Page 18 of Husband Material
I kept my eyes on the road, unsure how I was supposed to manage it after that comment sailed off her lovely lips, but luckily we were almost to the gardens. Everything about Giselle had me on full alert and aware of our…connection. Whether either of us could admit there was aconnectionwas pointless. Because it was definitely present in every exchange between us, spoken or otherwise. The staring contests, the smiles, the laughs, the teasing, the gentle scolding—all part of what pieced us together. It was so unexpected...and refreshing.
I tried paying for both of us once we made our way inside, but Giselle managed to sneak her own admission when I wasn't looking.
"Is that how they do things in France?" I asked, frowning at her insolent little smirk because she'd messed with my plans. "The women pay for everything?"
"Maybe."
My hand closed around her waist as I whispered in her ear, "Don't make me pick you up and carry you there myself as punishment."
She gave me a look that was a little bit teasing and a little bit defiant—and really fucking sexy. "And if I scream and shout for police?"
"I don't know about that. Police here in America aren't the same as in France."
She laughed. "That I do not doubt."
Growing up in Charleston, I'd been to the Gardens at least twenty times over the years, but with Giselle it felt new to me. She had a knack for pointing out the beauty of our natural surroundings—flower, tree, and sky alike—in a way that made me see it with more color. More…vitality.
By the time we'd reached the willow trees, we were both hot and ready to take a break. The shady spot, along with the picnic basket I'd ordered waiting for us on a blanket, was a welcome sight. It was the first time I'd ever arranged a picnic, and I figured I should do it right if I was going to do it at all. Giselle dropped down onto the blanket with so much enthusiasm her hat fell off. I caught it with my hand and handed it back to her. "I hope there is food in that big basket because I am starved. The flowers were a beautiful distraction, but this looks just as lovely to me right now."
"I agree," I said, only I wasn't referring to our scenic spotorthe picnic basket. "Why don't you open it and find out."
I could watch her for hours and not get bored. It was the truth. And even though it still shocked the hell out of me, I didn't try to make excuses for the things I felt that I couldn't even name. Honestly, feeling anything at all for a woman I'd known for all of two days was something I never saw coming.
She took my suggestion and opened the lid, revealing wine, cheese, a collection of fruit and other delicious things topped off with a baguette broken in two. "You didn't!" Giselle's delight—her transparent joy—over something as simple as a packed picnic basket only made me want to do more things like this for her. I should be working. I never would have taken days off like this for Cassidy, but for Giselle… She was unreserved with her smiles, happy with simplicity, and seemed to find the good in everything. I couldn't get enough of her.
I reached over and snagged one half of the baguette and took a big bite. "You're right,Ididn't.Ted's Butcherblockpacked it up for me. And you should be really happy about that because I am certain Ted does one hell of a better job than I ever could."
"Well, I shall be grateful to Ted then, because he has made us a beautiful picnic, but thankyou, for arranging it."
We spent the next hour eating and laughing while we chatted under a huge old willow tree with branches weeping so low we were pretty much under our own private umbrella. I started asking questions, hoping she might finally tell me something about her life. "So, you really are an artist—like as a job?"
With two fingers, she wiped the crumbs from her lips and swallowed before responding. "Yes, I really am an artist. Now, do not mistake me, I do not, exactly, ‘live large’ as you say. But what I do earn is enough to get by."
"How old are you?"
She giggled. "Even I know that asking a lady her age is afaux pasin any language, but I don't mind telling you I am recently turned twenty-four."
So young. Younger than I thought.
"Apologies for my breach of manners, but I'm just curious how someone so young can be so carefree and yet certain of what they want to do." There was something about Giselle that was so diverse and sophysical.Like a wild creature in its natural habitat. Except her natural habitat was everywhere. She knew where she wanted to be and she just…went there.
"What?" she teased with a gentle prod into my ribs. "Is it so surprising in America to see someone doing what they actually want to?"
"A little bit, yes," I admitted. "But I think it's a dying trend though, just chasing safe jobs. Anyway, I do what I like, mostly."
Nibbling on the edge of a triangle of cheese, she looked up with interest. "What is it you do that youmostlylike, Gage?"
"I'm a commercial architect, and a partner in a gin distillery with two brothers I've known all my life. I am not as involved in the gin business as my partners, Reeve and Reid Greymont, but my name is on the label."
"Like gin to drink? You make it? What is the name of this special gin, so I can buy it?"
"You don't have to do that. I'll give you a tour of the plant sometime if you're interested. Greymont-Danielson is the name, but our label shows a turquoise ‘G’ and ‘D’ on a hexagon bottle."
"Oh my God, that is you, G & D Gin? You are the ‘D’ with…Danielson? I have seen it in the shops."
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm in involved with the Charleston plant with Reid. There's a larger one in Wilmington that his brother, Reeve runs. But I am an architect by trade…" I trailed off, not sure why beyond the fact I was in the wide-open outdoors, but yet talking about work felt like the walls were closing in on me.
"And why do youmostlylike what you do?" Giselle missed nothing in conversation I'd noticed. She was an excellent listener and very easy to talk to, so the words sort of tumbled out of my mouth.
