Chapter 4 #2
His voice is just the same as I remember. Deep but soft. He sounds nervous as I step further inside. The place hadn’t felt small, but now it feels like it’s closing in on me. Fuck, I’m nervous now. I’m rarely nervous, but the thought of Gabe being uncomfortable around me is making me feel off.
“This place looks great, I love the window display,” I say genuinely, trying to ease the moment. “Do you run the place alone?”
He nods, hands shifting on the paperback he’s holding like he needs something to hang onto. “Yeah. My friends help sometimes, but… I’m mostly alone.”
There’s something so heartbreakingly resigned about the way he says it that I don’t know what to say, so I smile and look around. “Well, you seem to be doing a great job.”
He glances at me, it’s quick and cautious, before he looks away again. His brow furrows like he’s really considering what I said. Shit, I’m messing this up already.
“I know you like the quiet,” I say, hoping to break the tension. “I’ll try to be a good guest.”
“It’s… fine. I mean, it’ll be fine.” He shifts on his feet, breathing harder now. Still holding that book like it’s a shield. It’s like he’s afraid of me. The thought turns my stomach.
“Gabe,” I say gently, trying to keep the hurt out of my tone. “It’s just me.”
That gets me another glance. It’s quick, but enough to see the flush rising up his neck. He nods, almost to himself. His mouth twitches, not a smile exactly.
I grab a book from the nearest table to give him a second to breathe.
A dark romance about… werewolf Mafias? Is this the kind of thing Gabe likes to read now?
I don’t even know what he likes anymore.
That stings. I used to think I knew him.
Enough to pick the books that might get him talking when he barely said two words to everyone else.
I glance toward the counter, where he’s still standing. I hate that I don’t know him well enough anymore to know what would make him comfortable right now.
He clears his throat. “I was just finishing closing off the till. So, I can show you the apartment now.”
“Sure,” I say, giving him a warm smile, setting the book back down.
He walks to the front door and locks it; the sound is loud in the quiet. His hand trembles.
“You have to come up through the store, so you’ll need two keys,” he says shakily, pausing at the stairs, his eyes flicking back to the shop door before leading the way. I follow him up, our footsteps muffled on the old wooden stairs.
The apartment is small but cozy. The entry opens into a narrow hallway—bedroom on the left, another across from it on the right, and a bathroom.
At the end of the hall, the space opens into a main living area with wooden floors and mismatched furniture.
A small sofa, a worn armchair, bookshelves overflowing with paperbacks.
The kitchen is tucked to one side, a narrow island separating it from the rest of the space.
Beyond that, double glass doors open onto a small balcony.
A tiny table and two chairs are set up out there.
I can already picture drinking coffee there in the morning.
Would Gabe join me for coffee? Or tea. Yeah, he was always more of a tea guy.
He shows me to the guest room—my room now—and I set my duffel on the bed. I’ll need to pick the rest of my stuff up from the gym. I left it there so I wasn’t weighed down coming over. Gabe hovers in the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.
“It’s not much,” he says. “But the bed’s practically new. And I, uh, put on clean sheets. Um… the window sticks a little, but it opens if you give it a push.”
He’s rambling. I watch him for a second, and I can’t help it, familiar fondness swells in my chest. “It’s perfect. Big step up from The Inn.”
His eyes dart to mine, then away. “Okay. Good.” He swallows, still trying to get a handle on his nerves.
I see the little tells. Fingers flexing in his pockets. Foot bouncing like he’s ready to bolt.
“I’ll let you settle in,” he says as he starts to back away.
“Actually,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. Now that we’re in the same space, the thought of being away from him feels unbearable. “If you’re not doing anything, I was thinking we could hang out for a bit. Just to catch up. If you want.”
He blinks. “Oh. You want to catch up… with me?”
I grin. “Yeah, Gabe, with you.”
He shifts until he’s leaning on the doorframe instead of hovering in it. He exhales shakily and nods toward the kitchen. “Yeah, okay. I was gonna make tea.”
Knew it.
“I’d love some.”
The kettle whistles a few minutes later. Of course he has one that whistles. It’s an endearing little fact about him. I tuck it away with all the new information I’m hoarding.
He hands me a bright, colorful mug over the island, and our fingers brush for a second.
He flinches, eyes dropping. He takes a large step back, blinking fast. He looks so unsure.
I want to comfort him, I’m just not sure how.
I don’t say anything about it—calling it out feels wrong—so I give him a small smile, and he visibly relaxes, some of the tension leaving his posture.
We end up on the couch, steam curling from our mugs. Quiet stretches between us, and it’s awkward. I don’t like it one bit. Things have never been like this between us before. He’s tucked in the corner, and I’m leaning back with the mug in my hands.
“So, how’ve you been?” I ask.
He shifts in his seat. “F-fine. How about you?”
Fine. I don’t like that response, or that he won’t look at me.
“Not bad. Better now I’m back in Willowrun.”
He glances at me, and I see the curiosity in his eyes, like he wants to ask more, but then he shifts his gaze to the kitchen with a sudden, startled look. “You’re probably hungry? I should have made you something.”
He’s starting to sound nervous again, and I’m not sure why. “I had something to eat at the gym before I left. Thanks, though.”
He nods again.
I clear my throat. “Are you hungry? I could play chef. I know I burned a lot of things in your mom’s kitchen growing up, but I’m pretty good now at not starting fires.”
A small smile graces his face, and I hear a little laugh as he settles further into the sofa. He’s still not looking at me, but it’s something. “I’m good,” he says, lifting his tea.
I don’t push any more conversation on him. I know I said I wanted to catch up, and I do, but he seems a bit more relaxed now, and I don’t want to take that from him.
I don’t think I realized how much noise I’ve been carrying until now. Not just city noise, but the kind inside my mind. The pressure to talk, to fill the space, to keep people entertained.
But here, sitting on this couch with Gabe, I don’t feel any of that. He isn’t filling the silence, and he isn’t expecting me to either. The awkwardness has faded some. We’re just being... quiet.
And I like it. In this moment, I feel like I can stop trying so hard to be the bright one. The funny one. The happy one.
I practically melt into the sofa.
Maybe it shouldn’t feel like such a big deal. But it does.