4. Luna
4
LUNA
G abriel and I hem and haw around the edges of when he arrives back the next day, the anticipation hanging like a thick fog between us. I try to remind myself that he's my employer, the father of the kid I'm babysitting. Yeah, the kid you're becoming emotionally attached to, chides the voice inside my head, a persistent echo that refuses to be silenced. As if I needed any other reminders that I stepped into their lives on a whim, a mere chance encounter, and have been woven into the fabric of their everyday existence ever since.
"Just come over on Tuesday night," he decides with an easy confidence that both reassures and unnerves me. "I'll cook you dinner, and we can chat. Nothing too crazy or wild. You can even wear sweats if you want." His casual tone attempts to dismiss any tension, but the invitation lingers in the air, laden with unspoken possibilities.
But even though he says the attire is casual, I find myself spending a frantic forty-five minutes staring at my wardrobe, the seconds ticking away as I try to figure out what the best option is. Do I wear jeans and a nice blouse that might strike the perfect balance between comfortable and chic? Or should I put on a skirt, one that flares just right, though I worry it might accentuate too much of the curvature of my ass? The mirror reflects not just clothes but the myriad emotions swirling within me, each choice feeling like a step deeper into uncharted territory.
I've known since the very first day I showed up on his doorstep that Gabriel was undeniably attracted to my figure. I saw his eyes roam across my body, taking in every ounce of me—and believe me, there were a lot of ounces to take in. His gaze lingered, tracing the contours that made me who I am, yet I couldn't shake the nagging thought that perhaps he would prefer me a bit more toned, an ounce or two lighter, especially on days when insecurity nipped at my heels. He never made an inappropriate move toward me nor flirted in a manner that could be construed as sexual harassment, which is why it caught me completely off-guard when he casually asked me out.
For a police officer who spends his days and nights roaming the streets, hunting down lawbreakers with a pair of dark, piercing eyes that could intimidate anyone, Gabriel is surprisingly putty in our hands when he's at home with Damon and me. In the safety of that space, he sheds his tough exterior, revealing a gentler side that makes me feel both cherished and perplexed.
"I think a dress will do," I say to myself, my voice barely above a whisper as I pull a white, strapless dress out of the closet. It boasts a vibrant print of monsteras in shades of lush green, interspersed with delicate pink flowers that bloom all around, giving it a lively, tropical feel. As I slip it on and pair it with light brown wedges, I can’t help but feel a surge of confidence. The dress conceals my curvy waistline, yet it manages to accentuate my chest in a way that feels daring. I guess the girls will be on display tonight, ready to make an impression.
It makes no sense to drive over to Gabriel's, so I walk over like usual, enjoying the warm evening air brushing against my skin. I wave to the neighbors who are outside on their porch, their laughter mingling with the sound of children’s playful shouts as they chase each other across the lawn. Immediately, a few gossips hide behind their hands when they see me, their whispers barely concealed. What I'm wearing isn't your usual babysitting outfit—it's far more daring and unique. Oh, well. If the worst gossip in this neighborhood is about my blossoming relationship with Gabriel Livingston, so be it. In a few years, when their kids are in high school, navigating the tumultuous waters of relationships and sneaking out of the house, we'll see who's truly the talk of the neighborhood then.
When I arrive at Gabriel's front door, I don't use my key to let myself in like usual. This time, I knock, my heart racing and butterflies fluttering around my stomach in a chaotic dance. I need them to calm down so that my heart can settle with them, but nobody listens; they only grow more restless as I wait.
"Hey," Gabriel greets when he opens the door, his voice warm and inviting. "Wow." That same look he gave me on the first night we met rears its beautiful head once again. He looks me up and down, taking his time, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail. His eyes linger on my legs for a fraction of a second, a spark of admiration flickering in his gaze before they travel all the way back to my face. "You look beautiful." The sincerity in his voice sends a thrill through me, making the butterflies in my stomach dance even more wildly, but this time, it feels exhilarating.
Gabriel didn't wear sweats, but he also didn't go all out. A pair of fitted blue jeans hung casually off his hips, accentuating his toned physique, while a snug black t-shirt clung to his muscular chest, showcasing the hard work he put into staying in shape. "You don't look so bad there yourself, officer," I teased, my tone light and playful.
He waved off the compliment with a dismissive gesture, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he stepped aside to invite me in. "I try to leave Officer Livingston at work. He's a real hardass," he replied, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
I couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within me, because that was not the Gabriel I had come to know and love. "I'm hard-pressed to believe that. You've never even disciplined Damon when I've been around," I countered, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge.
Gabriel moved behind the kitchen island, his movements fluid and confident as he returned to work on dinner, the rich aroma of spices wafting through the air. "That's because Damon is a good kid. I'm sure when he's sixteen and takes my car on a joyride, it'll be a whole other story," he said with a chuckle, his voice warm and teasing. "But for now, I'm enjoying sweet, innocent Damon, whose biggest offense was making a moat in the backyard that involved digging up the azaleas my sister planted. She was upset about that, but oh well. She can plant more," he added with a shrug, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he recalled the incident.
He manages himself in the kitchen exceptionally well. I've seen him whip up every type of breakfast food imaginable, from fluffy pancakes to perfectly scrambled eggs. But now, he’s peeling potatoes at lightning speed, expertly multitasking while chatting with me, the sound of water boiling on the stove filling the background. "So where's Damon at tonight anyway?" I ask, casting a quick glance around for the little guy, my curiosity piqued. "I thought I was his main babysitter. Are you cheating on me?" I muster up some mock indignation, raising an eyebrow for effect. "Is there someone else?"
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Gabriel shakes his head at me, a playful sigh escaping his lips. "He's with my parents for the night. They'll take him to school in the morning as well, nosy Nelly."
"Oh, well, that sounds reasonable, I suppose." The mention of his parents sparks my imagination, making me wonder what he was like as a child. Was he as curious and captivated by science as Damon is? Did he possess that same insatiable thirst for knowledge, always wanting to learn more? Or was he the adventurous type, forever in search of the next great mission to embark upon? "Tell me what you were like when you were Damon's age," I prompt, eager to hear the tales of his youth.
Gabriel starts chopping the potatoes into smaller, manageable pieces, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board filling the kitchen. "I was quiet," he says, a small smile creeping across his face as he reflects on his past. "I observed everything around me because I was too scared to participate in it. What if I got it wrong? Or what if I looked stupid doing it? So, I always wanted to be the last person to try something new in a group. That way, I could watch everyone else do it first and figure out the best way to approach it. I was a very analytical child."
I didn't expect that revelation. He didn't strike me as the kind of six-year-old who cared deeply about the opinions of others, or who focused so intently on getting things right that it held him back.
"I was about twelve years old when I kind of broke out of that shell and went crazy," he continues, his eyes lighting up with the thrill of nostalgia. "Junior high and high school were my wild years." He looks up from the potatoes, an embarrassed grin spreading across his face, as if he can't quite believe the escapades of his youth. "My mom and dad could tell you stories about me tearing up the high school football field with my car, getting drunk on Friday nights, and even getting arrested when I was seventeen years old. But that's ultimately what set me on the right path." The hint of mischief in his voice reveals that those reckless moments were not just about rebellion; they were part of a journey that shaped the man he has become.
Gabriel takes the cutting board over to the boiling water and slowly begins sliding the sliced potatoes in, the gentle splash of each piece breaking the surface tension and releasing a burst of steam. "I never wanted to be a police officer, you know?" He shakes his head and shrugs at me, his expression a mix of nostalgia and disbelief. "I didn't really know what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew it wasn't that. I had a deep-rooted hatred for the police because for five or six years, they were always trying to bring me down, like I was some sort of delinquent. They called my parents because I was truant or they'd stop me on the side of the road for being out past curfew. Stuff like that. I hated the cops."
I'm fascinated, my head resting on my hand as I watch him with honest intent. My eyes are wide open, fully engaged in his story, absorbing every detail as if it were a precious secret. The Gabriel Livingston that I thought I knew is nothing like the history he's opening up about, revealing layers of complexity I never imagined existed beneath his surface.
"Then one day, I get arrested for side-swiping a vehicle and leaving the scene of the crime. This police officer, Robert Warren, sits me down and asks me what I'm doing with my life. I'm seventeen, I'm a hard-headed near-adult, and I don't have to answer to him." Gabriel chuckles at the memory, the sound tinged with irony. "But he keeps pushing me. He brings me a donut, the kind that’s still warm, and we sit there, and he tells me about how he hates cops, but he likes donuts and he likes helping people. He told me that he wanted to help me. He's seen me around, he’s heard the stories, whatever. He wants to help me figure out what I'm doing with my life, and for the first time, someone actually cares."
Gabriel lets the potatoes continue boiling in the water, the steam rising in gentle curls, and leans against the kitchen island, just a few feet away from me. "We spent the next six months together every weekend, forging an unlikely friendship. Officer Warren and I painted fences as part of my community service obligation. Sure, it was my sentence, but he insisted on helping because he said he didn't want me to feel like the world had hung me out to dry. He wanted to ensure I wasn’t lonely during that time. When I picked up trash along the side of the road, he joined me, making the task feel less like punishment and more like a shared mission. And when I served food at the soup kitchens for the homeless, he was right there beside me, ladling out soup with a smile. You know what? He did it with a better heart than I did. He genuinely cared about those people, and it showed. I watched him hand out his business card with his personal number scrawled on the back, telling people how to reach him if they needed help finding clothes for job interviews or even a warm shower to clean up. Officer Warren wasn’t bullshitting when he said he liked donuts and helping people; he embodied that sentiment. He was a big dude, but more importantly, he was a big dude with an even bigger heart."
"I entered the Police Academy just before my twentieth birthday, filled with youthful ambition and dreams of making a difference. By the time I was twenty-two, fate dealt a cruel hand when Officer Warren was shot while on duty. It was one of those rare, freak accidents that shook the entire department to its core, leaving a palpable void in the community. Gabriel purses his lips thoughtfully, his eyes momentarily clouded with memories before he shrugs off the weight of the past. 'I've been a lot of different people over the years, shaped by experiences that have come and gone. But right now? I'm a man who loves my son with all my heart. I'm a man who goes to work every day, donning my badge with pride, striving to serve the people I meet in any way that I can. And I'm a man who finds joy in the company of a beautiful woman sitting just three feet away from me right now.'
God damn it. I think I'm falling in love with this police officer, and the realization hits me like a freight train, leaving me both exhilarated and terrified."