Deliver the Moon Read online

  “Does he know you’re here?” Gabe asked at the same time.

  Louisa’s eyes narrowed. These two were so maddening. “Evan doesn’t own me. I don’t need to know what he’s doing every second of every day, and he doesn’t need to know the same about me.” Her words were very defensive, she knew, and so did they by the glance they exchanged.

  With a grin tugging at his mouth, Gabe said, “Come on, there are refreshments and coffee over here.” He hooked Gram’s hand through his arm and his other hand grazed Louisa’s elbow as he guided them across the room, but he might as well have been hanging all over her, because every pore, every inch of her body was aware of him beside her.

  “I’m surprised you came,” he murmured to Louisa, pouring coffee from an elegant silver server.

  “I probably shouldn’t have.” She took the coffee from him, not quite able to meet his gaze. He could always read too much in her eyes.

  “No, you probably shouldn’t have.”

  Something in his voice made her glance up at him. She expected to see a hint of suggestion on his face, like the way he used to look at her. But his eyes just looked so…sad. He was one of those people whose eyes turned down slightly at the outer corners anyway, but it was more than that. He—

  “Excuse me, Gabe?” An artsy-looking older man with a slick gray ponytail interrupted them. “May I speak with you a moment?” His voice carried a thick British accent.

  “Sure,” Gabe said, then turned and motioned to Gram who had taken a seat with her coffee. “Frances Hargrove, meet Cedric Bowman. He and his son own this gallery.” He put a hand on Louisa’s shoulder. “Cedric, this is Mrs. Hargrove’s grand-daughter, Louisa D’Angelo.”

  Louisa hoped she wouldn’t be quizzed on the man’s name later, because she was too focused on the sensation of Gabe’s fingers on her shoulder to have heard the introduction.

  Cedric’s manners were as impeccable as Gabe’s, as he focused on the elderly woman first, taking Gram’s hand and leaning over to kiss the weathered skin. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hargrove.”

  Gram actually blushed.

  He turned to Louisa. “D’Angelo? A sister or cousin, perhaps?”

  “They used to be married,” Gram said loudly, and Louisa blushed, avoiding Gabe’s eyes.

  Cedric peered harder at Louisa and took her hand. “Well, it is nice that you two are on good terms. Unfortunately, that’s rare these days.”

  Gabe gave Louisa’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Have a look around.”

  The gallery owner’s words floated through her mind. Were she and Gabe on good terms? They weren’t really on any terms, good or bad. All she knew was that, despite everything and crazy as it sounded, it was good to see him.

  “My goodness, but he’s a fine looking man,” Gram mumbled.

  “Hmm? Who?” Louisa asked, staring after Gabe. He’d followed Cedric upstairs, and she could see him in the loft, right behind the railing. The gallery owner was showing him some papers and was smiling. Gabe listened intently without so much as a smirk. He never was quick to smile, she so well recalled.

  “The Pope,” Gram snapped. “I’m talking about Gabe, you silly girl.”

  Louisa didn’t say anything, but continued to stare at Gabe. Yes, he was most definitely a fine-looking man. Knowing she wouldn’t be caught, she let her gaze skim over his body. He wore beige trousers and a button-down burgundy shirt, the clothes complementing his new muscularity. He didn’t look like a starving artist anymore.

  She also liked how he’d cut his hair. It was still a little long in back, right below the collar. If he didn’t have such thick waves, it would certainly hang lower. She’d never minded his ponytail, but this look was better on him. Before, while he’d certainly looked the part of an artist with long hair, the free-spirit attitude suggested by a ponytail never matched his personality.

  Gabe was definitely not a free spirit. In fact, she’d once told him he had a brooding quality about him, that he reminded her of a Heathcliffe or a Rochester. He’d laughed and criticized her for romanticizing what was simply a reflection of his hard life before meeting her.

  She picked up a cookie, biting into it as she watched him. He glanced down and caught her staring. He didn’t smile, but gave her one of his intense looks. A brooding look, she thought with a grin.

  “That’s a mighty long perusing you’re giving your ex-husband, missie,” Gram remarked.

  Louisa blushed. “Like you said, Gram. He’s a fine-looking man. Come on. Let’s look around.”

  Gabe’s photographs hung on charcoal dividers, placed strategically around the room. Louisa’s first glimpse of his work startled her. She’d been expecting the dark, haunting portraits that had made him famous. From the time she’d first met him, he’d been drawn to taking photos of the dark side of life, the downtrodden, images of stark reality. His work with World Geographic Magazine, his brutal yet honest portrayal from war-torn countries, had brought him fame and probably fortune.

  But these photos were different from what she was used to. The invitation she’d received called these series of photos “Rebirth.” The first one she approached was of a family. Like his work of old, this family looked homeless, their faces thin and gaunt, hunger raging on their haggard bodies. Behind them lay what was left of a town—piles of rubble, litter, abandoned vehicles. But there the similarities to Gabe’s old work ended. These people didn’t look hopeless and scared as one might expect. The man had his arm around the woman, who held a young boy. Only the child looked into the camera, a slight lift to the tiny mouth. The man was looking at the woman, and the woman at the child. And love shone in their eyes, along with a proud determination that seemed to jump out of the picture, telling all who viewed it that this family might be down and out, their country might be in ruins, but they had all they needed. Each other.

  Louisa touched her throat, deeply moved by the image in front of her.

  “Love can overcome the greatest odds,” Gram whispered beside her.

  They moved on to the other photographs. Each and every one of them caught a moment which should have been stark and helpless, but Gabe had brought out the human side of these people. And in every one of them, a starburst was somewhere to be found. On one, it was the reflection in a mud puddle. On another, it was on the glare of a broken window. Sometimes it was obvious, other times it wasn’t. Louisa found herself moving from picture to picture, trying to find the starburst. Kind of like a spiritual Where’s Waldo? search.

  “So? What do you think?” Gabe’s voice was right behind her.

  Louisa blushed, having been so intent on the photographs that she hadn’t heard him approach. “Your work is very surprising, Gabriel.” Her voice cracked.

  Gram chuckled softly.

  “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “You know I’ve always loved your work. But this—” She swept her arm to encompass the room. “This is not what I’m used to from you. It’s almost—I hate to say it—spiritual.” She waited for him to laugh or scold her.

  He did neither. “I’ve changed, Lou,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “Is, um, Cedric happy with the opening so far? Is it a success?” She warned him with her eyes not to continue the other path of conversation.

  Gabe stared at her a long moment, his gaze narrowed, then he shrugged. “It’s hard to say, but a lot more people showed up than we’d expected.”

  “Have you made any sales yet?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything, necessarily. Most pieces in this price range are bought by collectors. They’ll either send someone in to scope out the work or they’ll do it during a less hectic time. Tonight is mainly for show, for recognition.”

  “Then you probably should be mingling, shouldn’t you? Gram and I don’t want to hog all of your time.”

  “Believe me, Lou, I’d much rather give you and Gram a personal tour than small talk with people I’ve never met and will probably never see agai
n.”

  “You still hate this kind of thing, don’t you?”

  “With a passion.”

  He took Gram’s arm, and Louisa’s skin tingled in anticipation of him taking her arm, too.

  He didn’t.

  “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the exhibit.”

  As he talked to them about his work, answering their questions, Louisa couldn’t help but remember the early days in their relationship. The good old days. Many of their dates had consisted of going to museums or gallery openings, because neither of them had money.

  Even though she’d always been interested in art, she’d never truly appreciated it until she met Gabe. He taught her it didn’t matter if the artist was well known or if his or her work was considered “great.” He always said truly great art was that which delighted one’s heart and mind, and every person would have his or her own opinion of what is great. That simple philosophy changed her whole perspective when visiting museums. Before, she’d forced herself to spend time in front of pieces she should like because the work or the artist was famous. Now, if something didn’t catch her eye in some way, she moved on.

  Evan didn’t share her and Gabe’s feelings about what was “great” and what was not. He was an avid art collector and prided himself on the original works and limited editions hanging on his penthouse walls. He judged a piece solely on the basis of what it was worth. If it didn’t cost a fortune, it was worthless. He readily admitted some of the pieces in his collection were ugly. Still, he insisted on hanging them and pointing them out to guests whenever he entertained.

  “I’m happy you’ve done so well for yourself,” Louisa said. She was a little sad she hadn’t been around when he’d finally made it. She could have been.

  But he’d chosen to do it on his own.

  ****

  “You really should be more social,” Louisa told Gabe after they’d toured the entire show.

  He waved off her comment.

  “Really,” she said. “These people didn’t just come to see your work, they came to see you.”

  “So?”

  “So…” She faced him squarely, hands on hips. “This isn’t just about art, Mr. D’Angelo. It’s about marketing yourself. If you’re rude to them, they’ll be less likely to buy anything.”

  “Funny, I don’t remember signing up for this lecture.” He nudged her in the shoulder.

  She ignored the butterflies that danced through her gut from that simple gesture and touched his sleeve. “See that woman over there in the tight blue skirt? She’s the art critic for the morning paper. Go talk to her.”

  He groaned. “Lou, I hate this kind of thing. You know that.”

  “I know, but go over there anyway. I’m going to see how Gram’s doing.” Her gaze found her grandmother where she’d left her. Cedric Bowman sat on the bench beside her. The man’s deep chuckle and Gram’s throaty cackle floated through the crowd.

  “Oh, I guess Gram’s okay,” Louisa said, turning to grab Gabe’s arm. “Come on. I’ve met that critic before. I’ll introduce you.”

  By the end of the evening, she’d made sure he’d met and small-talked with every person who came through the gallery doors. And she’d bet he’d won a favorable review from her art critic friend.

  “Have you two had dinner yet?” Gabe asked her and Gram when things had wrapped up. “I’ve been dining alone for almost a week and would love the company.”

  Louisa knew him well enough to know he didn’t mind being alone. That had been part of their problem. As much as she was tempted to agree to the invitation, a bigger part of her knew it would be unwise.

  “Are you paying?” Gram asked him.

  Gabe chuckled. “You bet.”

  Louisa hung back. “Oh, I don’t know. I really should get home.” Spending more time with Gabe wasn’t the smartest thing to do. “I have some work to—”

  “She’s absolutely right. We should get home,” Gram agreed, surprising them. “I’m really not into restaurant dining anyway. Gabe, how about if Louisa whips us up something at her place?”

  Louisa blinked. Gabe over to her house? For dinner? What was Gram thinking? It was way too suggestive, too—

  “A home-cooked meal sounds great.” He pulled open the door just as they were hailed from behind.

  “Frances Hargrove. Are you playing hard to get?”

  They turned to see Cedric strolling across the polished wood floors.

  “You’d wanted to see our other collections, remember? I told you I’d take you home afterward. Remember?”

  Gram’s eyes widened. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” She slapped her forehead. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m rather forgetful these days.” Turning to Louisa and Gabe, she said, “I’m sorry, kids. You’ll have to do dinner without me.”

  Louisa hurriedly said, “Oh, we don’t mind waiting, do we, Gabe?” Gram’s moment of surprise and sudden enthusiasm were a bit unsettling.

  Louisa could’ve sworn Gram winked at Gabe. A nervous twitch probably. “Actually,” he said, “I’m famished. Gram’s in good hands. Cedric will bring her safely home.”

  Having dinner with Gabe was cause enough for panic. But being alone with him at her place…“Gram!” She grabbed the old woman’s arm. “You were just saying how tired you were. You really shouldn’t be staying out late—”

  Gram slapped Louisa’s arm with her purse.

  “Ouch!”

  “Watch your tongue, missie. I’m not dead yet. Besides, did you ever think that maybe Mr., um—” she struggled to remember his last name, “Mr. Man here and I don’t want you two hanging around? Did you think that?” Her shrewd gaze swept over her granddaughter. “No, I can see you didn’t. Now shoo. Both of you.”

  Chapter Four

  Gabe’s rental car approached Seattle’s Queen Anne Hill as he followed Louisa’s directions to her home.

  “Are you sure we can trust this Cedric person to bring Gram home okay?” she asked. “I mean, Gram’s old and—”

  “She’s not a child you have to worry about leaving in the care of a sitter, Lou. She’s a grown woman. She’ll be fine. And, yes, Cedric’s a great guy. I’ve known him and his son for years. He’s been widowed for some time.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? You don’t think he’s hitting on Gram, do you?”

  Gabe shrugged, grinning. “Who knows, but that’d be great, wouldn’t it?”

  “Gabriel, she’s almost 85 years old.”

  “So?” He shot her a warning glance. “Like she said, she’s not dead yet.”

  Not much had changed in this old neighborhood in the years he’d been gone. Same stately 19th century architecture, same affluent mansions. He noticed some trendy-looking new restaurants and businesses, a few more modern buildings, yet the area still managed to keep its welcoming, community atmosphere.

  He and Louisa had spent countless hours exploring the area on foot, countless hours making out at Kerry Park.

  Don’t go there.

  “You live close to your parents?” he asked, relieved to hear normalcy in his voice.

  “I, uh, sort of live at their house,” she said. She clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap.

  “Sort of?”

  She’d always depended too much on her parents—both financially and emotionally. That had been another of their problems.

  “Remember the place my parents built for Gram, the little apartment behind the garage? That’s mine now. They made Gram move to the main house where they could keep a better eye on her.”

  Gabe pulled the car into the alley beside the Rhodes’ residence. Louisa immediately jumped out and headed toward her little home, clearly agitated to spend time alone with him. He supposed he couldn’t blame her.

  With a sigh, he climbed out of the car and followed a red-graveled path to Louisa’s front door. The little building was tucked into the backyard, within view of the Rhodes’ house except for the ivy-covered maple tree between the two buildings. Ju
st as he remembered, the yard was perfectly manicured, looking like something in a magazine of award-winning gardens.

  The Tudor-style home was just as big as he remembered and just as imposing. His memories of this place weren’t fond ones. He’d never felt welcome here, even though Louisa insisted he was.

  After unlocking the door, she stood aside for him to enter. She flicked on the light, bathing the room in a soft amber glow.

  “So…when did you move back here?” he asked. She was basically living at home again. It really didn’t surprise him.

  She dropped her purse on the daybed and seemed intent on not looking at him. “After…you left, I was fired from my job because I couldn’t…Well, I wasn’t my old self, and they needed someone more stable, I guess. I, uh, couldn’t afford to keep our old apartment without a job, so my parents offered me this place free of rent until I could get my feet back on the ground.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve been meaning to move out for some time now, but…” She shrugged and looked away.

  Didn’t he feel like the world’s biggest asshole? She was only living here because of him. She’d lost her job because of him. She’d lost everything because of him. “Lou,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  “I should change.” She yanked clothes out of her closet.

  “I don’t have to stay.”

  She stopped what she was doing but didn’t turn around.

  “I know you didn’t expect Gram to invite me for dinner,” he said, “and now that she’s not even—”

  She gave a nervous-sounding laugh. “Gram didn’t realize I have nothing but leftover spaghetti to offer you, but…I’m not going to send you away at this time of evening without dinner. That is, if you don’t mind leftovers.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She headed to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. “You can make yourself useful and turn the oven on for the French bread.” She shot him another wary glance before closing the bathroom door.

  After doing what she’d asked, Gabe took off his tie and released the first couple of buttons on his shirt. Her home was very small, with one main room, a tiny kitchen, and even tinier bathroom off the far wall. But she’d decorated it in a cozy, friendly way. It looked like Louisa, very cheery with splashes of bright color here and there and very practical with a quilt- and pillow-covered daybed that appeared to double as a couch. A wall of bookshelves, heavy with books of every imaginable title and subject, told him this was definitely Louisa’s place.