crafting homemade gifts for Mother’s Day and events where parents were invited to participate.

“I meant because you’re tall,” Arianne said, the soft apology in her voice like a blade.

He flinched away from her pity. “Well, we can’t all be short.”

“What can I get-” The bartender, who had just handed over two drinks to the people in front of them, began the question by rote but stopped when he saw it was Gabe. “Usual?”

“No, make it a beer tonight,” Gabe said. “Four beers.”

The man did a double take. “Really?”

Gabe glared.

“Coming right up.”

Would Arianne attribute the man’s surprise to Gabe’s actually being here with others?

“I normally stick to sodas,” he found himself explaining.

“You don’t drink?”

“I just ordered a beer, didn’t I?” How could someone like Arianne Waide, with her cheerful can-do attitude and supportive family and friends, understand why Gabe felt like he couldn’t indulge in the luxury of relaxing, of just letting go? In the past year especially, he’d felt compelled to stay on his guard. It wasn’t that he was afraid of fueling gossip. It was more…Anger, he realized.

Tara Hunaker hiring him as a flimsy ploy to seduce him, Mike Renault-the closest thing Gabe had to a friend-moving to Athens over the summer, Gabe’s own certainty that his father was never going to forgive him for sins real or imagined. If he wasn’t guarded with his emotions, they might spill over in dark ways. I should’ve left a long time ago.

The bartender passed over their beers, and Gabe handed Arianne hers. “Cheers.”

Back at the pool table they found Patrick and Quinn deep in conversation. By their body language, it was easy to see that the attraction between them was mutual, and Gabe wasn’t the least surprised when Patrick sheepishly asked if Arianne and Gabe would mind playing the next game alone.

“Somehow Quinn tricked me into agreeing to dance.” He smiled into the woman’s eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you-I’m actually better at pool than dancing.”

She laughed. “I’m good enough on the dance floor to compensate.”

“Lead on,” he said, looking as if he’d follow her into traffic if that’s what she wanted.

Arianne watched them go, and Gabe noticed the wistful tinge to her expression. Again he wondered why she was single.

Gabe could think of a dozen guys easy who would be happy to date her. The thought set his teeth on edge, and he grabbed the triangle. “You know how to play nine ball?”

“Of course.”

“Best out of three?”

She held out her hand. “I’ll rack.”

He passed over the triangle, and their fingers brushed. There was no reason, except for prolonged celibacy, for his blood to beat harder in his veins. After all, it was a mere touch, not the full-body contact of her hug the other night. Still, as he watched her set the balls in the appropriate diamond, he couldn’t quite marshal his physical reaction or the direction of his thoughts. Arianne was a beautiful woman with a very sexy body.

And a hell of a pool player, he was forced to admit when she beat him handily in the first round with a four-nine combination.

He raised his beer in salute. “Impressive.”

She grinned over her shoulder, reaching for her own drink. “Hey, I have moves.”

“I’ll bet.” He’d said that aloud? He busied himself setting up the next game to avoid her reaction.

She broke. After he’d bent to take his turn, she said, “You know when I said earlier that I’d seen you in here on the weekends? Your height wasn’t the only reason I noticed you.”

His shot went wild. Was she flirting with him? The prospect was far more tempting than it should have been.

“No comments from the peanut gallery while I’m shooting,” he admonished.

“All right.” She stepped forward and called the one in the side left pocket. Then she stalled under the pretext of aiming. “You’re a memorable guy, Gabe.”

“I’m aware,” he grated. First thing tomorrow, he was calling his cousins, calling Mike Renault, calling any damn person who might be able to help him make an anonymous fresh start somewhere.

“You turned down Candy Beemis,” she said, sounding awestruck.

“If you say so. Take your freaking shot already.”

She missed and moved aside, seeming unfazed. “I was buying a drink and heard her ask you to dance. You told her no. That was extremely memorable and possibly the only refusal she’s ever received. Candy’s the most attractive woman in Mistletoe.”

Gabe lined up his shot and told himself to keep his eye on the ball. Instead, he lifted his head, holding Arianne’s gaze. “She’s not even close.”

Arianne sucked in a breath and went silent. Thank God. He knocked in the first five balls. She sank the six, but just barely. He knew even as she called the seven-nine combo that she wouldn’t make it.

He won the game.

“Guess I deserved that,” she muttered. “I let-”

“Arianne?”

They both turned at the masculine voice. Shane McIntyre was approaching-slightly unsteady on his feet-his round face a scrolling billboard of emotions. Surprise, hurt, indignation. More hurt.

“Shane.”

Gabe recognized the note of pity in Arianne’s voice. He’d heard it directed at him earlier in the evening and could just imagine how it abraded the other man’s nerves. Had she dumped the guy? Gabe didn’t remember hearing their names linked together, but then, he wasn’t exactly in the loop.

The man curled his lip. “I don’t believe this,” he said, his words faintly slurred. “What are you doing with him?”

Arianne narrowed her eyes, all traces of sympathy erased. “I assume that question was rhetorical because we both know I don’t owe you any explanations for how I spend my time.”

“Right.” He gave a vicious nod and took a step forward. “Because I’m no one important, just someone who cares about you.”

Gabe laid a hand on the guy’s shoulder, determined that he wasn’t getting a single inch closer to Ari in his current state. “McIntyre, maybe you should save this discussion for later and just let the lady enjoy her evening.”

Shane rounded on him. “Let her enjoy you, you mean? You’re not worthy of taking her trash out, you son of a-” He broke off, eyes wide, at the sight of Gabe’s arm drawn back.

Gabe, who hadn’t even realized he’d made a fist, was far more horrified than his would-be target. Pole-axed, he dropped his hand to his side. He glanced toward Arianne, wondering if she was appalled by his behavior, and noticed that the pool players at the neighboring tables had paused in their games. Some had drinks in their hands and were surreptitiously watching over the rims while others stared openly. What did they see? A longtime troublemaker agitating one of their own?

As if Shane had sensed a change in energy, he squared his shoulders in challenge. “What’s it going to be, Sloan? Should we take this outside?”

“Of course not!” Arianne interjected. “What is this, junior high?”

At her contemptuous tone, Shane lost his smirk. “Sorry, Arianne. But-

She stepped between the two men. “We’re friends. And as a friend, I’m telling you to find Nick or Josh to drive you home.”

“And leave you with-”

“Now,” she said. “Before you do anything else you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Shane glared at both of them, but wisely shut up. The moment he melted back into the crowd, Arianne exhaled in relief.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” she told Gabe, betraying no hint of how she felt about his interference. “I want to make sure he asks someone for a lift.”

People were no longer staring, but the buzz of their speculative conversations scratched at Gabe’s skin. He downed the rest of his beer, wishing he were anywhere else in the world right now. As he set down the empty bottle, he saw Quinn and Patrick returning, their faces flushed with happiness and exertion. He felt like a miscast actor in someone else’s movie. He didn’t belong in this quaint foursome scene. He was more comfortable in his perennial role as outsider. Arianne should be here with Quinn, Patrick and someone like McIntyre. Well, not McIntyre-he’d behaved like a jackass tonight. Arianne deserved better. Than either of us.

He attempted a smile at Quinn, but doubted it was convincing. “Hey, you guys, do me a favor? Tell Arianne that I’m gonna get going. But I’ll see everyone Saturday.” They were supposed to start initial festival setup downtown.

“But…” Quinn bit her lip. “Sure. Okay.”

Gabe nodded to Patrick. “Thanks for inviting me, man.”

Despite how the evening had turned out, Patrick had been the first person in a long time to extend a simple, no-strings-attached gesture of friendship. Gabe didn’t count Arianne’s asking him to dinner. She was anything but simple.

As he passed the bar, he heard her call him but continued his measured strides toward the door, hoping she would assume the noise drowned her out and just let him go. Good luck with that plan. He may not have known Arianne long, but he knew her better than that.

She must have rushed, elbowing her way through the boisterous mass of people, to catch up with him just as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“You’re leaving,” she said, full of accusation. “Haven’t we already discussed the futility of trying to run away?”

He looked her in the eye, then wished he hadn’t. Her fierce expression made him feel like a coward. “I’m not running anywhere. I came, I shot pool, I finished my drink. I’m going home.” Home. The word burned like acid on his tongue.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. That contact burned, too, in a far more bittersweet way. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

Ducking away from her touch, he gave a short bark of laughter. “You’re the only one who doesn’t have a reason to apologize.”

“Then please let me apologize on my friend’s behalf.” She sighed, her expression earnest. “Shane’s a good guy, honestly.”

Even as Gabe appreciated her loyalty, it stuck in his craw the way his fellow Mistletonians made excuses for each other, gave each other the benefit of the doubt. Usually.

“I hurt his feelings earlier this week,” she added, “and he took it out on you.”

Gabe didn’t doubt she was telling the truth, but would McIntyre have behaved that way tonight if it had been anyone else shooting pool with Arianne? “He took it out on me because he doesn’t like me.”

“True.” Arianne pursed her lips. “Which is weird because you’re so warm, cuddly and lovable.”

She’d gone from contrition to criticism? He clenched his truck keys in his fingers. “I don’t need this.”

“Are you sure?” she persisted. “Don’t reach out to people because they deserve it-hell, maybe they don’t-do it for yourself.”

Who was she to dole out unsolicited advice? She’d obviously confused herself with a self-help guru. And confused him with someone who cared. “Good night, Arianne.”

He stepped off the curb.

“Gabe?”

Against his better judgment, he turned. “Yes?” The single syllable held fourteen years of weariness.

She stood on her toes, sacrificing balance for height and letting herself stumble against him. His arms went around her reflexively. She placed a quick kiss just to the left of his mouth-if he turned his head a fraction of an inch, his lips could capture hers-and then stepped away.

“Thank you for a wonderful time,” she said breathlessly.