Chapter 11 Gabe #2
The thought of not attending an event in my own store sits sour in my stomach.
My mind keeps circling back to the fact that this is something I’ve always wanted for the store, book events, and the queer community in my space, where it’s safe.
Being that place for anyone who needs somewhere to belong.
I glimpse Noah from the corner of my eye; he’s still watching me. Something about his closeness, his eyes on me, makes me feel brave. I stare at the glass, force a slow exhale, and nod once. “Okay.”
It comes out small. But it’s still yes.
Aiden is grinning at me as Abbie lifts her glass, like this moment is worth celebrating. Maybe it is. “To sexy villains and local stories.”
We clink. My cheeks are hot, but there’s a smile tugging at my mouth. Shy, but genuine, as a wave of unfamiliar excitement flows through me.
The street is, thankfully, quieter than the diner, though my ears are still ringing.
Sunlight spills through the trees, dappling across the pavement as we head toward Evergreen.
Abbie and Ciarán hop into her Beetle, waving goodbye.
Aiden peels off, heading toward home, calling that he’ll see us later.
Noah stays beside me, unhurried as we walk.
“That was fun,” he says carefully, as though the words might send me running down the street.
I let a pause stretch before answering, nerves still tangled in my chest. “It was. More than I expected.” My mouth curves. “I’m… glad I went. Thank you for coming...” I look at him. “For encouraging me.”
“Of course,” he says lightly. Then, before I can even look away, with a quirk of his lips, he says, “You’re kind of cheeky, how did I never realize that?”
“What? No, I’m not,” I defend.
He nods his head as his smile grows. “You definitely are. In a dry way, I like it.”
I let out a strained laugh, suddenly feeling all warm and shy. “Probably thanks to Ciarán and Abbie.”
An airy chuckle leaves him. “Good influences then.” He walks a little closer. “You smiled a lot.”
I almost trip. I glance away, but my eyes are drawn back to him. I felt his eyes on me all through brunch. I wasn’t sure what he was watching for, maybe just that I was okay, enjoying myself. “Did I?”
“Yeah.” His grin is lopsided, easy, almost overwhelming to look at directly. “You have a lovely smile.”
I freeze mid-step. The compliment spreads through me, rattling against the parts I keep locked tight. Heat surges up my neck, into my cheeks, my ears. My mouth goes dry. I can’t meet his eyes. I want to tell him I think he has a lovely smile, too, but those words won’t come.
“Oh,” I manage, uselessly. It comes out as awkward as I feel. “Um… thanks.”
We walk the rest of the way with that weight between us—his words echoing louder than the birds in the trees or the cars passing by.
Part of me wants to shove them aside, pretend I didn’t hear.
Another part… a much bigger part… wants to hold onto them until they burn a hole in my chest. I want to believe someone can look at me, see past the scar, the sadness, and think something about me is lovely.
When the bookstore comes into view, my gaze flicks to the windows, the dust along the shelves inside, the corners that suddenly feel too small, too inadequate. I haven’t taken good enough care of the space, and I’ve let so many things slip. My pulse climbs.
“I agreed to an event,” I murmur, half to myself. It’s all catching up to me.
“You did,” Noah answers slowly. His voice is calm, confident, the exact opposite of what’s unraveling inside me.
I stare through the glass, jaw tight. The shop doesn’t look ready. I’m not ready. A thousand things could go wrong, and everyone will see I’m not fine. My breathing picks up.
“I need to tidy,” I whisper, like the thought alone might slow my heart.
“I’ll help.” It’s a statement, zero hesitation.
I nod, fumbling with the keys, nearly dropping them twice before getting the key in the door. My fingers start trembling, and I can’t get it open. I start to panic. Noah doesn’t rush me, just steps closer, his voice is deep and warm, soothing. “Let me.”
I drop my hand as he raises his to unlock the door. I feel the heat of him at my back. He gestures inside, and I go without meeting his eyes.
I start cleaning up. The work is quiet, rhythmic. Something about him staying with me while I tidy is settling. I’m glad I’m not alone. Slowly, my breathing evens. I start to calm, I have time before the event. It’ll be okay.
We’re kneeling side by side, clearing a shelf, something that could be done tomorrow, really. I know he’s doing this to humor me, or maybe, comfort me?
The quiet is easy, though, until our hands reach the same shelf at once. His pinkie grazes mine. The smallest touch, accidental.
I don’t move.
Every part of me waits for the familiar snap of panic—the need to yank back. But it doesn’t come. My finger stays where it is, pressed against his. I feel the warmth of his skin against mine.
It’s so small. It’s so big.
Air stalls in my lungs. I stare at the tiny connection of our fingers; all I feel is that single point of contact. The world doesn’t collapse. I don’t shatter.
I press my finger into his more firmly and let myself stay there, let myself have this one fragile moment of stillness where the past doesn’t win.
When I glance up, Noah isn’t looking at the books. He’s looking at me, watching me carefully, like he knows something I don’t. His eyes are such a dark blue, and I can’t look away.
Something so minor, and it feels like the bravest and most terrifying thing I’ve done in years. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world gave me back a piece of myself I thought I’d lost.
I clear my throat, moving my hands back to my lap, and give him a faint smile. “I think that’s enough for today. The boozy part of brunch is catching up with me.”
He laughs lightly, and the sound sinks into me. There’s something so open about the way he looks at me that I almost let myself lean closer. My cheeks are hot enough already—from that simple touch, from everything.
“You had one drink,” he teases.
“One really strong drink,” I reply through a chuckle.
As we stand, more words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them. “You must be excited about next week. The gym opening?”
“Yeah,” he says honestly, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I am. We’ve worked hard to get it ready. It feels good knowing people will finally get to see it.”
I nod, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget all the noise in my head. Because I really do feel proud of him, of Aiden, and what they’re building. It’s like I’m carrying a little bit of his joy.
“My parents would be so proud of you both,” I tell him, and they would.
They loved Noah like a son, and I see how they influenced the kind of man he’s become.
He’s got a surprisingly gentle nature—reassuring and compassionate.
There’s a lightheartedness to him, but he’s deeply sincere beneath the playful charm.
I don’t know why I was so worried that he might have changed. He’s still Noah.
“Thank you for saying that,” he responds quietly. He clears his throat, and his eyes are soft when he looks at me again. “The opening’s Friday, we’re taking Thursday off, last official day of freedom.” His voice dips. “Happy to help with whatever you need around here.”
I glance around the shop, biting my lip as I picture the cluttered corners, the shelves I’ve been meaning to move for months. “That would be great. I’d actually love to take down this shelving unit. Make more space.”
Then I look at him, and it feels like stepping into a spotlight.
His gaze doesn’t waver, and I wonder if he sees how much of me is stitched together with fear and hope.
I hesitate before saying, “You don’t have to spend your last day of freedom helping me, though.
You’re going to be really busy with the gym after that. You should spend that day relaxing.”
“I want to. I like spending time with you.” His response is so absolute, and I find myself thinking, yet again, why does someone like Noah want to spend their time with someone like me?
The thought comes and goes because there’s a glimmer in his eyes, and I can’t stop the small smile that creeps across my mouth. “Okay,” I say, pleased, and I hate how obvious I am. “Thanks, Noah. You’re a good friend.”
The words taste bittersweet even as I mean them.
He is a good friend—steady, reliable, more patient than I deserve.
But when I see something flicker across his face, quick as a shadow, I know I’ve said the wrong thing somehow.
My stomach sinks, but before I get myself too worked up, he gives me a small grin. “You too.”
We lock up in silence, climb the stairs, and peel off into separate rooms. The quiet of mine swallows me whole.
Lying in bed, the quiet presses in. My mind replays every second—Noah’s arm along the back of my chair, the curve of his mouth when I actually managed to make a dumb joke, the brush of his pinkie against mine.
I should feel good. I do feel good. But the doubt comes anyway. As much as I enjoyed today, it also felt like I was moving through a shadow of myself. A version that used to belong here without question.
And the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever get that version back.
I try to hold onto the moment our pinkies brushed, how his warmth seeped into my skin. The fact that I didn’t move away.
I smile into the dark, but happiness is like sand in my hands. Grain by grain, it slips through my fingers, no matter how hard I try to hold on.
And then it fades to nothing, because I know how much my past has stolen from me.
I wonder how much more it will keep me from.