Gabe (Steele Brothers #6) by Cheryl Douglas Page A

cheek, lingering long enough to breathe in his spicy scent. “I don’t think you will be, but even if you are, it’s my risk to take. No matter what happens, Gabe. I won’t have any regrets.”
     

 

Chapter Seven
    Kendra
     
    I texted Gabe the following day to find out if Jason was working. I could have texted Jason, but I wanted the element of surprise working in my favor when I showed up on his doorstep to demand some answers.
    Rounding the corner, the sweet little two-story we’d bought and fixed up together the first year of our marriage came in to view. I expected to feel some twinge of regret or remorse, looking up at the home I’d loved, but it never came. Sitting in the driveway, I considered the house I was living in now to the home I’d shared with Jason.
    My parent’s rental was utilitarian with the basic creature comforts, but they hadn’t spent a lot of money on cosmetic upgrades. So I’d used a lot of elbow grease to make it feel like home. Thanks to the skills I’d learned working on this house with Jason, I knew how to tile a backsplash, paint, sew curtains, refinish cabinets and furniture, and create a kick-ass garden.
    Now that I knew I wanted to stay in the house, I thought about having a conversation with my parents. Maybe they’d go for a rent-to-own deal, allowing me to purchase the house instead of paying rent. Food for thought. But right now I had to take the next step in my take-back-my-life plan.
    I rang the doorbell, turning to look at the freshly mowed lawn. The gardens needed to be weeded, the shrubs pruned. But that had always been my department, while Jason cut the grass. The fact that he hadn’t taken over my chores was further evidence that he expected me to come back to him.
    “Hey,” he said, smiling when he opened the door. “This is a nice surprise. What’re you doing here?”
    I half-expected to find him entertaining , which wouldn’t have bothered me in the least. In fact, it would have given me the ammunition I needed to convince him this marriage was truly over.
    “Can we talk?” My blood was still boiling after my conversation with Char last night, but I was determined to be civil. “I don’t have a lot of time.” Gesturing to my teal scrubs, I said, “I’m on my lunch break.”
    “Sure, come on in,” he said, stepping back. “Uh, sorry the place is a bit of a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
    There were dirty dishes stacked on the end tables, an open cereal box on the coffee table, and dirty socks on the floor. The TV was blaring: sports highlights. But I didn’t come to critique his housekeeping skills. I came to set him straight.
    “Our daughter seems to think we have a chance of getting back together.” I set my purse down in the foyer, slowly turning to face him. “Why does she think that, Jason?”
    He ran a hand over his disheveled, sandy blond hair before scratching his flat stomach. He was wearing a black Nike T-shirt and black-and-white tyro pants that were streaked with powdered sugar from the pack of mini doughnuts sitting on the table.
    “Uh, I don’t know.”
    I walked farther into the room, noting all of the little touches I’d added to make it feel homier. The framed photos on the mantle, handmade cushions and drapes to soften the kid-friendly leather furniture, and the shaggy area rug that kept little feet warm.
    “I think you do.”
    I crossed my arms, regarding him carefully. He was a handsome man who routinely used that cheeky grin to get him out of trouble. I couldn’t deny it had worked a time or two with me. But not this time. This time I had his number. I was tired of his games and one way or another, I was divorcing him.
    “I think you’re trying to use our daughter to manipulate me.”
    He sighed, throwing his arms up in the air. “Fine, I admit it. I want my family back. Is that so terrible?”
    “Not if I believed that was your only motive.” I’d been so concerned with maintaining a cordial relationship