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and Blake was done for. Which was actually quite surprising. And endearing. Gabby hadn’t pegged him for the sensitive type, but he certainly melted for his son, which was actually pretty attractive. She gave him a once-over, cataloging every detail of his honed form with fresh eyes.
    Running a heavy hand over his face, the corners of Blake’s eyes pinched, and his full lips thinned as if he’d tasted something sour. “I insist,” he told Gabby through clenched teeth. “It’ll give Ash here a chance to show you some of his best work, and,” he tacked on, his tone holding a bitter edge, “maybe it’ll show you that I’m not the piece of trash biker you take me as.”
    Gabby’s eyes widened, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. “I didn’t—I mean I don’t—I never said—”
    Blake’s gaze flicked toward her mother standing just beyond her shoulder, and then back to her. “Didn’t need to be said to be understood. Look, come to the barbeque, have a plate. Maybe it’ll change your perspective. Maybe it won’t.” He shrugged as if it made no difference to him one way or the other.
    Giving her no time to object, he rattled off the address—a place she was, thankfully, familiar with, because he didn’t seem inclined to write it down—and time. Without another word, Blake ushered Ash away, and Gabby was left contemplating what her next move would be.
    “Well, he seemed…”
    “Nice?” Gabby offered, thinking that Blake Mahone, even in an intense state of irritation, had actually seemed more civil than she’d known him to be during their previous encounters.
    “I was going to say rough, but he didn’t kill us so…”
    “I highly doubt he’s a killer, Mom.” Doubts crept in as soon as the words left her mouth.
    “You aren’t thinking of taking him up on his offer, are you?”
    Gabby stared down the aisle in the direction Blake and Ash had gone. Was she considering it? Maybe a cookout wouldn’t be so bad. It was just food and talking. Blake hinted that she had the wrong idea about him. What if she did? A part of her wanted to see for herself if he was right. The other part of her was mildly aware that she was making up excuses to go.
    “You are considering it, aren’t you?”
    “I don’t know.” Gabby felt a margin of shame wash over her when she looked back at her mother, expecting a verbal tongue lashing for going against what her parents had taught her.
    Instead, her mother just shrugged. “Whatever you decide, just don’t mention it to your father.” Then she dropped a pint of store brand ice cream into the cart. “Ready when you are.”

FIVE
     
    Gabby stared up at the quaint, two-story clapboard house surrounded by at least an acre of land and enough cars, trucks, and motorcycles to fill a stadium and cursed. “What the hell are you doing here, Gabby?”
    At least it wasn’t at one of those cliché compounds with a garage out back. Even so, she knew it wasn’t a good idea to come even as she dressed for the occasion and climbed into her car. She even gave herself several outs, starting with staying up late the night before in hopes of having a headache that would leave her bedridden the next morning. No such luck. Thanks to a power surge, her alarm reset and never went off, so she got more than enough rest to set her to rights.
    So she asked her dad if he wanted any help in the garden, knowing his arthritis had been acting up as of late and he was putting down fertilizer. But he’d stanchly refused, wishing to be left alone. She wasn’t sure what had crawled up his ass, but when he got in one of his moods, it was best to give him a wide berth.
    Out of sheer desperation, Gabby made one last-ditch effort and appealed to her mother, who, last she’d checked, didn’t have much fondness for “modern men.” She thought Gabby’s generation had lost their way, forgetting their manners and how to be generally good people. With the exception of Gabby, of course.
    She was