Page 42 of Tempest

“What are you sorry about?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why did you?”

“Because for hours today, I watched you wrap an entire house full of people around your finger by doing nothing but just being you. Those guys aren’t easily impressed, everyone there is accomplished in their own right, and every single one was completely enamored by you. Did you have a single conversation today that didn’t have you and the person you were speaking to laughing?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “That’s just conversation, though.”

“Sure, for some, but not everyone. You strode in and dove right into the deep end like you’ve lived there your whole life. All while dressed incredibly sexy but not in a way that made you seem unapproachable or that had the other women jealous. I’m not sure you know what a feat that is.”

“I have lived in similar settings for a long time now. It’s not that difficult to navigate when you know what you’re doing. That doesn’t explain the kiss.”

“I’d say I couldn’t help myself, even though I know that makes me sound like a giant asshole. I crossed a line you’ve been clear about. I apologize. Next time, I’ll make you beg for it.”

“That’s never…” I say, but he interrupts.

“What are you sorry about?”

Initially, I was apologizing for anything I might have done to give him false hope, or an impression that I was looking for more from him. Now…

“I don’t think I’m sorry, after all,” I say, leaving a little petulance in my voice. “And for the record, I never beg.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, as I turn to watch out the window. “We need to stop by my place. I forgot to grab your gift before I came to pick you up.”

“You don’t need to get me gifts, Gavin.”

“I wanted to, Odette. Some things I’m not going to ask permission for.”

“Like all the flowers you’ve sent?”

“Yep, just like that.”

“Has anyone ever told you how insufferable you are?”

“No, but you can as much as you want to,” he says.

He parks in the driveway and once again tells me to stay put so he can open my door for me. The house is newer, an ultra-modern build that is unexpected with its stark paint, clean lines, and no outside embellishment.

“I didn’t picture you living in a place so…posh.”

“You imagined where I lived?” he asks with a sly smile. “Come on in, it’s not as unwelcoming inside.”

He’s right, I realize when we step inside. It’s decorated with overstuffed furniture in warm colors. It’s cozy and quaint but still somehow works with the architecture.

“Tori helped you decorate,” I guess.

“I gave her a budget; she basically did the rest,” he says. “In here.”

He walks into the kitchen, stopping when he arrives at the shiny white countertop. A large wicker basket sits there, a bounty of baked goods spilling over the top.

“What is this?”

“Bread, blueberry muffins, apple cinnamon muffins, snickerdoodle cookies, vanilla scones,” he says, pointing to the various items. “All gluten free and organic. I was very careful with the ingredients.”

“You made all this?”

“Yeah, and a few other things that tasted like shit and got thrown out. These all turned out pretty good, though. You can freeze some, so they’ll last longer.”

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