Chapter Three
Gianna tossed and turned all night, thinking about the things Gunnar said to her. He was like a different person now, the kind she’d always wished he would have been when they were together. He was open and honest, communicative, willing to be vulnerable. Too bad it was too little, too late.
He was sitting at her kitchen island, on the phone, telling someone he didn’t know when he’d be home, that he needed some time to work things out. He needed to “take a break from life” for a while, he said.
She considered backtracking out of the room so he could finish his conversation in private, but the girls would be down for breakfast in a few minutes and she didn’t want them to be late or go to school on an empty stomach, so she offered him a small wave and a smile as she walked past.
He’d brewed a fresh pot of coffee and she poured herself a cup before assembling the ingredients for homemade pancakes. She could feel his eyes on her as he continued his conversation while she measured and mixed ingredients in a stainless steel bowl while heating the griddle on the gas stovetop.
“I love watching you do that.”
She’d heard him end his call, but hadn’t turned around. His raspy voice gave her pause, reminding her of a long-ago time when he’d woken her up by whispering naughty suggestions in her ear.
“What? Make breakfast?” she asked, trying to remain calm. Though their attraction had always been undeniable, she was determined to downplay it. “I’m sure. I haven’t forgotten how much you love to eat.”
He chuckled and she heard him pad across the slate tile floor on his way to the coffee maker, which just happened to be right next to her. “Food doesn’t taste the same to me anymore, because you didn’t make it.” His eyes lingered on her bare lips as he leaned against the counter next to her, watching… waiting. “Coffee doesn’t taste the same,” he said softly, raising his cup. “Because you didn’t brew it.” He shifted slightly, his body facing hers. “Our sheets don’t smell the same because your perfume is long gone.”
She sucked in a breath she was certain he’d heard before pouring the batter on the hot griddle. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” he asked, glancing at the bubbling hotcakes. “Telling you how much I miss having you in my life? It’s true.”
“Sure, you miss me.” She rolled her eyes, trying not to let his words affect you. “You miss having me to cook for you, do your laundry—”
“I have a housekeeper who does those things,” he argued. “I miss you. Everything about you. And us.”
“You only miss me because I’m gone.” She blinked back the tears that threatened, reminding herself she didn’t love this man anymore. His words shouldn’t have any impact on her. Yet they did. “If I were still there, you’d barely notice.”
“Is that really what you think?” he asked, brushing a wave away from her face. “That I didn’t notice you? I noticed every little thing about you, Gi. Those silly little pink slippers you wore every time you got out of the bath. The fact you wore your favorite baseball team’s shirt every time they played, thinking it would bring them luck.” He grinned when she blushed. “The fact that you’d listen to our song, the one I wrote for you right after we met, every time you were missing me.”
Damn him. He was right. “How would you know that? You weren’t even there when I played that song.”
“I walked in a few times when you were playing it. It was usually after I’d been away awhile. The way you hugged and kissed me told me how much you were missing me, how much you needed me.” He leaned in even closer, sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. “God, I miss that. The way you used to greet me when I came home.”
Yeah, and he’d usually carry her off to bed to make up for lost time. He wasn’t the only one who missed those welcome home parties. She did too. Especially when he was standing mere inches away, his hard body brushing hers.
“Morning,” Ramsey said, bounding into the room.
“Hey, sweetie,” Gianna said brightly, cursing inwardly because she’d almost burned their breakfast. “Your sister almost ready?”
“Yeah, I tapped on her bathroom door when I walked past and she said she’d be down in a few.” She grabbed a banana from the bowl of fresh fruit in the middle of the island and began peeling. “Mom, do you have to work today?”
“Yeah, from 10-2,” Gianna said, glancing at the old-fashioned wall clock that came with the house. “Why?”
“No reason.” She smiled at her father. “You’ll still be here when we get home from school, won’t you?”
“If your mom doesn’t mind,” he said, watching Gianna plate the pancakes.
“Suit yourself,” she said, taking a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge along with a bowl of fresh berries for the pancakes.
Gunnar took them from her and placed them on the counter before reaching into the cupboard for plates. “I thought I might go for a jog after breakfast, grab a shower, and then maybe work on a song that’s been doggin’ me.”
“You brought your guitar?” Gianna asked, adding the syrup, butter and whip cream to the mix. She knew Gunnar wouldn’t add fruit to his pancakes.
“Yeah, I thought I might get a bit of work done while I’m all alone. You okay with that, Gi?”
She wanted to ask why he was making himself at home, inherhouse, but for Ramsey’s sake, she smiled. “Sure, whatever.”
***
