Margene’s distinctive whistle echoed down the hallway.
“She can’t catch me in here,” Edie said in a panic, shoving the craft bag back into her oversized purse. “She’ll know that I warned you.”
“She always goes to the break room first. Hide behind the door. When I open it, I’ll keep you hidden and her busy while you make a break for it.” I gripped her arm again. “Don’t look back. No matter what you hear, make a run for it and don’t look back.”
Edie nodded.
I was up, out of my chair and opening the door before Margene could reach us. “Hey, Margene. You’re early today.”
“Gotta get some stuff done. Where’re you going?”
“To get more coffee. That’s where you were headed, right?” I said a little louder than usual as we continued walking.
“Yep. After that, there’s something I wanna talk to you about.” She stopped and grinned at me when we were in the break room. “Something fun.”
The door chime dinged.
Margene whirled around. “Wonder who that could be?”
“No one,” I lied. “Probably just the wind. It’s been a phantom menace lately.”
Blank look.
Nolan would’ve laughed at my Star Wars pun.
Margene shrugged and I relaxed that Edie had gotten away.
I wasn’t so lucky.
LATER THAT NIGHT . . .
ME: I accidentally outed us to your mother today.
NL: Good.
ME: Nolan, you have to tell her we’re together and act surprised when she acts like she doesn’t know or karma will make us break up over something stupid.
NL: DALLAS GIVE GABRIELLA BACK HER PHONE THIS ISN’T FUNNY.
ME: Ha. Good one. I’m serious though.
NL: No prob. I’ll tell her when we go over the LCCO event numbers Friday morning. What did you and my mom talk about?
ME: It’s a secret. But I will tell you I like her.
NL: If the two of you are already swapping secrets then she likes you too.
ME:
NL: When do you get done with your hockey clinic this weekend?
ME: Saturday. Mid-afternoon.
NL: I want you to spend the weekend with me. At my house.
ME: Charming. For REAL?
NL: Yes.
ME: I’d be honored. That wasn’t me being flip.
NL: I know. Sending you the address now.
ME: Does that mean I won’t hear from you until then?
NL: I’ll text you when I can. Think of me. Miss me. Send me tit pics.
ME: NO WAY
NL:
Twenty-Three
GABI
Nolan’s place wasn’t anything like I expected.
First of all, it was an actual house, not a luxury apartment with skyscraper views.
And it was in the suburbs—St. Louis Park to be exact.
He’d instructed me to follow the driveway up and around the back of the house since there wasn’t parking on the street. The angle was so steep I wondered how he got out during the long Minnesota winters. Maybe he had one of those fancy heated driveways that kept ice from forming. Or maybe he hired a company to clear his driveway after every snowstorm. Or maybe he hired a car service to pick him up.
The fact I was contemplating the logistics of snow removal in his life indicated my nervousness at being here.
I parked off to the side of the three-car garage and looked up at the place Nolan Lund called home.
Quirky was the first word that came to mind. It wasn’t sleek and modern with glass and metal architectural details. The entire place was built out of cream-colored bricks. The main entrance had a ranch house–style vibe, huge front door and a low-slung roofline that rose half a story higher than the long garage. The left side of the house, which faced the street, had been dug into the steep hillside and appeared to be two stories—but was only half a story higher than the main entrance, giving the entire structure a staggered look.
Grabbing my bag, I exited my truck and walked to the curved brick path leading to the front. Now that I was right upon the door, I could see that it was painted a vibrant blue with shiny enamel paint. On each side of the door were wide panels of square glass bricks in a milky pale blue hue that created a beautiful, funky transition between the door and house.
Before I could ring the doorbell, the door swung open.
And there was my man. Dark hair tousled and damp from his shower. Gorgeous face cleanly shaven. Wearing a slate-gray cashmere V-necked sweater that did amazing things for his eyes, and dark jeans.
“Hey, you’re here,” he said warmly, “please come in.”
After I stood in the foyer and he closed the door, a rare