Читать книгу One Good Reason - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 10

GABBY FIDDLED WITH THE STEM OF her wineglass as Jon hesitated for a telling second before pulling out the chair next to her.

Nice.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have cooties,” she said as he sat.

“Good to know. Although I’ve never really been sure what they are.”

“I think they’re the equivalent of girl germs.”

“Yeah? I’ve always been kind of partial to those.”

Gabby flashed to the scene she’d witnessed this afternoon. “No kidding.”

She realized immediately that he might take the comment the wrong way, but when she glanced at him askance he was smiling slightly.

Don’t get too excited, but you may have had your first civil exchange with Jon Adamson.

Not quite a miracle, but close to it given their record. Which probably meant she should make an effort to extend the cease fire.

“So, um, how are you finding Melbourne after so long away?”

“Busy. The traffic is nuts. I don’t remember it being this bad.”

“You’ve been away ten years, haven’t you? Melbourne’s grown by about a million people in that time.”

“That would explain it.”

A small silence fell and they both glanced to where Ally and Tyler were serving the meal. To Gabby’s admittedly inexpert eye, it looked as though they were still several minutes away from being rescued by their hosts.

Which meant more small talk was called for.

Over to you, buddy. I did my bit.

“So. It’s your birthday, huh?” Jon finally said.

“Yep. Keeps coming around every year, whether I like it or not.”

“Am I allowed to ask …?”

“Thirty-three. It’s actually on Saturday, but since we’re having the work Christmas party then, Ally wanted to do something tonight so I’d feel special.”

“Sounds like Ally.” There was a softness in his voice when he said the other woman’s name.

“Yeah. She’s pretty great.”

Another silence.

My turn. Think of something. Anything.

But the only thought that popped into her head was that he would have a hell of a time buying a suit off the rack with his broad shoulders.

She took a breath to launch into a discussion about work, but he beat her to it.

“So, Dino was telling me you usually dress up for the Christmas party?”

She gave him a mental elephant stamp for coming up with such a nice, neutral topic. Even they couldn’t go awry talking about this one.

“It’s kind of become a tradition.”

“What are you coming as this year?”

“I was thinking Rudolph. But I’m still toying with the idea of a Christmas tree.”

“What about your girlfriend? Does she get into the whole dressing-up thing?”

Gabby frowned. “I’m sorry?”

She was vaguely aware of Tyler and Ally ferrying dishes to the table.

“Here we go,” Ally said.

“Or aren’t partners invited?” Jon asked, his questioning gaze going from Gabby to Ally to Tyler.

Partners. Girlfriend.

The words circled Gabby’s brain like thought balloons. It took her a full five seconds to join the two together and jump to the only conclusion possible.

“I’m not a lesbian.” It came out sounding a lot more high-pitched and defensive than she would have liked.

Ally’s eyebrows rose as she stared at Jon. “You thought Gabby was gay?”

Tyler laughed. “Bloody hell. Where did you get that idea from?”

Jon’s cheekbones were a dull red. “She mentioned her girlfriend, and I thought …” His gaze went to Gabby’s hair, then dropped below her chin to her body. “I must have got the wrong end of the stick.”

“Girlfriend as in a friend who happens to be a girl,” Gabby said.

She didn’t need a mirror to know she was bright red—she could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Although why she was embarrassed was beyond her—he was the one who had made a fool of himself.

“Sorry. My mistake,” Jon said.

“No kidding,” Gabby said. Talk about a lack of perception.

Tyler was still smiling.

“Tyler. It’s not funny,” Ally chided.

“I know. Sorry. It’s just—Gabby as a lesbian … It boggles the mind.”

“Can we let it drop?” Jon said. The glance he shot her was full of apology.

Great. First he outed her as a lesbian, now he felt sorry for her.

“This looks great, Ally,” she said brightly, picking up her knife and fork. “You know, if you weren’t married, I’d be tempted to nab you for myself.”

Everyone laughed, including Jon. The knot in Gabby’s stomach loosened a little.

“This reminds me of a letter I got last month for the column …” Ally said.

Gabby reached for her water glass as Ally launched into her story. Gabby nodded and laughed and made comments in all the right places, but all the while, behind her smile and her I-couldn’t-care-less demeanor, her mind was whirring, obsessing over Jon’s mistaken assumption.

She told herself that she didn’t care what he thought, that being thought to be gay was not an insult, that some of her best friends were gay. She told herself that his lack of perception said a lot more about him than it did about her. She even got herself to the point where she half believed it—except she kept returning to that significant pause when he’d looked at her hair, then her body before apologizing for getting it wrong.

“Excuse me.” She pushed back her chair and stood.

Hopefully enough time had passed that her leaving the table wouldn’t be read as retreat. Right now she was beyond caring.

The bathroom door closed behind her with a soft click and she crossed the tile floor to stand in front of the full-length mirror mounted beside the old-fashioned tub.

She stared at the woman she saw reflected there, determined to prove to herself once and for all that Jon had his head up his backside.

The woman staring back at her had short, straight dark hair, with a crooked fringe and a pale face utterly devoid of makeup.

Heaps of women have short hair, her inner voice scoffed. Audrey Tatou has short hair, and no one is calling her a lesbian.

As for the no-makeup thing, well, she’d simply gotten out of the habit of it over the past few months. Admittedly, she looked a little … nondescript without it, but, again, it didn’t make her gay.

She dropped her gaze to her body. Her T-shirt was old and stretched out, the fabric swamping her small breasts and bunching unattractively around her waist. Her jeans were cut for comfort rather than style, their fit loose and utilitarian. Her sneakers were old and scuffed, again chosen for comfort over appearance.

Gabby blinked, but it didn’t change what the mirror was telling her. The voice in her head was suspiciously silent.

She looked like a boy.

Was it any wonder that Jon had made assumptions? Really?

She sat on the rim of the tub, feeling shaky. As though someone had pulled a veil from her eyes and forced her to see an unpalatable truth.

When had she stopped caring how she looked?

When had she stopped wearing makeup and going to the hairdresser instead of trimming her own hair with nail scissors? When had she stopped buying sexy underwear and high heels and pretty clothes?

When had she ceased to think of herself as an attractive, sexual being and slipped into this sexless, safe disguise?

She didn’t know the exact date, but she could guess: the moment she’d given up on Tyler. Nearly four years, give or take. Four years of seeing him every day, convincing herself they were better friends than they had ever been lovers and that she’d done the smart thing—the only thing—in breaking off their relationship.

She laughed suddenly as a bitter irony hit her: she’d broken up with Tyler to protect herself, but he was the one who had moved on. He’d found love, while Gabby, apparently, had been marking time.

A wellspring of emotion tightened the back of her throat. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids. If she started crying, she’d never stop. And there was no way she was going to hide in the bathroom and cry at her own birthday party while her ex and his new wife fretted about her on the other side of the door.

No. Freaking. Way.

She took an unsteady breath, then another. She stood and shook out her hands.

“Come on, princess. Get it together.”

She tried out a smile in the mirror. It looked more like a grimace than a smile, but it would have to do.

Then she threw back her shoulders, straightened her spine and opened the bathroom door.

She had a birthday party to survive, after all.

JON SHOOK HIS HEAD AS TYLER offered to refill his wineglass, his brother only belatedly noticing that Jon hadn’t finished his first glass yet.

“Driving,” Jon said at Tyler’s enquiring look.

Tyler didn’t say anything, but Jon guessed from the dawning understanding in his brother’s eyes that they would be having a conversation about his abstinence in the near future.

Great. Exactly what he wanted. Not.

He glanced toward the hall for the second time in as many minutes, very aware that Gabby had been gone for a long time. Judging by their casual demeanors, neither Tyler nor Ally seemed to find her extended absence unusual but they were still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage, totally wrapped up in one another. They probably wouldn’t notice if Jon jumped on the table and started doing the chicken dance.

It was possible he wouldn’t have noticed Gabby’s absence, either, had he not been sitting next to her. He’d felt her tense when he’d asked about her girlfriend. And even though she’d brushed off his assumption and made a joke about it, he’d felt her continuing tension. She’d practically vibrated with it, like a plucked harp string.

He’d hurt her feelings. Unintentionally, but the result was the same. He might be a lot of things, and she might be a pain in the ass, but if he could take back the moment, he would.

He was about to suggest Ally go in search of her absent guest when Gabby returned. Jon studied her face as she sat. She was wearing a polite social smile but he could see the unhappiness behind her eyes.

Damn.

He was going to have to apologize. Not that he hadn’t already done so, but clearly he was going to have to try again.

He reached for his glass, his fingers closing around the stem. Only when he was carrying the wine to his mouth did he register what he was doing. He reversed the action without drinking.

Two months. That was how long he’d sentenced himself to abstinence. Not because he truly believed he had a drinking problem, more to prove to himself that he could stop if he wanted to.

It occurred to him that a guy who didn’t have a drinking problem should be finding it a hell of a lot easier to go without than he had the past few days. Certainly he probably shouldn’t keep catching himself fantasizing about grabbing a six-pack on the way home from work, or imagining the warm creep of alcohol stealing over his body and numbing his mind.

“So, Jon, what’s this mysterious apartment you’re staying in like? Tyler tells me it’s around the corner from the workshop,” Ally said, drawing his thoughts back to the moment.

“It’s a serviced apartment. Nothing mysterious about it that I can see,” he said.

“Great. Then I guess the coast is clear for Tyler and I to come over for dinner one night soon.” Ally had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

He was well aware that his sister-in-law was quietly campaigning for a closer relationship between him and his brother. It was never going to happen, for a variety of reasons, but Ally would realize that soon enough on her own without him pointing it out to her.

“Sure. As long as you like take-out pizza.”

“You’re as bad as Gabby,” Tyler said. “I swear I was never that pathetic when I was single.”

“Isn’t there a rule about not dissing a person on their birthday?” Gabby said.

“No. And even if there was, it’s not until Saturday, so I’m in the clear,” Tyler said.

“I can cook,” Gabby said.

“Ditto,” Jon said, because he figured he owed it to her to provide backup.

“Microwaving frozen meals doesn’t count,” Ally said.

“Toast does,” Jon said. There was an echo, and he realized Gabby had said the same thing simultaneously.

She glanced at him, disconcerted. He offered her a faint smile. Not too big, since he didn’t want to push his luck.

Her gaze became frosty.

He was still in her black books, then. It figured. She hadn’t liked him much before he’d got her sexuality wrong—she would probably go home and burn an effigy of him in her yard after tonight’s events.

Ally served lemon cheesecake for dessert—Gabby’s favorite, apparently—and they all watched as Gabby dutifully blew out the single candle. They moved to the couches while Tyler prepared coffees with their shiny new espresso machine.

Jon’s gaze kept drifting to the wall clock, trying to calculate when it would be acceptable for him to leave. Immediately after coffee? Or would that mark him as the crassest of social boors?

He jiggled his leg impatiently, willing Tyler to hurry. Once the coffee was ready, Jon gulped his down while it was still too hot and earned himself a burned tongue for his troubles. Finally he decided he must be in the clear and made his excuses.

It wasn’t until he was on the porch, the door closed behind him that he remembered he’d planned to apologize to Gabby again.

He turned, raising his hand to knock, but lowered it without doing so. The least he could do was apologize in private, save Gabby a rehashing of what had obviously been an embarrassing moment.

He’d have to find a few minutes alone with her at work tomorrow. No doubt she’d find some way to give him a hard time. But he’d do the right thing because, contrary to what she obviously believed, he wasn’t a bad guy.

IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT BY THE time Gabby let herself into her apartment. She threw her bag onto the couch and checked her answering machine—nothing—then walked to her bedroom and into the ensuite.

Flicking on the light, she gave herself a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before beginning her nightly ritual. First, she washed her face, then patted it dry and smoothed a lightly scented moisturizer onto her face, neck and shoulders. She switched to almond-scented body lotion for her arms, hands and legs, working it in with long, smooth strokes.

At least you didn’t give up everything. Apparently, you still care if your skin is nice.

Her hands stilled on her calf. Somehow, she’d managed to keep a lid on her emotions. But now she was in the safety of her own home and it was time to come clean with herself.

More than time—about four years overdue, in fact.

She straightened, and for the second time that night she stared at her own image in the mirror, trying to understand herself.

Was she still in love with Tyler? Was that what all this was about? Had she been kidding herself for years when all along she’d been holding a candle, pining, hoping?

Dear God. Please don’t let me be that woman. Please don’t let me be that pathetic.

She didn’t want it to be true. But the facts were pretty damned convincing. She’d gone on exactly one date since she’d broken up with Tyler. One date in four years. And it wasn’t through lack of invitations, either. She’d had her share of admirers in those first few years of being single again. She couldn’t remember what excuses she’d come up with for not accepting any of the offers to see a movie or go out for dinner. She simply hadn’t been interested, and eventually the offers had dried up.

If she was being honest, she’d have to admit she hadn’t really noticed or cared. She’d been too busy organizing Tyler’s business—whipping it into shape when she first came on board then doing all she could to help lift him to the next level in subsequent years. Too busy recasting herself as Tyler’s faithful sidekick, the sexless, tireless little buddy who never let him down.

What did you think was going to happen—that he’d admire your skill with a balance sheet so much that he’d finally fall all the way in love with you?

Because, of course, Tyler had never loved her the way she’d loved him.

It still hurt, even after all these years. She turned her back on her reflection, unwilling to play witness to her own unhappiness. Which pretty much answered the big question, didn’t it?

She brushed her teeth, staring at the tile wall. Once she was finished, she walked into the bedroom and stripped to her underwear. Kicking her clothes into the corner, she crawled beneath the covers.

The sheets were cool against her skin and she shivered as she waited for them to warm, legs drawn up, arms pulled tightly to her chest.

On nights such as these, she used to make Tyler spoon her from behind, the heat of his body like a furnace against her back. She’d loved feeling his warm breath on the nape of her neck, loved having one of his strong arms wrapped around her. Tyler had always moved in his sleep, however—he’d liked to spread out, to have his own space. Nine times out of ten she’d woken to find their positions reversed, him curling away from her while she clung to his back, her body molded to his.

Chasing him, needing him, even in her sleep.

She made a distressed sound and burrowed deeper into the pillow. It didn’t stop the tears from coming. Four years’ worth, pushed down deep.

The truth was, she’d never allowed herself to grieve for Tyler. She’d been too busy being tough. Moving on. Assuring him there were no hard feelings and that they’d still be a part of each other’s lives. She’d convinced herself that she’d done all her grieving beforehand, before she’d made the painful, wrenching decision to call things off between them. She’d been so sure she had it all together, that she was on top of it.

More fool her.

Her pillow was getting wet. She rolled onto her back. The sound of her sobs seemed very loud in her quiet bedroom. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes down her temples into her hair. She pressed her palms to her sternum and pushed, willing the ache to go away.

She didn’t want to still love Tyler. She didn’t want to be this weak and tragic.

Dear God, if Mom could see me now, she’d kick my backside into the middle of next week.

The thought prompted a hiccuping laugh. Gabby sniffed noisily, then sat up and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

She’d been raised by a fiercely independent woman who’d prided herself on never needing anyone—men being at the very top of that list. Divorced from Gabby’s father when Gabby was only two years old and her sister, Angela, barely one, Rachel Wade had thrown herself into single motherhood like an Amazonian warrior. She’d taught herself how to change fuses, tap washers and car tires and had hammered into her daughters from the moment they were old enough to understand that they always had to stand on their own two feet and that no one could ever make them unhappy unless they allowed it.

Nice in theory, but often not so great in practice, as Gabby and her sister had discovered many times over the years.

Fortunately for Gabby, her mother was halfway around the world at present, living her dream of working and traveling through Europe.

Still, the thought of her mother was enough to make Gabby reach for the box of tissues. She blew her nose, mopped her eyes dry. Then she switched pillows and lay down and tried to go to sleep.

There wasn’t much else she could do, after all. She’d been in love before—Billy Harrison when she was seventeen, Gareth Devenish when she was in her early twenties. Neither of them had been as important in her life as Tyler was, but both experiences had taught her that there was no willing away a broken heart. She would simply have to wait the pain out.

It’s been four years. How long do you freaking want?

A good question. A scary one, too, because she’d already wasted four years longing for something she could never have.

She fell asleep late and woke early. The first thing she did was walk to her wardrobe and throw the doors open. She had to dig deep to get past jeans and yet more jeans, but after a few minutes she pulled out her black leather miniskirt and her stiletto ankle boots. A rummage in her chest of drawers produced the tight orange tank that through some mysterious trick of design managed to give her cleavage. In the shower, she shaved her legs and her armpits, washed and conditioned and exfoliated. Then she smoothed on body lotion and pulled out her make-up bag. Twenty minutes later she inspected herself in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door.

She’d always had good legs, and her backside was a nice shape, neat and round and perky. The boots and the skirt she’d chosen made the most of her two best assets, while the tank and push-up bra worked their magic upstairs.

Jon was going to eat his words when he saw her this morning. He was going to take one look at her in this outfit and realize how wrong he’d been about her. He was going to—

Gabby froze in the act of spritzing on her most expensive perfume as it occurred to her that, as well as all those other things, he was going to know that she’d done all this—the legs, the hair, the makeup, the clothes—for him. To prove something to him. Because she cared what he thought.

“Damn it.”

Annoyed with herself, Gabby stripped. Dressed only in her underwear, she pushed hangers out of the way until finally, at the back of the wardrobe, she found what she was looking for—a pair of shapeless cargo pants she kept for really dirty work. The top shelf yielded the box with her Doc Martens boots, a relic from her teen years. She was stumped for a moment with regard to the top, but then inspiration struck and she grinned. Throwing herself across the bed, she grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed.

“Jen, it’s Gabby. Sorry it’s so early, but I need to borrow something …”

No way was she going to let Jon think that she cared what he thought or said. No. Way.

JON WOKE BATHED IN SWEAT, HIS heart racing. It took a full five seconds to work out where he was and that he’d been dreaming.

He let out a sigh and lifted a hand to his face. His skin felt clammy and cold. Throwing back the covers, he stood and walked out of the bedroom and into the apartment’s living space. He poured coffee into a fresh filter and turned on the coffee machine.

Hard to work out what was worse—suffering broken sleep from the nightmares that had become his almost nightly companions since he’d given up drinking or waking with a thundering hangover.

This morning’s dream had been a doozy—his father storming up the hallway of their family home toward him, the thick leather belt he favored for beatings clutched in one hand. Tyler’s whimpers of fear from behind him. No sign of his mother, although Jon knew she should be there, that she should be the one standing between them and the monster bearing down on them. The almost overwhelming urge to run had gripped him. The need to abandon Tyler and run, run, run to save himself. And then, finally, he’d been hit with the dawning, horrible knowledge that there was no escape, that there was nothing he could do to save himself or his brother.

Really restful stuff. The kind of stuff that made a guy want to spring out of bed whistling a tune, ready to head out into the day to rub shoulders with his fellow man.

The carafe was full. He grabbed a cup, poured coffee, stirred in sugar. Mug in hand, he wandered over to the sliding doors that led out onto his tiny balcony. He glanced at the redbrick wall opposite, then changed his mind about going outside. The lack of view hadn’t bothered him when he’d taken the place, but the looming wall that filled every window was starting to get on his nerves.

No one’s forcing you to stay. Book a ticket, get on a plane. Go find someplace with no memories, no ties. No expectations.

It was what he’d wind up doing eventually, he was sure. But he wasn’t ready to go. Not yet.

He wasn’t sure what was holding him back. But soon enough he’d get over whatever it was, pack his meager belongings and head off to a new start somewhere.

Downing the last of his coffee, he dumped the mug in the sink and went to shower. It was early, but he might as well be at work as here.

Half an hour later, he pulled into the parking lot at T.A. Furniture Designs. Belatedly it occurred to him that he’d left the key in his jeans from yesterday—then he spotted the red car parked close to the building.

Gabby. It figured she’d be the first in. If there was an employee equivalent of teacher’s pet, she was it.

Still, it would give him a chance to apologize to her again without the risk of the guys overhearing. He’d get it out of the way, then he and Gabby could go back to pistols at ten paces or whatever it was they did whenever they were in the same room.

He locked his truck and strode to the entrance. He pressed the doorbell that had been provided for after-hours visitors and waited. When no one came after a couple of minutes, he knocked and tried the bell again.

A few seconds later the workshop door swung open and Gabby walked through. The good-natured smile on her face faded when she recognized him through the glass. His gaze took in first her T-shirt, then her baggy combat fatigues and finally her chunky punk rocker boots as she strode toward him. Lastly, he focused on her hair, which had been parted to one side and gelled into a shiny brown helmet of asexual hair.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Exactly how long do you think it takes to walk from the back room to the front door?”

His gaze dipped to the image of k.d. lang printed across her chest. “Nice T-shirt.”

He wasn’t stupid—he knew a challenge when he saw one—and he couldn’t hide the smile curving his lips a moment longer.

“What’s so funny?”

He patted her on the shoulder as he moved past her. “I’m flattered you went to so much trouble for me. I didn’t realize you cared.”

He heard her quick intake of breath.

“Please. I know you think you’re the center of the universe and God’s gift to women, but you’re not the center of my world, Jon Adamson. Maybe it’s time to get over yourself.”

He waited while she finished her little speech. Then he grabbed the price tag that was still dangling from her collar, tugging it free.

“Must have been hard to find that T-shirt on such short notice. Like I said, it’s nice to know you care.”

He dropped the tag into her hand. He’d delivered the perfect exit line and the script called for him to walk away now. But he couldn’t resist hanging around to see her reaction. Maybe it made him a little twisted, but he was starting to enjoy these sparring sessions.

She looked at the tag in her hand, then slowly raised her gaze to his. He was all set to savor his victory, but she shifted slightly and a shaft of sunlight hit her face, catching her eyes and glinting off the earrings that Tyler and Ally had given her.

He blinked.

Ally was way off base—Gabby’s eyes were far richer than the gemstones sparkling at her ears. He didn’t even have a name for the warm golden tone of her irises. Cognac? Honey? Amber? None of them seemed adequate. Set off by long, dark lashes, they were hands down, no questions asked, the most arresting, beautiful eyes he’d ever gazed into. No mineral composite dug out of the ground was ever going to do them justice.

The silence stretched between them. Jon realized he was staring, but couldn’t make himself stop.

“I suppose you think you’re pretty clever,” she said.

“No.”

For the life of him he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then she stepped out of the sunlight and his brain came back online.

“I want to apologize,” he said. “For last night. For the whole gay/lesbian thing.”

Her mouth tightened. “You already said sorry. It was a misunderstanding. I get it.”

He looked at k.d. lang again. “Do you?”

She pulled her keys from the lock and dropped them into the pocket of her baggy pants.

“You done? Because I’ve got work to do.” She turned on her heel. He grabbed her elbow. She stilled, then narrowed those incredible eyes.

How had he not noticed them before? He must have been blind.

“I really am sorry, Gabby. I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but I didn’t mean to embarrass or hurt you last night.”

He felt her stiffen. She shook off his hand.

“I wasn’t embarrassed. And you certainly didn’t hurt me. I barely know you. Why would I care what you think of me?”

She was so damned prickly. He bet the word gracious wasn’t even in her vocabulary.

“You know, I have no idea. Just like I have no idea why I even bothered to apologize again. You go ahead and enjoy your indignation. I’m sure it’s very satisfying.” He walked away from her.

“Fine. I accept your apology,” she called after him.

“Good. Great.” He pushed through the swinging door with more verve than strictly necessary.

The door swung sharply back, cutting off anything she might have been about to say. He stood in the silent workshop for a long beat, trying to rein in his temper.

What was it about her that pissed him off so much? Even when he tried to be nice they wound up fighting. She took everything he said the wrong way, even his apologies.

He simply didn’t get it.

The door opened and Gabby entered. She didn’t look at him as she marched toward her office. He watched her straight spine, then he shrugged.

So what if she didn’t like him? He wasn’t one of those people who had to have everyone love him. He was a big boy. He could live with her animosity. It wasn’t as though it was forever, after all. A few months from now, he’d be somewhere else and she’d be nothing but a fading memory, notable only for her defensiveness and fantastic eyes.

He turned his back on her. He had work to do.