Overflow: The Carpino Series Read online

  She comes to a dead halt where she’s standing with the refrigerator open and is in the middle of reaching for something. I call to her, “Gabby?”

  She moves again, grabbing a bottle with red stuff in it and an enormous silver bowl. She turns, puts it all on the counter without looking at me and quietly, “Yes, I live alone.”

  Something isn’t right, she doesn’t say anything else and continues to move around the kitchen at a faster pace than before. The investigator in me can’t help it, I move to the island and I press on, “It’s a lot of house for just you. How long have you been here?”

  She again stops with her back to me just on the other side of the island. Turning slowly, with a blank face, she puts her hands on the counter and leans in across from me. During the few times I’ve been around Gabby, she’s either asking me questions out of surprise or ranting about something while tossing her cute as shit attitude around. So when she starts talking without throwing attitude or questioning me in a state of shock, it surprises the hell out of me. She says with zero emotion, “I’ve lived here since I was three and my parents built this house. I’m an only child so when my parents were killed in a car accident about three and a half years ago, they left everything to me and now it’s mine. I know it’s a lot of house for me, I’m updating it slowly, though my hot water heater seemed to have different ideas. Now the basement is on the top of my to-do list and will be done quicker than I had planned. When I finish, I’m going to put it on the market hopefully getting top dollar, as houses in this neighborhood tend to get when they’ve been fully renovated.” She lets out a breath and continues, “So yes, I live here by myself. Well sort of, I have Mia of course.”

  Well that didn’t go like I thought it would. I feel like a dick. She continues to stand there staring up at me emotionless. I don’t like that blank look on her beautiful face and I’m pissed at myself for putting it there. Wanting to do something, anything, to change that look, I make a quick decision and turn to move around the island. Once I close in, I know I’ve chosen well because she turns slightly to face me and once again she treats me to her shocked as shit look I’m beginning to not only find cute, but down right sexy. Relieved her blank look is history, I move in as close as I dare, as close as I can without touching her body with mine like I want. I put one hand down to the side to lean on the edge of the island and move my other to her face. She jerks slightly, surprised by my touch, but then stills. I feel her soft skin and move my hand back, over her ear and into her heavy but soft hair, which is softer than I imagined. I barely tighten my grip and she responds by tilting her head back. I look straight into her blue eyes and say, “I’m sorry you lost your parents, sugar, and I’m sorry you’re here by yourself.” I hear her take in a breath and then she closes her eyes. I give the back of her head a squeeze and she opens her eyes at my silent command. “I’m an ass, I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

  She barely shakes her head whispering back, “That’s okay, Jude. You didn’t know.”

  Then, shocking me in a whole new way, she moves her eyes down to my mouth and then back up to my eyes. Fucking hell, I want to kiss her but don’t want our first kiss to be right after I prove to her I can be a jackass.

  Not wanting to let her go, but knowing I should, I opt for something in the middle.

  I let my hand slide through her hair, lightly down her back, finally letting it rest on her lower hip and inform her, “We should go. And I’m not following you. You’re comin with me.”

  She pulls in a deep breath again and this time I can feel her breath softly on my neck when she exhales breathing, “Okay.”

  I tighten my hold on her hip, “Get your stuff together, Gabby. Do you need help with anything?” She finally steps back forcing my arm to drop, I let go of her even though I don’t want to and she forces herself back to reality.

  “I just need to get my shoes, grab my salad and dessert then I should be ready. If you could carry that bowl, I’d appreciate it,” she mutters and turns to disappear into a side hallway which I can only assume leads to her bedroom.

  I move to pick up the bowl and turn to look around her house again, seeing it differently this time. This time is seems massive, too big, too much for Gabrielle Carpino to be shouldering by herself. Knowing what she just shared about her life, she seems even more vulnerable than she did fifteen minutes ago. Although she seemed a bit overwhelmed, she handled her flooded basement this morning without too much drama, appearing to have adjusted to bearing what life has handed her. But now she seems more alone than ever to me and I realize I’m no longer just curious about this woman. Making a decision I haven’t made in a long time, I decide that I want to know everything there is to know about Gabrielle Carpino. As I’m standing in her big ass house knowing what little I already know of her, that want feels more like a need. A need that I intend to start filling immediately.

  Hearing her come back through the room, having taken too long just to get a pair of shoes, now wearing a pair of black flip flops, she apologizes, “Sorry to make you wait.”

  “It’s okay, Gabby,” I return, watching her grab the bottle and a platter covered in foil.

  “We can go out the garage if you don’t mind. I need to set the alarm,” she says, moving toward a back hallway and I follow her into a room that clearly leads to the garage. I look around and immediately start to take in all I can about Gabrielle Carpino. There are lots of cabinets and counter tops on one side with a built in desk. On the wall behind the desk is a bulletin board with a mass of pictures of what looks to be Gabby with friends and little kids who must be important to her. On the other side of the wide room is a bench with baskets and shit underneath with hooks above. There is another door that leads to a darkened room but I can tell there is a washer, dryer and sink.

  Gabby grabs her purse off a hook, hesitates while looking up at me with a new look, a nervous look and says while scrunching her nose, “Mia likes to go, too, do you mind?”

  I look down at her ridiculous dog with the stupid bows in its hair, obviously excited because she thinks she’s gonna get to go somewhere. I look back up at Gabby, slowly shaking my head no, but find myself giving her what she wants saying, “Sure, why not?”

  But this time I’m gifted with yet another new look from Gabby as she smiles huge, genuinely lighting up her face like I just handed her the world in the palm of my hand as she looks up at me and exclaims, “Thanks!” Looking back down at the dog, she keeps on, “C’mon baby, let’s go to Aunt Lizzie’s house!” My chest warms and I find myself immobile with the look she gifted me with just for telling her the damn dog can come with us. I find myself thinking I need to get my shit together at the same time wondering what else I can do to make her that happy again.

  The dog, receiving affirmation that she gets to go, starts attacking the door. Gabby arms the security system, which I hope is a fucking good one, and the beeps snap me out of my reverie. We both head out the door and into the garage. I stop in my tracks, once again, before heading down the steps as she pushes the button to lift one of the garage doors.

  What the hell?

  Her Tahoe is parked in the middle of mass chaos. Unlike her house which seems organized and decorated to the hilt, her garage is a disaster filled with shit. Old shit and a lot of it. “What the hell, Gabby?” I repeat my thought out loud this time, not able to tear my eyes off of the tragedy in front of me. This is seriously a disgrace to garages everywhere.

  Gabby’s already down the stairs, her long sexy legs making their way through the mountain of crap that is her garage, she looks over her shoulder throwing a scowl at me and asks, “What the hell, what?”

  “Are you collecting garbage?” I ask, still not able to move off the top step.

  “No, I don’t collect garbage!” she returns. Then she continues to explain the calamity in in front of me, “I like to shop, hitting garage and estate sales as much as I can. I find great stuff and even though I might not have a plan for it, I buy it. Someday I’ll
have the perfect place for all this, either for me or a client. I got great deals on most all of these pieces, they’re treasures!”

  I have to make myself move down the steps to wade through the shit Gabby considers treasures. “I don’t think you got the great deal here, sugar. I’m pretty sure you’ve been taken to the cleaners,” I mutter, as I beep the locks on my truck following Gabby to the passenger side.

  “You’ve just never seen what I can do with an old piece of furniture. Trust me, they’re treasures,” she informs me.

  I look down at her and grin. “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it, but I’m not really seeing your vision, Gabby,” as I open the back passenger door of my quad cab. I put the bowl and platter on the floor, shut the door and open the passenger door for her. I watch her bend down to pick up her dog, her skirt stretching tight across her ass and thighs. I have to tear my eyes away from her ass as she climbs into my truck, settles her dog on her lap and grins at me. Shaking my head I slam her door, round the front of the truck to climb in and start it up. Jacking up the A/C for her and wanting to keep the mood light, I turn to her, resting my forearm on the steering wheel. She looks up at me as she finishes buckling and I say to her, “I didn’t take you for a Saints fan, sugar.”

  Waving her hand in between us, she explains, “Well, it is a Fantasy Football Draft, and even though I only go to eat and hang out with my family, I like to dress for the occasion.” I keep staring at her, so she continues with her crazy explanation, “I really don’t watch that much football. I like their colors and the fleur-de-lis is pretty. I wore a Raiders shirt one year and thought I was going to be disowned. My family is full of Chiefs fans, which translates into Raider Haters, so I switched to the Saints because the Chiefs mascot does nothing for me. Are you a Chiefs fan?”

  Now I’m the one shocked as shit by her crazy ass reasoning for wearing a Saints shirt. All I can manage is, “Broncos.”

  She gives her head a little shake and while frowning replies, “I can’t wear orange,” as if this explains why she won’t cheer on my team.

  “Ouch babe, that stings,” and she rewards me with another huge smile. I go on, “I don’t know where I’m going. Lead the way, Gabby.”

  What I did not do was talk to her about Trevor Harper.

  *****

  My younger cousin Paige is dragging me by the hand and my very pregnant cousin Sophia is waddling behind us pulling up the rear.

  “Paige, what are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep up with her.

  She pulls me into the room that used to be Tony’s bedroom, which is now just a shrine to Tony. Medals, trophies, pictures and Tony memorabilia litter the room that used to be his in this house. Tony is the only boy of four kids and although he’s never been a momma’s boy, he’s my aunt’s only boy which makes him her golden boy. So although my female cousins’ rooms have been remade into exercise rooms, craft rooms, junk rooms and the like, Tony’s room will always be Tony’s room. His sisters give my poor aunt shit about this all the time, but I honestly don’t think she cares and will probably never change a stitch in here.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing? I want to know who that man is that brought you here and why he can’t take his eyes off of you no matter where you are in the room. It doesn’t matter if he’s drinking beer, eating dinner or shootin’ the shit with the men, he’s always got an eye on you. And those eyes are hot, just like the rest of him! Now spill!” she demands.

  My rollercoaster of a day didn’t stop when Jude showed back up at my house this evening, demanding to know why I lived alone and I had to tell him what I hate telling people, that my parents are dead. I should be used to it by now. It has been three years and eight months, but it’s always a bit emotionally draining as much as I try and get used to it. And if that wasn’t enough, big badass Jude Ortiz who wears a bullet proof vest, rounds up bad guys for a living and is uber bossy, got super sweet on me. First getting really close to me, then apologizing and then he touched my face. I swear, when he slid his hand into my hair I seriously thought I was going to melt into a puddle right on my kitchen floor. My whole plan for driving separately then leaving early was thwarted when he informed me I was coming with him to the draft and like an idiot, without thinking, I said, “Okay!” And this is what I get! I knew this would happen, my crazy family is now all up in my business about it and I don’t even know what “it” is!

  Two hours earlier when we pulled into my Uncle Tony and Aunt Lizzie’s driveway, I took a minute to warn Jude what he was walking into. Here is how that went:

  Me: Um, Jude, I need to talk to you about my family. They’re all going to be here.

  Him: Yeah babe, Tony said this is a family thing.

  Me: No, you don’t understand. I have a pretty big family. Even the little kids will be here. And since I’ll be walking in the door with you, they’re going to freak out.

  Him: No they won’t.

  Me: Yes they will.

  Him: Sugar, they won’t. It’s not a big deal.

  Me: Yes, they will and it is a big deal.

  Him: Then they can have their freak out, they’ll get over it.

  Me: What?!?!?!

  Him: Not a big deal.

  Apparently finished with our tennis match conversation, he gets out of the car, gathers all the food, opens my door and waits for me to get out. All I have to say to him is, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  I jump down from his truck, put Mia on the ground and she runs up to the door she knows so well since she has been here about two million times in her short little three year old life. I start walking up the walk to the front door when I look up and stop in my flip flops. Jude almost bumps into me from behind carrying both my salad and dessert saying, “Sugar, let’s get on with it.”

  “Ohmygoodness,” I breathe, looking up to the dining room window where about three quarters of my family is plastered watching us walk up to the house.

  “That’s what you get for sitting in the truck so long warning me about your family,” he simply states, not at all bothered by our audience.

  “They’re going think we came together,” is what I think out loud.

  “We did come together,” Jude points out.

  “But not together-together,” I go on.

  “Gabby, get a move on,” he instructs again, a little more forcefully this time.

  “Ohmygoodness,” I whisper again. “You carry a gun for a living, please just shoot me now.”

  Jude, tired of waiting, rounds me and heads to the front door. The door opens and all hell breaks loose. I hear the kids running around screaming. I hear greetings and a couple of my aunts start questioning Jude. I hear Jude answering. I hear the deep voices of my uncles and adult cousins offering drinks. And then I hear Jude bite out, “Gabby!” Finally snapping out of it, I return, “Coming!” and head toward my latest trauma.

  As I get to the door I hear my cousin’s daughter, Emily, who is twelve years old say, “He’s way hotter than James!”

  “Em! Watch it,” her dad, Joe, semi yells at her.

  “What? I’m just sayin’,” Emily returns, full of tween attitude.

  “Gabby!” little Chloe comes clickety-clack, throwing herself at me in her little tap shoes and tutu pulled on over her normal clothes.

  I drop my bag to the floor, reach down to pick her up and give her snuggles. “Hi love, I missed you! I like your outfit!”

  “Your boyfriend is big,” is her only response. Feeling myself turn pink, I look around the very crammed-with-nosy-family entry way. Jude is standing beside me and everyone is staring at us.

  Starting to get pissed at my family’s attention, I decide to start damage control immediately, “He’s not my boyfriend, Chlo.” Then I look back to the rest of my crazy family and ask, “Are we going to stand here all night? I’m hungry and need a beer.”

  “Gabby, don’t be rude,” my Aunt Emma scolds me like a child. “Introduce us to your guest!”

  “He’s n
ot my guest!” I reply. “Tony invited him!”

  “Well, he came with you,” my uncle Nic says, grinning like a loon.

  “He’s not with me,” I return, losing what little patience I have left.

  “He’s standing right next to you,” says my cousin Grant.

  “Shut up!” I return, apparently reverting back to my childhood.

  “Gabrielle Carpino,” my Aunt Lizzie hisses, moving her long and lanky body forward a step. She starts talking with her arms and hands in full motion, “The least you can do is make introductions so this young man knows who he’s eating dinner and Fantasy Footballing with!”

  Snickers and choked back laughter can be heard around the room, either from calling Jude a young man or referring to the draft as Fantasy Footballing, of which I do not know.

  “Fine,” I look up at Jude and give him the scariest glare I can muster, hopefully relaying to him an ‘I told you so’ and decide to get this over with. “Jude, this is my Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Tony, this is their house. Tony is the second oldest boy in my dad’s family. Their oldest daughter is Sophia, the pregnant one over there, she’s married to Lanny, he’s Mia’s veterinarian. Their boys are Noah and Cayden. Then there’s Charlotte married to Vic, they have Madelyn and Cole. You know Tony and this is their youngest, Paige,” I look up at Jude for confirmation and he just grins down at me, the jerk, so I carry on. “This is my Uncle Gino, my dad’s oldest brother and Aunt Emma. Their son Dean is married to Audrey. They have Ella and William. This is their daughter Micah, married to Joe and they have Emily and Grace. And finally, this is my Uncle Nic and Aunt Tia. Nic is the youngest boy in the family. This is their son Grant, the obnoxious one, and his wife Clara. This is their daughter Chloe,” I say, giving Chloe a bounce in my arms. “Nic and Tia also have Logan and Avery, but they are away at college.” I pull in a big breath while waving my hand around, “Everyone, this is Jude Ortiz.”