It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to dig into the details of Gabe’s life.
It was another hour before he surfaced. She’d cleaned up her dishes and cut the brownies and wrapped them in foil and was running water into the empty pan when he padded barefoot into the kitchen. He had on jeans and a San Diego Padres T-shirt. “Morning,” he said lazily.
Felicity shut off the water. “Good morning. Sleep well?”
“I dreamed about badgers.”
“It happens.” She pointed at his T-shirt. “I thought you were a die-hard Red Sox fan.”
“I am. This was a gift from a Padres fan.”
“I see. Provocative if you plan to wear it in Knights Bridge.”
He grinned at her, and she went about putting on another pot of coffee. He offered to help, but she shook her head. She didn’t need him buzzing around her. He was distracting enough as he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. The muscles in his arms, the fall of his shirt over his flat abdomen, the hug of his jeans on his thighs. Yeah, distracting enough.
“Who’s the Padres fan?” she asked casually, trying to redirect her thoughts.
“Guy who bought my company. He’s from San Diego, but he lives in LA now. I didn’t dare put it on yesterday. I’m having work done on my condo. The painters probably would have let me live, but I don’t know about Shannon. You remember her? Shannon Rivera. She’s my assistant.”
“I do remember her. She’s stood with you through thick and thin.”
“That kind of loyalty is a good quality,” he said.
Felicity didn’t detect any sarcasm or bitterness in his voice but still felt a pang at his words. At the time, he’d been starting a company—the one he’d just sold—and she’d intruded on his intense night-and-day schedule with her own problems. She’d met Shannon Rivera once, briefly—a super-organized, professional, personable and hard-working force behind Gabe and his high energy, multiplicity of ideas and impatience.
“Shannon didn’t stay with the company after you sold it?” Felicity asked, flipping the switch to start the coffeemaker.
“She didn’t want to. She’d have gotten a different job, but I still need an assistant while I figure out what’s next.”
“So the boot camp came up while you’re at a loose end.”
“You could say that.”
Felicity leaned back against the counter by the sink. Sunlight streamed through the windows. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“You don’t have to wait on me, Felicity.”
“You’re my guest.”
“Your uninvited guest.”
“Once I agreed to put you up in my guest room, you became invited.” She thought that sounded diplomatic and pointed to the refrigerator. “I’ve got yogurt, eggs, cereal, English muffins, sunflower butter—”
“Sunflower butter?”
“My nephew’s allergic to peanuts. He doesn’t eat tree nuts, either, so it’s safer for me to have sunflower butter. I keep anything with nuts segregated.”
Gabe put his feet up on another chair and sat back, making himself at home. “Little Max, right? Sorry to hear that. He’s what—four or five now?”
“Five. He starts kindergarten this fall. He has a baby sister now. She just turned two.”
“What’s her name?”
“Elizabeth.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Why so curt?”
“I’m not being curt.”
At least, she hadn’t realized she’d been curt. He’d shared her excitement when Max had been born. He’d missed Elizabeth’s birth entirely. He hadn’t been around when Max’s allergy to peanuts had developed. Her choice, his choice. Nothing to do about it now. There was no unwinding the clock even if they’d wanted to.
“You haven’t told me what you want for breakfast,” she said.
“An English muffin and scrambled eggs, which I can make.” He paused, eyeing her. “Max was a cute little guy. I imagine your niece is, too. Do they call her Elizabeth?”
“Lizzie.”
“Must be nice being closer to them now that you live in Knights Bridge.”
“It is.” She sighed, dropping her hands to her sides. “Sorry. I appreciate your interest in my family. I’ll make your breakfast. I don’t mind. I know where things are, and you’re my guest.” She motioned toward the stove. “I’ll get started.”
“Thank you.” He yawned again. “I’ll set the table.”
She got a frying pan out from a lower cupboard and set it on the stove. In a moment, she had butter melting, eggs cracked in bowl, a touch of water added, fresh chives snipped from the pot in the window—all under Gabe’s watchful gaze as he got dishes from a cupboard.
“What are your plans for today?” she asked as she grabbed a whisk from a pottery container by the stove.
“I’m meeting Mark and Jess at the mill. What about you?”
“I’m working. I’ll drive out to Carriage Hill at some point to take a closer look at Olivia’s inn, but I don’t foresee any problems. She and Dylan have so many irons in the fire—they seem to be having a great time. Olivia and Dylan are figuring out the details of the boot camp, adventure travel and the inn as they go along. They’re not waiting for everything to be perfect.”
“Smart approach.”
“When it works. When it doesn’t, people lecture you about being in debt and getting fired.” She kept her tone light. “Sometimes it’s hard to know if you’re on the right path and just need to keep pushing forward, or if you’re on the wrong path and need to—I don’t know. Do something else.”
Gabe kept his gaze on her. “No comment, since you’re making my breakfast.”
“Ah, yes, I can add all sorts of things to your eggs without your knowing—but I wouldn’t, of course. I’m a good hostess. Anyway, Carriage
