Chapter 8

I rested my hand on the table beside my glass of water, secretly hoping he’d grab it again. And touch the sensitive place between my thumb and pointer.

He didn’t.

A perfect gentlemen on his best behavior.

“I’m glad I finally wore you down,” Gabe said, then took a sip from the glass of red the waiter had brought him.

He’d been surprisingly cued up on the different types and names of wines, but I’d already forgotten what this one was. I grasped my glass as well and threw back a few sips. Delicious.

Best. Wine. Ever.

Gabe’s lips curled into a smile over my delight in the vintage he’d chosen.

“What?” I asked, putting the glass back on the table with a soft clink.

“Nothing, I just like the way you do things. Full on. With passion and spirit. It’s authentic. Like you’re not trying to be someone or something else to impress me.” He swirled the fine stem between his fingertips then set down his wine.

He’d brought me to 112 Eatery. The interior was cozy, the brown tables and dark wood floors made me feel at home, even though I was from Atlantic City where the tables were more likely to have markings for chips, vomit and wet rings from sloppy cocktails. We’d moved to Bemidji when I was eleven.

I glanced at the front window and smiled. The snow had started to come down again, pristine flakes layering on top of the slush covered sidewalk. “Are you impressed?”

Gabe grasped my hand and a shock ran through my body. He left the question on the oak table and countered. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“About the snow, that’s all.” It was technically a lie. The fact that I shouldn’t be with him had crossed my mind multiple times. Even though he’d just served up a beautiful compliment about my authenticity, this wasn’t me. Allegra Wilson didn’t go out on spur of the moment dinner dates with the hottest men in the city. The men who could have any woman they wanted. The women that were not me.

“Hmmm,” he rumbled, using his free hand to stroke the stubble on his chin. “If you say so.” She admired the sexy edge the days-worth of beard growth gave his face.

“I’m not used to places like this.” I chirped a laugh to cover up what I really thought about the evening. His skin against my skin had brought back that desire; it made me want to grab him across the table and suck the taste of the perfect wine from his perfect lips.

“Not used to them? Surely, other guys have taken you out on dates,” Gabe noticed as he poured more wine for them both.

“You could just ask if I’m seeing anyone else.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he replied, then paused and nodded. “But now that you mention it … are you?”

I drew in a breath and eyed the older couple at the table next to ours. They were lost in their own conversation, holding each other’s hands, leaning towards each other with their heads almost touching.

My girly heart strings twanged at the sight of it.

I turned back to Gabe. “No, not for six months.”

Why did I have to go and admit to a time frame? The words had just popped out. Now it appeared that no one wanted me when in fact, the bakery had monopolized my time for well over a year.

“Six months,” he remarked, drumming his long fingers on the white tablecloth. “That’s a pretty long time.”

I slid my hand away from him and he frowned. “I’m not that popular” I replied, “I don’t get that many invitations when most of my time is spent in the kitchen. Baking.” And even if I had, I still wouldn’t date them. Gabe was one big exception to the rule.

One big blue-eyed, ripped exception.

“I don’t get that many invitations either,” he replied, and raised his palms in mock surrender. Then he winked at her. “Unless you count my Aunt Agnes’s bridge partner. Every week she asks me to take her to the see the Minnesota Orchestra. Says I wouldn’t regret it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh please, that line was as delivered as a baby by the stork. I’m not blind; you’re obviously a looker. You probably get a lot of attention. Girls fall all over themselves to get closer to you.” I wondered how many pairs of wet panties had been thrown at his head. Like she’d like to throw the red lace thong she had on right now. She should have worn granny panties, then she wouldn’t be having these thoughts about undergarments in the middle of a crowded eatery.

His expression darkened, eyebrows drawn inwards and down. “Don’t be so quick to judge, Allegra.”

“Call me Ally,” I corrected. “And I wasn’t trying to judge you. It’s just expected. I’m okay with that. It’s not like we’re going to see each other again.” I’d spent the entire night thus far, convincing myself of that. All the way through the fourteen dollar sweet and sour crab salad.

“We will see each other again.” He brushed the back of my hand again.

I flinched and touched the spot his fingers had been. Like my tender flesh had been seared by his gentle touch.

Branded.

“Gabe, I’m really not interested in anything serious. And before you say you’re not either, I’m really not interested in a fling either. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Which kind?”

“The kind who can put feelings aside when the chemistry is hot,” I replied, settling back in the chair to create distance between us. “I’ve never had a one night stand and I never want to. If that makes me old-fashioned and unattractive to you, so be it.”

“Who was he?” Gabe asked, clenching his jaw then releasing it. His expression heated. Like he cared. “Mr. Six-months-ago. The one who obviously fucked you over and made you so bitter.”

“That’s none of your business. And its super off-topic. And … I’m not bitter. I just know what’s good for me.” I flopped my napkin onto the table and rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.” And get the hell out of here. Away from Gabe and the uncomfortable feelings he roused in me. I needed to be one hundred percent on my game because the success of my bakery depended on it. I would not fail at my life. Not again.

He didn’t answer me, just stared at me for a lingering moment, eyes ablaze with desire and something else. An emotion I couldn’t place.

That look haunted me all the way to the bathroom stall. I wished he’d been a complete douche so I could run away. But I’d seen it. I’d seen something in his eyes besides just lust and a desire to get laid. I sat down on the toilet and drew in deep breaths to steady my mind. Resisting him was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. But I did have to.

I had to.