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It made sense that he would, given that Adrian, Carly, and Sloane all had the same hard Brooklyn accent and that Adrian had been Carly’s sous-chef for four years. But since Gavin made it a point not to share his own particulars, that usually meant not hearing anybody else’s either.
Adrian’s low chuckle was full of gravel. “She and Carly have been best friends since they were in knee socks, man. It’s kind of tough to know one without the other.”
A picture of Sloane wearing knee socks and one of those infuriatingly sexy short pleated skirts flashed through Gavin’s mind with startling clarity, and he tamped it down with all his might.
“Oh, I, uh, guess so,” he said, clearing his throat. Great. Sleep deprivation was making him insane.
Adrian rolled a thick shoulder, continuing, “I’m surprised she took the job, though. I thought she was writing the great American love story or something.”
The image of the schoolgirl skirt was replaced by that of a floppy blue and white striped sun hat, and Gavin latched onto the quirky image to smooth out his demeanor. “She’s only watching my sister temporarily. Our regular sitter had an emergency.”
“Ah. Well, as off the wall as she seems, Sloane’s all right.” The words were as close to a ringing endorsement as Gavin had ever heard from Adrian, and they sparked his curiosity.
A beat of silence passed, then two before he had to ask, “She takes her career pretty seriously, huh?”
Adrian’s laugh was like a growl without the anger. “Took her long enough to get there, so I guess so.”
His inquiring mind did a slow burn, like embers just waiting for something to engulf in flames. “What’d she do before becoming a writer?”
“More like what didn’t she do. In the time it took me and Carly to move up the ranks as chefs, Sloane’s had some pretty unconventional jobs.”
“More unconventional than writing romance novels?” It wasn’t a dime-a-dozen kind of career, like being an accountant or a doctor or even a restaurant manager. She was definitely the only person he’d ever met to make a living writing steamy books.
“She taught ballroom dancing for a while. Oh, and then she was a hand model. You know, for jewelry circulars and online shopping networks and stuff?” Adrian’s face split into a knowing grin.
The idea of Sloane teaching the waltz to some poor guy whose mother or wife insisted he take dancing lessons seemed kind of unfair. Hell, he wasn’t half-bad in the dance department, and even he was tempted to trip over his imaginary friend at the sight of her.
Gavin cleared his throat. “That’s not so bad,” he said, although he couldn’t deny that his curiosity was now at a full simmer. Adrian’s lifted brows translated to a nonverbalwe’re just getting started.
“She also apprenticed in a glass blowing studio someplace in Arizona, ran deliveries for a bagel shop, and did a stint as a blackjack dealer in Atlantic City.” He broke off with a shrug. “I could go on all day, and I’m probably forgetting half of it.”
Gavin’s curiosity skipped catching fire and went right for spontaneous combustion. “Are you serious?”
Adrian nodded. “As a heart attack, man. That woman is going places even in her sleep.”
Unease nestled into the pit of Gavin’s stomach in a series of sharp pokes. As flighty as she seemed, he hadn’t thought Sloane irresponsible, otherwise he’d never have trusted her to look after Bree. Plus, her literary accomplishments were pretty impressive. Something wasn’t adding up.
“So, she’s just writing to fill the time until the next thing comes along?”
“Nah.” Adrian settled his kitchen-tested black clogs on the floor and stood to stretch. “She’s been writing longer than she did all of the other stuff combined, so my guess is that it’s going to stick. Still moves around like the freaking wind, though. It’s not hard to lose count of all the places she’s lived.”
Sloane’s story about traveling to Florence threaded through Gavin’s mind, and realization dinged him hard. Of course she moved around a lot, single woman with no attachments. Why wouldn’t she? Hell, his life had been the same way just a year and a half ago.
Watching his mother go through surgery and chemo had made it feel as if the intervening months had been ten times that long. Not that he would trade the chance to have spent those precious last days with her, or the opportunity to be with Bree, no matter what it had cost him. In truth, he’d missed them both every time he got on a plane to start up a new restaurant, and as much as Gavin loved his job, the traveling part always took a toll on him. His mom and Bree were the only family he had ever known, and he’d have gladly lost everything, including the shirt off his back, before he’d give up caring for them when it really mattered.
Adrian cracked a grin, examining him so closely that he was tempted to flinch. “Don’t worry about Sloane. Like I said, she’s all right. Worth having on your side. For as long as she’s around, anyway.”
Gavin nodded, swallowing thickly but cementing his standard cool facial expression into place. The last thing he wanted was to let the weird feeling swirling in his gut show on his face. Why should he care about Sloane’s whereabouts? Where she went and how long she stayed—or didn’t stay—was none of his business. “I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”
“No problem. Get some shut-eye. Tonight’s gonna be a killer.”
Adrian pulled the door shut with a tight click, and Gavin sank back into the couch, releasing a slow breath. He’d come in here to find a few minutes of respite to get his head back on straight, but between his restless mind and his churning gut, the chances of it actually happening looked pretty bleak. Cold rain trickled down the window across from the couch, and a stark memory tugged at the corners of his mind, demanding the forefront.
When Bree had angrily compared Sloane to his ex-fiancée, his first instinct had been to laugh. On the surface, the two women were nothing alike. Yes, they were both pretty, career-driven women—Caroline had taken her job as an interior designer for the Gourmet Network’s makeover show,Five Star Restaurant,very seriously—but their personalities seemed like a light, crisp Riesling compared to a full-bodied Merlot. Sure, they were both great wines, but hell if you could find any other similarities.
Gavin closed his eyes, letting the image of Caroline’s blond hair, brown eyes, and petite frame solidify and flood back into his mind’s eye. It had been cold and rainy that night in Philadelphia, when he’d told Caroline he wanted to put off leaving his family. Not just until his mother recovered from her mastectomy, not only to see her through the last-chance round of debilitating chemo, or to hold her too-fragile hand when her oncologist gravely told her it had failed. No, he’d told Caroline. He was done traveling from city to city. He wanted to stay indefinitely.
He wanted to take care of Bree, not just because his mother had begged him to make sure she’d be okay, but because he loved them both, and caring for her felt right. Hell, if he’d been around more often instead of jet-setting all over the planet with his high-profile job, maybe his mother wouldn’t have been too busy to schedule her regular mammogram in the first place. He knew then that he belonged with Bree, as her family, and he’d wanted Caroline to be part of that. To marry him like they’d planned so they could have that family together.
