Page 11 of Good Guy Gabe

To cover my chest.

Because my arms were covering them until my brain thought it was more important to cover my face.

“You have to go,” he says with a scowl. “You made the quilt.”

I let out a nervous laugh, unsure if I should cover my boobs myself, but he didn’t leave space for my hands there. If I put mine over his, I’m basically making him grope me.

Perish the thought.

“Vendors don’t go to these sorts of things.”

“You said you’d go with me. I asked if you wanted me to pick you up, and you said yes.”

He’s so giant that even with the platform and the heels, I’m only a few inches above him. But he starts to look incredibly small, like he’s deflating before my very eyes.

There’s nothing more terrifying to me than a society function in Wilmington. This is the sort of event that attracts money and influence. A decade ago, my husband surely would have wanted us to go, and I would have loved an excuse to don a pageant gown.

The thought now has my lungs tightening, my breaths going shallow as I shrink back, replacing his hands with my arm once more. Still, I feel bad for Gabe as I say, “I meant the quilt. I thought you meant the quilt.”

“Right, well.” He doesn’t say anything else, just bends down in his nice tux and his polished shoes to pick up a small box he must have dropped to catch me. It contains a corsage matching the boutonniere I’m only now noticing on his jacket. It’s simple but elegant and modern, a sprig of orchids with a bit of green.

The flower projects I have framed in my studio, the two central ones, they’re both orchids.

I gnaw at my bottom lip as I exchange a look with Cora.

“Wait!” she pipes up. “She’d love to go!”

I don’t have a dress! I mouth at her, but Gabe is already returning, this time looking cautiously hopeful.

“Honey, you’re in a dress.”

“I am in a skirt. I really don’t think Gabe wants to hold my chest all evening!”

Gabe wisely stays quiet as, from the bottom of the stairs, Tilly yells, “I’m all over that boning!”

“This is for your show,” I remind Cora. “I can’t—” I look back to Gabe. “I’m sorry, I sound like I don’t want to go with you. That’s not true. But this is for Cora’s runway next month.”

“I’ll make it different colors,” Cora says.

Gabe holds up the corsage. “You match the flower.”

I look down at myself as though I’m not surrounded by mirrors and haven’t been in this for the past hour. Both thebustier and ruffly, asymmetrical skirt are colorblocked in white and fuchsia. I really do match it.

“But you can sayno, I won’t be offended,” Gabe adds.

But he will be. Or, he should be. It all clicks now; he’s been hanging out in my stream to get to know me as best as he can. Cora was right. He did it as appropriately as he could. He’s a good guy.

I shoot a desperate look to Cora. “It’s in Wilmington.”

Cora’s lips thin down. She approaches Gabe, and it’s impossible not to notice how gigantic he is when Cora, barely five feet and thin as a breeze, faces him.

“You need to protect her.”

Gabe recoils. “I wouldneverhurt her.”

“It’s not you. It’s the world.”

Puzzlement crosses his features, but he shakes it away like it doesn’t matter why I need protection. It’s enough for him to know I do. He fluffs up his chest, taking up the entire room with his presence. “I will protect her with my life.”

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