Chapter 31 NOAH #2
“Yes,” he says quickly, cutting me off. His eyes dart to mine, blinking a few times. “I’d love that.”
Relief hits me in a rush, and I grin at him. “Cool. I’ll text you when I’m done, then.”
He nods, smiling, brushing his hair back off his forehead. I lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth again. I can’t pass up the opportunity to feel the curve of his mouth against my lips.
I back toward the door, throwing him a crooked grin and a wink. “Try not to miss me too much.”
I can hear his laugh as I leave the store, soft and deep, and so fucking beautiful.
When I get to the gym, it’s close to nine, and everything is in full swing. Jules is showing a new client how to work the machines, and Zeke is behind the desk.
I drop my bag in the office and head straight for the sound system.
“You’re late,” Zeke calls without looking up.
“I know,” I say with a smirk, already queuing a playlist. “Worth it.”
He snorts but doesn’t ask questions. A second later, the opening beat of AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” fills the gym. Jules gripes from across the floor. “Man, not again. Can’t we have one day without the eighties, just one.”
“Not when I’m here,” I say, smirking and turning the volume up.
Seriously, I don’t understand what everyone’s problem with my music is. A satisfied grin creeps onto my face. Gabe said he likes my music. Said I should play it more at home.
Once the music’s sorted, I get to work answering a few questions at the desk, spotting one of our regulars, and setting up a circuit for a group session later. It’s busy enough, the kind of day that usually flies by.
Not today. Today, everything I do seems to circle back to Gabe.
The way he looked this morning, flushed and shy and pleased, keeps replaying in my head, sneaking up on me when I’m loading plates or adjusting someone’s form.
The memory of him grinding on me, coming apart above me, hits me so hard at one point that I have to turn and take a breath before I embarrass myself in front of a client.
I can do without being arrested for public indecency.
I make it through the day on autopilot, but the whole time, I’m watching the clock. Waiting to see him again.
When the last client leaves, I grab my phone and fire a text off to Gabe.
Me: Heading out now. Meet me on Main?
His reply is instant.
Baby: I’ll be there.
I toss my bag back in the locker so I’m not lugging it around, and head out.
The sun’s already starting its descent.
I’m barely keeping pace with Gabe, and my chest is heaving.
He glances back at me over his shoulder, expression thoughtful, like he’s weighing something before saying, “I usually only come through the forest when I’m having a bad day.”
“Is today a bad day?” I ask cautiously as we slow to a jog. I thought it started perfectly, but his tone makes me second-guess. Maybe this morning was too much for him?
We stop by the water. The surface ripples under a light breeze, the last of the sunlight flickering over it. Gabe stares out, transfixed. A few moments pass. When I glance at him again, he’s still watching the water, a small furrow between his brows.
“Gabe?”
He shakes his head. Hands on his hips, still catching his breath, he looks away from the water and down at his shoes. “Sorry. No. It’s been a great day.”
When he lifts his head, that shy smile is there—the one that has a direct line to my heart. It takes everything in me not to grab his face and kiss him.
His eyes soften. “I… I really like running together. I know it’s a small thing but…” His smile grows wider.
I grin back, still trying to breathe normally. “Yeah, me too. Even if my legs are about to fall off.”
He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. I know he thinks it’s ridiculous that I struggle so much on our runs. I really shouldn’t, considering we’ve been running together for months now, but apparently cardio will never come easy to me.
“Do you ever swim here?” I ask, it’s a popular spot in the summer. I came a few times with Aiden in our teens.
“No. I’m not a great swimmer, actually.”
I look at him, imagining spending time here in the warmer months. “I could teach you if you like? When the weather picks up.”
He hums in acknowledgment without actually answering me. Maybe he’s not comfortable with the lake, we could try an indoor pool instead. There’s one the next town over.
We find a bench near the edge of the lake, beside the large willow tree the town is apparently named after. The forest area is soft with light. The air smells like warm earth and rain-drenched grass. The sky is a breathtaking watercolor of pinks and oranges.
Gabe sits beside me, long legs stretched out, one arm hooked casually over the back of the bench. His hair catches the fading light, waves turning copper at the edges. He’s telling me about the book he just finished—something soft and romantic, the kind I’ve learned he loves most.
“There was this line,” he says conversationally, “where the author described the main character’s smile as ‘a quiet kind of miracle.’ I thought it was a bit much.”
“Bit much?” I echo. “I have to disagree with you there.”
“Oh, do you now?” he says in that dry tone he uses when being playful.
“Yes, I do. That’s practically your smile,” I shoot back.
He groans, “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not? You’re sitting here being all miraculous.”
“You’re such a flirt!”
He thinks I’m joking, but I’m not. Every smile he lets me see feels extraordinary to me. To know what he’s been through, how he struggles with his own mind, and still, he gives me those smiles.
He tries to glare, but it crumbles—his lips twitch, and then the laugh hits him, full and bright, spilling out before he can stop it. He tips his head back, and I swear, for a second, everything in me stills just to hear it.
I turn to look at him fully, and that’s when I see it.
A dimple.
Small, shallow, and tucked into his left cheek like a secret—one I didn’t even know he had, because I’ve never seen him laugh like this before. Not this freely. He always ducks his head or lowers his face when he laughs, but now it’s in full force.
But it isn’t just the dimple that stops me.
It’s his eyes.
They’re always a beautiful shade of green, but now they shimmer with something more.
The colors of the sky have found their way into them, turning them softer, brighter, glowing with pale gold and warm rose.
It’s like the sunset has curled up inside him.
Light illuminates his lashes. Something celestial blinks back at me.
I see a future in those eyes. An unshakable love. My forever.
The lake shimmers. The world holds its breath. And in that perfect, golden moment, I know I’ll never forget how it feels to see Gabe like this.
I stare, memorizing every angle of this version of him, the one wrapped in sunset, unguarded and radiant.
He notices the way I am staring, his laughter tapering into something more sheepish. But he doesn’t look away.
“I didn’t know you had a dimple,” I say softly.
He blinks. “I—what?”
“How have I never seen it before?” I think I’m asking myself more than him, but the more time I spend with him, the more I realize all the glimpses I’ve had of him in the past weren’t the whole picture.
I’ve never seen him smile like this before.
But piece by piece, he’s coming together before me, like a painting forming with each stroke.
I reach out, the back of my fingers brushing along his cheekbone, then down to trace that little hollow in his cheek with the lightest touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull back. He just watches me, wide-eyed, sunset still caught in his lashes.
“You’re…” My voice breaks. I try again. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”
A blush blooms across his face, slow and deep, like the sunrise creeping over the horizon. His lips part, but no words come.
And then, finally, he smiles again—there’s a sadness to it now, though.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers.
“Like what?”
“Like you think I’m enough.” His voice is quiet, but the words are weighted, fear wrapped in confession.
My chest feels too small for all of it—the love, the ache, the helpless, desperate want to make him believe me. I can’t make him, though. I just have to keep showing up. And I will.
“I do,” I say, with as much conviction as I can.
His hand lifts, fingertips brushing my jaw like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me.
“I can’t always be like this,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens. “What do you mean?”
“Happy.” His gaze drops to my chest, and he looks like it hurts to say the words.
“I won’t be able to laugh every day. I won’t be able to smile every day.
Some days I…” He swallows with an audible click.
I stay still, let him gather the courage to finish, because he’s offering me something important.
“Some days I can barely get out of bed.”
I can see tears shining in his eyes, and I want to pull him into my arms, shield him from every harsh thing in the world.
“I know, I can see how hard you try,” I say quietly.
His eyes search mine, almost pleading. “Is that okay?”
I lean in, hand cupping the back of his neck, thumb brushing the soft waves there.
His lip trembles as our mouths meet; it’s the gentlest thing I have ever known.
A shared hush. Like kissing him is a way of saying thank you for trusting me.
For letting me see him. The flicker of something he hasn’t shared with anyone in a long time.
His lips move against mine with tender passion, and when I pull back slightly, I see his eyes have fluttered shut, lashes casting soft shadows down his cheeks.
When he opens them again, the sky is still there, glowing quietly in his gaze.
I press my forehead to his. “You don’t have to be anything but exactly who you are.”
He lets out a shuddering breath. “Even when my head’s a mess?”
“Especially then,” I say, meaning it with my whole heart. “That’s when I get to hold you.”
His hands find me, one resting at my side, the other pressed flat against my chest, right over my heart. I cover it with mine. We stay like that as the light fades—mouths barely apart, arms wrapped around each other.