Best Laid Plans

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gabe promptly stuffs the Tupperware under his shirt.

Shaw stops a few feet from me, lifting his chin. “Hey, Arden. What will it take for you to bring me some treats?” He waggles his eyebrows. “What did this fucker do to deserve some?”

No way am I going to tell Shaw—or anyone for that matter—how Gabe earned all the treats in the world, so I offer up another truth. “He bought a book from my store. Wait. Correction. Many books.”

“Ah, so that’s the trick. Maybe if I buy a tale or two sometime, you’ll make me something tasty?”

Gabe claps him on the back, shaking his head. “You’d have to learn to read, then, Shaw. I know that’ll be mighty tough for you.”

“Just like two plus two is for you.” Shaw flips him the bird as he returns to the other side of the truck.

Once Shaw is gone, Gabe frees the Tupperware from its hiding place. “I’ll savor these, and maybe if I’m feeling generous, I’ll dole some out to the guys. But that’s highly unlikely since I’m a greedy bastard when it comes to delicious goodies. Which means I also ought to thank you for giving me new inspiration to run ten miles.”

“Are you going to run off every single cookie-dough pretzel?” I ask, laughing.

“Every damn one. I believe in working out so I can both save lives and never ever have to count calories.”

“That’s because you can’t count,” Shaw shouts.

Gabe rolls his eyes, sets a hand on my back, and walks me down the sidewalk, farther away from the guys. He opens the Tupperware and takes a bite of a pretzel. He rolls his eyes and moans in pleasure, and the sound of his appreciation sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. Or perhaps it’s not so unexpected, given how I reacted to the brief touch, then to his sexy tone.

“Holy shit. These are criminally good,” Gabe says.

I beam. “I’m so glad you like them.” Then I clear my throat and lower my voice so my next words are definitely only for us. Part of my thank you. “Also, if you ever need anything . . .” I say, and before it veers into coming-on-to-him territory, I pick up the pace, “like a book, or a crossword puzzle, or a wine recommendation, let me know.” And that might still sound like a pickup line. He probably thinks I’m an emotional wreck anyway, so it’s best to let him know I’m not trying to make a move. “As friends. If you need a friend.”

My nerves somersault. I’m twenty-nine, and I just asked a guy to be friends with me. That’s not normal, is it? That’s either awkward or weird or . . . nice.

I shudder at the last one.

But Gabe seems to make everything look simple. He motions for me to come closer. “Do you like Words with Friends?”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Like gin loves tonic.”

All the nerves fly away.

We exchange handles—MustLoveBooks for me, and CurveballorBust for him—and he thanks me once more for the treats, holding my gaze. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

And that’s exactly what it becomes over the next year, proving there’s nothing at all wrong with being nice, since that’s how we met—him being nice to me, and being nice in return.

Except I can’t shake the feeling that being nice isn’t all there is, especially when I start to feel I might like a little naughty.





5





Gabe





One year later



“Your mom was here earlier. Let me see if Michael is ready for another visitor,” the redheaded nurse tells me.

“Thanks, Darla,” I say, and she gives me a flirty little sway of her hips as she heads down the hall of the assisted living home. I park myself in a leather chair in the fifth-floor lobby and return to the game on my phone.

I scan the board quickly, eyeing the possibilities. R. I tap my chin. Something with an R. Or a C. Or maybe . . .

I smile. Devilishly, I’m sure. Because I’m going to mess with Arden. Peering down the hallway, I see no sign of the nurse, so I open the chat with MustLoveBooks.



Gabe: Is R-A-B-E a word?





Arden: As in broccoli rabe? Yes. Whether it should be considered a food is debatable though.





Gabe: What in the holy hell is broccoli rabe? Why isn’t it just broccoli? Why do we need to keep adding things to vegetables?





Arden: Don’t you know? Vegetables now must be hipster hybrids of other vegetables. Also, rabe is the stalky, leafy part of the vegetable, if you want to get technical.





Gabe: You mean the part of the veggie that should go in the recycling bin?





Arden: Let me guess. You hate broccolini too.





Gabe: I’m not fooled by broccolini. If someone can’t tell that word is a patent ruse to trick people into thinking broccoli is cute, they’re a fool.





Arden: Obviously, you’re no fool. You are a broccoli hater though. Now c’mon, play a word. A customer just walked in, and if my book-buying radar is still top-notch, I’m predicting he snags a hardback of the new Koontz.





Gabe: If you’re right, bowling is on me.





As I planned all along, I form a word with my kickass bank of letters, and I swear I can hear her jaw dropping as I play—BROCCOLI.



Arden: You tricked me by building off my C!! I thought you were spelling RABE.





Gabe: Rabe is child’s play. blows on fingers





Arden: And you used all your letters! You know I have to pay for bowling now. That trumps everything else.





Gabe: Oh, well, what do you know? I did play all my letters.





Arden: Also, the customer has the new Koontz tucked under his arm.





Gabe: Damn, you’re sharp. But close is only good in horseshoes. Bowling’s still on you.





I exit the app when the thunk of Darla’s shoes grows louder. She turns the corner and wiggles her fingers, giving me come-hither eyes, too, as she’s done for the last few visits. “I’ll take you to Suite 505 now.”

Once I stand, she sets a hand on my arm, even though I know precisely where Suite 505 is since I’ve been visiting its resident as often as possible for a year now.