Chapter 8
Perfect Fit
Gavin
Her hand fit perfectly in mine.
That was my first coherent thought as we stepped onto the sidewalk, the freezing January air hitting my face. My second thought was that I needed to stop thinking about her hand and start walking before I looked like a complete idiot just standing there.
We walked, still holding hands, and I was hyperaware of everything. The way her thumb moved slightly against mine. How she stayed close enough that our arms brushed. The sound of her shoes on the pavement. The city noise around us felt distant, like we were in our own bubble.
The shop was small, tucked between a bakery and a wine bar. String lights hung in the window, and through the glass I could see a few small tables and the display case with its rows of colorful gelato.
"Oh, this is perfect," Andi said as we stepped inside, the warmth immediately wrapping around us. "I'm freezing."
"Affogato?" I suggested, nodding toward the menu board.
Her eyes lit up. "Yes. Absolutely yes."
She studied the gelato flavors with the same intensity one sees in a chess player considering their strategy. "Hazelnut."
"Vanilla bean for me."
She looked at me. "Really? With all these options?"
"It's classic with espresso."
"It's boring."
"It's good."
We ordered and grabbed a small table by the window. The shop was cozy—maybe six tables total, exposed brick walls, the espresso machine hissing behind the counter.
When our affogatos arrived, Andi immediately took a bite before the espresso fully melted the gelato. Her eyes closed, and she made this sound that probably should've been illegal in public.
"Okay," she said, opening her eyes. "This is incredible. The hazelnut with the espresso is perfect."
"Told you affogato was the right call."
"Here, try mine before it's all melted."
I took a taste. The warm espresso, the nutty sweetness. "That's really good."
"Right?" she gestured to mine. "Your turn. Let me confirm how boring vanilla is."
I offered her a spoonful. When her lips closed around it, something tightened low in my stomach and my breath caught.
"Fine," she admitted. "It's good. Classic works. But mine's better."
We sat there; the warmth of the shop a relief after the cold outside. People came and went, but it felt like we were in our own little world.
"So," I said after a moment. "Coffee shop owner, performance artist, daughter, sister, best friend. What else don't I know about you?"
"That's pretty much it. I'm actually incredibly boring."
"Given the performance from tonight, I think we can both agree you are definitely not boring."
"That's recklessness mixed with a dare." She grinned. "There's a difference."
I laughed. "Fair point."
"What about you?" she asked. "Any hidden talents?"
"Hmmm. Well, I can whistle really loudly. Like, ear-splittingly loud."
"Prove it."
"Not a chance. We'd get kicked out." I gestured around the small shop. "These people don't deserve that kind of assault."
She bumped her foot against mine under the table. "Coward."
"On this? Yes. Without a doubt." I laughed, the sound rising easily from somewhere deep in my chest. The lighting caught the amber highlights in her hair as she smiled back at me, and for a moment, everything else—the other customers, the espresso machine, even the music playing softly in the background—faded into background noise.
Just her, just us, just this perfect slice of a night I didn't want to end.
Though we’d both finished, neither of us was in a hurry to leave, despite the warmth making our cheeks flush.
"Should we walk a bit?" I finally asked. "Before I take you home?"
"Yeah. I could use the cold air, given how hot it is in here."
Outside, the temperature had dropped even more. She wrapped her scarf tighter and slipped her hand into mine as we started walking.
"Tell me about what it's like to be a single dad," she said.
The question caught me off guard. Most people asked about Charisse directly—what she was like, how old she was, the surface-level stuff. This was different.
"Honestly?" I paused, trying to find the right words. "It's terrifying. And amazing. Sometimes both at the same time."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Like, Charisse had this piano recital last month.
She's got real talent, but she doesn't practice.
I spent weeks asking her to run through her piece, and she'd blow me off or do it once halfheartedly.
" I paused, the memory still fresh and painful.
"Then she gets up on that stage and... messes up.
Not terribly, but enough that everyone knew.
I could see the embarrassment on her face. "
I was quiet for a moment. "Afterward, she cried.
Beat herself up. Said she was stupid and everyone probably laughed at her.
" My chest tightened remembering it. "And I'm standing there wanting to scoop her up and tell her it's fine, that nobody cared, that she was perfect. But also..." I trailed off.
"Also knowing she needed to learn the lesson," Andi finished softly.
"Yeah. Exactly. I wanted to protect her from feeling bad, but I also wanted her to understand that sometimes we don't get to wing it. That the work matters." I shook my head. "Hardest thing I've ever done was not just making it all better. Just sitting with her in it, letting her feel it."
"That sounds like good parenting to me."
"Doesn't feel good in the moment."
"I know you said you want to protect her from feeling bad, but you can't protect her from everything," Andi said softly.
"I know. But that doesn't stop me from trying." I squeezed her hand. "It's like... I want to give her the world, you know? But I also know I'm going to screw up. Make mistakes. Not be enough."
"You seem like you're doing pretty well to me."
"You haven't seen me try to do her hair."
She laughed. "That bad?"
"I can design a building. I can read blueprints, calculate load-bearing walls, and figure out complex structural problems. But anything more than a ponytail?" I shook my head. "Complete disaster. At this point, she’s just given up and tries to do it herself."
"How old is she again?"
"Ten. Going on sixteen."
"Smart kid."
"Too smart. She sees through every excuse I try to make." I thought about the way Charisse had called me out about my smile, how she'd known immediately I was nervous about tonight. "Keeps me honest."
We turned down a quieter street, away from the main restaurant strip. The buildings here were older, brick with iron fire escapes, flower boxes in some of the windows.
"What's the hardest part?" Andi asked.
I didn't have to think about it. "The constant, low-grade terror that I'm one bad decision away from raising the next supervillain." I gave her a half-smile. "I mean, she already has an evil laugh when she beats me at Uno."
Andi laughed, the sound carrying down the quiet street. "An evil laugh?"
"Full villain cackle. It's disturbing." I grinned, even as I tried to sound concerned.
"But seriously, it's knowing she's going to get hurt and I can't stop it. Divorced parents aren’t so uncommon anymore, but I know it’s still not easy.
I can't shield her from the issues between her mom and me, though I try—she’s too observant. "
"But you can be there when it happens."
"Yeah. I can do that." I looked over at her. "What about you? Ever think about having kids?"
"Someday, maybe. Right now my focus has been getting my shop up and running. Now that I have staff where I don’t have to be there every moment of the day, my mind has wondered about it a bit.
" She smiled. "I guess, if I really had to think about it, I’d say that I like the idea and my family would love it even more for me. "
"It is wonderful. I love being a dad. Even when it's terrifying."
We walked a bit more, the streets growing quieter. I realized we'd looped back toward where I'd parked. The evening was winding down, and I felt that familiar dread of not wanting it to end.
"I should probably get you home," I said, even though every part of me wanted to keep walking.
"Probably." But she didn't let go of my hand.
We found the car, and I opened her door. She slid in, and I rounded to the driver's side, the night air suddenly feeling cooler without her next to me.
The drive back to Southie started quietly. Comfortable, but with this tension humming underneath. I was aware of her in the passenger seat—the way she looked out the window, her hand resting on the center console close to mine, the soft sound of her breathing.
"Tonight was really fun," she said, breaking the silence.
"It was."
"I mean it. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun on a date." She turned to look at me. "My performance aside."
"Especially your performance!"
She laughed, and I felt it settle warmly in my chest.
"You know what I liked most?" she asked.
"What?"
"That it felt easy. Like we've known each other longer than we have. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah. It does."
The streets narrowed as we got closer to her building. I pulled up in front of her place and put the car in park.
Neither of us moved.
"So," she said.
"So."
"I really had an amazing time tonight." She turned in her seat to face me, and the streetlight caught her face, making her eyes look impossibly green.
"So did I." The words came out quieter than I intended.
I reached over, my hand moving to her cheek. She was warm, soft, and when she leaned into my touch, something inside me cracked open.
I leaned in.
The kiss started softly. Tentative. Her lips were sweet from the affogato—hazelnut, coffee, and something uniquely her.
When she kissed me back, everything else disappeared.
The street, the noise from the pub right outside the car, the honking because I was double-parked.
It all slipped away, and nothing else mattered.
Her hand came up to my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, and I deepened the kiss. She made this small sound that went straight through me, and my other hand found her waist, pulling her closer despite the console between us.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, I rested my forehead against hers.
"Wow," she whispered.
"Yeah." My voice came out rougher than I expected. "Wow."
We sat there for a moment, neither of us moving. I could feel her breath against my face, her hand still fisted in my shirt.
"I should go inside," she said, but she didn't move.
"You should."
"But I don't want to."
I smiled. "I don't want you to, either."
"This is a problem."
"A good problem."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes bright and her lips slightly swollen.
"When can I see you again?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," she said it and then her eyes popped open. "I mean—if you're free. Because I’m free. I mean, like, not free. I don’t usually charge. Um… I meant that I would be here. And you would be here. And we’re here. And it’s this—oh my God.
What is wrong with me? I was fine until you kissed me!
Now I’m a scatterbrain. No. Wait. I didn’t say that out loud.
" She pulled away and let her forehead thunk against the dashboard, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face.
"Just put me out of my misery," came her muffled voice.
I laughed, reaching over to gently pull her back upright. "Hey. Look at me."
She turned her head, still mortified, hair falling across her face.
"I like you just as you are," I said. "Even if you don’t like your scatterbrain moments, I love them. They’re cute and remind me to smile more."
"So embarrassing."
"I’d call it more honest." I brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "Tomorrow. How do you feel about books?"
Her smile peeked through like sunshine after rain. "I love them!"
"Great. Then I have an idea for our next date."
As she got ready to climb out, she turned to me and said, "Fair warning—if you suddenly come to your senses after I leave, a text works better than ghosting." She delivered it with a laugh, but her eyes darted away for just a moment, betraying the question mark behind her joke.
"Absolutely not."
I pulled her in once more for a kiss—quick and soft—then she grabbed her purse and opened the door before either of us could get distracted again. "Goodnight, Gavin."
"Night."
I watched her walk to the door, watched her turn and wave before disappearing inside. I sat there for another minute, grinning like an idiot, before pulling away from the curb.
The drive home passed in a blur. All I could think about was tomorrow night. Her in my kitchen. The kiss. That adorable ramble.
Then the thought arrived, quiet and uninvited: Charisse would love her. I sat with that for a second longer than was comfortable. Then I pulled into the garage, killed the engine, and went inside.
At home, the house felt too quiet without Charisse, but for once, the silence didn't feel lonely. It felt full of possibility.
There was a new feeling. Anticipation. I wasn’t even sure I’d ever felt it with Rebecca. And I wasn’t scared. Well, not really.