The Choice - Nicholas Sparks [51]
But he’s not here, the voice insisted. Will you tell Kevin about your little dinner for two?
“Definitely. I’ll definitely tell him,” she muttered, trying to quiet the little voice. There were times when she absolutely hated the little voice. The little voice sounded like her mother.
Thus decided, she looked at herself one last time in the mirror and, pleased with what she saw, slipped out the patio door and started across the lawn.
As Gabby weaved her way between the hedges and appeared at the edge of the lawn, Travis caught the movement from the corner of his eye and found himself staring unabashedly as she approached. When she stepped onto the deck, he felt a strange shift in the atmosphere, catching him off guard.
“Hey,” she said simply. “How long until dinner?”
“A couple of minutes,” he answered. “Your timing is perfect.”
She peeked at the skewered shrimp and brightly colored peppers and onions. As if on cue, her stomach grumbled. “Wow,” she murmured, hoping he didn’t hear it. “They look great.”
“Do you want anything to drink?” He gestured toward the opposite end of the deck. “I think there’s some beer and soda left over in the cooler.”
As she crossed the deck, Travis tried to ignore the gentle sway of her hips, wondering what had gotten into him. He watched as she flipped open the lid, rummaged through the cooler, and pulled out two beers. When she returned to hand him one, he felt her fingers graze his. He twisted open the cap and took a long pull, looking down the line of the bottle at her. In the silence, she stared at the water. The sun, hovering over the tree line, was still bright, but its heat had diminished and shadows were gradually stretching across the lawn.
“This is why I bought my place,” she finally said. “For views like this.”
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” He realized that he was watching her as he said it and forced away the subconscious implications. He cleared his throat. “How’s Molly?”
“She seems fine. She was sleeping when I checked on her.” She looked around. “Where’s Moby?”
“I think he wandered around the front. He got bored with my cooking once he realized I wasn’t about to offer him any scraps.”
“He eats shrimp?”
“He eats anything.”
“Discriminating,” she said with a wink. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not really. Unless you want to grab some plates from the kitchen.”
“Be happy to.” She nodded. “Where are they, exactly?”
“In the cupboard to the left of the sink. Oh, and the pineapple, too. It’s on the counter. And the knife. It should be right there.”
“Be back in a minute.”
“And would you mind bringing some silverware, too? It’s in the drawer near the dishwasher.”
As soon as she turned to enter the house, Travis found himself studying her. There was definitely something about Gabby that interested him. It wasn’t simply that she was attractive; there were pretty women everywhere. There was something about her straightforward intelligence and unforced humor that suggested a grounded sense of right and wrong. Beauty and earthy common sense were a rare combination, yet he doubted she was even aware she possessed it.
By the time she emerged, the kabobs were ready. He loaded a couple on each plate along with some slices of pineapple, and they took their seats at the table. Beyond them, the slow-moving creek reflected the sky like a mirror, the stillness broken only by a flock of starlings passing overhead.
“This is delicious,” she said.
“Thank you.”
She took a sip of her beer and motioned to the boat. “Are you going out again tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so. Tomorrow I’ll probably go riding.”
“Horseback riding?”
He shook his head. “Motorcycle. When I was in college, I bought a beat-up 1983 Honda Shadow with the goal of restoring it and turning it around for a quick