Page 63 of Miss Manage

Chapter Thirty-Six

CHARLOTTE

Icouldn’t do this.

Here it was Friday night after work, and I was panicking. I’d packed and unpacked my overnight bag twice, and now I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen, my heart thudding. The idea of him in his kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, a bottle of wine open, and looking at me with a smile.

God, it was tempting. Tempting in a way that made me want to believe him when he said after the next two weeks, whatever decision was made, we could weather it. I hoped it was true.

And that was exactly the problem. Hope had the potential to wound.

Especially when I could feel myself, against all better judgment, falling for the man.

A date tonight, Austin’s game tomorrow—suddenly everything felt too much, too fast.

So I forced my fingers to move and typed the lamest excuse I could muster:

I have some things to finish up for work tonight and won’t be able to make dinner. Sorry.

The typing bubble popped up instantly. I braced myself for pushback, for him to call me out on being a chicken. But then the bubble disappeared. Nothing came through.

Silence.

Relief should’ve followed. Instead, disappointment curled tight in my chest. God help me, I couldn’t have it both ways. I couldn’t want him and shove him away at the same time.

The phone buzzed again, lighting up the darkened room with a one-line response.

I’ll come to you.

I told myself I was irritated by his refusal to take a hint, but the truth was in the relief I felt about seeing him again tonight.

Twenty minutes later, I was still at my laptop, pointlessly typing out email replies to keep my hands busy, when a knock rattled my front door. I stood and smoothed down my knit sweater and leggings, my comfortable outfit of choice for the evening.

I pulled open the door and froze.

Gabriel stood on my porch, not in one of his made-to-measure suits but in worn jeans and a soft black T-shirt clinging in all the right ways. He balanced an open cardboard box with one arm with foil-covered dishes inside. The scent of tomato and garlic wrapped around me instantly.

“Food delivery.” He held up the box with a crooked grin.

My throat went dry. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Maybe not.” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, moving through my house with easy confidence. He set the box on the kitchen counter as if he belonged there. “Baked ziti and garlic bread. You and Austin can help yourselves whenever.”

I crossed my arms, a flimsy attempt at keeping up a defense. “You’re not annoyed with me cancelling?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Annoyed that you panicked and backed out because the idea of an actual date and letting me in on a deeper level scared you?” His eyes caught mine, sharp and knowing. “Not even a little.”

My cheeks warmed. How could he read me so easily?

He closed the distance between us before I could retreat, leaning down just enough that his breath ghosted across the curve of my neck.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” he murmured, the low rumble of his voice sinking right through me, “patience has never been my strong suit.”

His fingers brushed my chin, and he tilted my face up until his gaze locked mine in place. “But for you, I’ll learn to go at your pace. Because you’re worth it.”

My stomach dipped. The part of me that was all soft edges ached at the sincerity in his tone. The other part of me remembered exactly what it had cost the last time I’d mixed love and career screamed at me to build the walls back up.

“Gabe…” My voice cracked, betraying me.