Chapter 33 GABE
GABE
I’m at the kitchen table with my laptop open, sipping Earl Grey and pretending the words on the screen don’t make my pulse race.
The cursor blinks at me like it’s judging every half-sentence I type and delete.
I’ve been drafting an email to Dani at Wild Fern for over twenty minutes and haven’t gotten past “Hi Dani.”
I want to do this. I do. It’s the right thing—reaching out, collaborating, trying to grow the business. But my chest feels tight anyway, like there’s a hand pressing down on it, whispering all the reasons I shouldn’t bother. That I won’t be able to handle it.
Ciarán told me they have authors who need venues in the next year, the library keeps a backlist of names who wanted their venue, but availability was an issue. This should be a no-brainer. They have authors who need a space, and I have the space. God, why am I struggling so much with this?
Noah sings to himself at the stove, no idea of all the thoughts running through my mind, I take a sip of tea to calm myself. Then I breathe out, roll my shoulders, and start typing again.
Hi Dani,
It’s Gabe Shaw from Evergreen Books. I heard through a friend that Wild Fern might be looking for spaces in town for upcoming author events. I’d love to host some at my store.
I sign off with my contact details, read over it three times, my stomach churning as I hit send before I can chicken out.
Behind me, Noah’s voice calls, “You want jam or honey for your toast?”
“Butter’s fine,” I mutter absentmindedly.
I don’t know if I can eat. Now that the email is gone, I feel an odd sense of dread mixed with relief.
He pads over a minute later, setting my plate down in front of me.
Chorizo scrambled eggs, toast, and some roasted potatoes.
My stomach growls audibly, surprising me. I guess I can eat.
It feels like I’m hungry all the time lately.
Noah has taken to making me breakfast whenever he can. I can feel the difference in my clothes, see it in the mirror. I look healthier, stronger.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at him.
He smiles, leaning against the table, watching me dig in. I feel a bit spoiled, but honestly, I love it. My dad did this for my mom. I wonder if Noah remembers that. I bet he does.
“You emailed Dani?”
I nod, feeling a bit shaky thinking about her reading it. “Just now.”
Noah kisses the top of my head and beams, his pride almost a physical thing. “That’s my man.”
I flush but smile through a mouthful of toast. Once we’re dressed for the day, we head down into the shop together. At the door, Noah leans in and kisses me goodbye. It’s not quick or casual—it’s full of promise.
When he pulls back, his eyes stay on mine. “Have a good day, baby.”
I smile to myself long after the door shuts behind him.
Around lunchtime, Theo walks in, a package tucked under one arm. He looks relaxed, leather jacket open, showing a worn band tee. “Hey, Gabe,” he says with a friendly smile.
“Hi, Theo.” I give him an awkward approximation of a wave. This is the first time I’ve been alone with him, and while I know the others trust him and consider him a friend, my senses are on high alert. Even though I want to, I don’t know him that well yet. “Noah’s not here.”
He smiles warmly at me. “Yeah, I figured. I was just doing a post office run and thought I’d drop in to see what comics you had. Ciarán mentioned you stocked some.”
“Oh.” I huff out a laugh at myself. I’m being silly with my reactions.
Part of me settles, knowing why he’s here.
“I don’t have a huge selection, but I have a few over here.
” I walk toward the other end of the store to show him.
“I don’t really know a lot about comics, but these ones seem popular.
” I point to the zombie apocalypse series all the teenagers rush in to buy when a new one is released.
“And Abbie loves K-pop, so she helped me pick some of those on the other end. They’re probably pretty light, though. ”
He bobs his head, looking over the shelves. “Not a bad selection.”
“If there’s anything in particular you want, I’m sure I could order it in.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll make a list, if that’s okay? I’ve been ordering a series online, but the postage is brutal.” He jiggles the package under his arm. He looks around my space. “You’ve got a great space here. The community needs it.”
That familiar pang of guilt for letting the community down settles in the pit of my stomach. I try to push it away, but the dead weight of it lingers. I stare at the shelves for a long moment before realizing I’ve been silent too long. Theo is eyeing me with concern.
I clear my throat and force a smile. “Thanks. I’m thinking about renovations,” I say. “Nothing massive. Just updating displays, adding better lighting. I want to do more events.”
“That’s amazing. I can help,” he offers immediately. “I’m not a contractor or anything, but I can use a drill. Knock stuff down.”
My chest warms at the offer. In such a short time, Theo has slotted himself into Willowrun like he’s always been here.
He’s a bigger part of the community now than I am.
Maybe that’s what makes me want to try harder.
I’ve been hesitant to let new people in, cautious…
overly cautious, maybe, but I’d like to be friends with Theo.
I haven’t spoken directly to him much, but when I have, he’s always been nice.
“That would be great,” I say, and mean it.
“Also,” he adds, eyeing the space, “we could do something between our shops. Like a tattoo/book crossover event, if you wanted. I’ve got ideas. Could be cool to do something around Christmas.”
The part of me that wants to hide between the shelves rears its ugly head. I think about the author event I did recently, and the email I sent to Dani. I’m capable of doing this. I want to do it.
“I’m in,” I say. The thought of collaborating with other local businesses excites me. For a moment, I feel like all my old visions for the bookstore are becoming something I could actually achieve.
Theo nods and leaves with a casual wave. I spend the rest of the afternoon serving customers, looking over the unpublished online store, and thinking way too much about the way Noah kissed me that morning.
By the time I lock up, I’m buzzing with energy. I clean up the shop in record time, go upstairs, and change. I’m heading to Aiden’s for an early dinner.
Aiden opens the door, Rose perched on his hip, her dark curls wild and her cheeks pink from whatever adventure she’s been having.
“Uncle Gabe!” she says in a high-pitched squeak.
A grin splits my face. “Hi, Rosey Posey. Are you feeling better?”
She giggles, almost headbutting Aiden in the process. He jerks out of the way just in time, and answers my question, “Yeah, she is, thankfully, just catches everything at daycare.” He steps back to let me in. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”
The place smells like roasted garlic and something sweet—honey, maybe.
Rose wiggles until Aiden sets her down, then she toddles off to show me a stuffed rabbit she’s apparently renamed Pickles.
I crouch to listen to her serious-toned babbling, pretending to take notes when she informs me of Pickles’ bedtime routine.
“Still the favorite uncle,” I say jokingly when she runs off again.
“Only uncle,” Aiden fires back, clattering pans in the kitchen. “Makes it easier for you to hold the title.”
“Noah’s her uncle, too,” I respond a little defensively.
His face softens at that, and he nods his head. “Yeah, he is.”
I follow him into the kitchen, watching him check the chicken he has roasting in the oven. He looks so at ease in parenthood; it suits him. He’s always been a solid presence, those nurturing and protective instincts have only grown now that he has Rose.
The smell sifts through the room as he closes the oven door. “That smells great, what is it?” I ask as my mouth waters.
“Honey-roasted chicken with garlic, lavender, and roasted Vegetables,” he answers smugly.
“Lavender?” I question in shock. I didn’t think my brother got fancy in the kitchen.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Knew you’d like it.”
I see the pleased smile on his face, though. My brother, the big, muscled softie.
“So Noah’s closing up tonight,” he states, wiping down the counter.
“Yeah,” I reply, trying to peek through the oven door. The chicken skin looks so crispy and delicious.
Aiden hums, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth. “Good. Means I can actually ask about the two of you without him making sappy heart eyes at you the whole time.”
I groan, covering my cheeks with my hands. “Please don’t.”
“What?” He gestures with a wooden spoon, far too pleased with himself. “You’re dating my best friend, Gabe. I get to give you shit for it. It’s brother law.”
“It’s harassment.”
“Semantics,” he says, shrugging. “Anyway, you’re smiling a lot more lately, so I’ll allow it.”
“I always smiled…” I say guardedly.
He snorts. “You’ve been giving that polite little smile for years, the one you have on your face these days, though. That’s different. It’s a real smile now… real dopey.”
I toss a napkin at him, but I can’t stop grinning. “You’re a…” I cast my eyes toward Rose, who’s watching us intently. “Donkey,” I finish.
He snatches it, laughing. “Yeah, yeah, grab those plates, would you?”
Dinner is loud but has an easy comfort to it. Rose babbles while Aiden sneaks vegetables onto her plate that she flings to the ground in record time. He tells me a story about a client at the gym who nearly passed out on the treadmill. I tell him about Theo stopping by the shop.
He nods his head, looking a bit irritated. “Did he go to the post office alone?”
I’m sure the confusion is clear as day on my face. “Um, I don’t know.”
What a weird question to ask.
“Cool, say where he was heading after?”
“No…”
He just bobs his head, expression unreadable as he pushes more carrots onto Rose’s plate while she’s distracted. “Anyway, how’s the store?”
I tell him about the online store progress and about emailing Dani. He talks about the gym some more, and about bringing Rose to the aquarium soon.
It’s simple. Ordinary. And it’s the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. By the end of dinner, I’ve forgotten about the shop, the nerves, and the pressure to do more.
I toe off my shoes by the door, letting them land in a heap.
The quiet of the apartment wraps around me instantly.
The air has the faint bite of citrus peel and cedarwood from Noah.
His hoodie is draped over a chair by the kitchen table, as usual—a reminder he’s here even when he isn’t. Seeing it makes me smile.
I round into the kitchen and stop. Four round shapes break up the silver monotony of the fridge door.
Oreo cookies. At least, they would be if they weren’t unapologetically, ridiculously bright.
One is neon pink, another the kind of blue you only see in slushies, and the last two are just as bold in yellow and green.
They’re absurd. They’re loud. They’re hideous. They’re perfect.
I step closer, reaching out and let my fingers graze the ridged “cookie” edges.
Noah must have spotted them somewhere and thought they’d make me laugh. Except… to me, this isn’t just him finding something funny. I know in my heart, without needing him to say it, that he bought them because they reminded him of me. Of us.
The longer I look at them, the warmer my throat feels. It’s bizarre how four bits of plastic can change the space around me into something more lived in. More like a home. The apartment feels different since he moved in, less like a space I’m just existing in, more like a home we share.
Together.
I love them. I love the ridiculousness, the silly joy of them.
A smile stays on my face even as my nose stings and my vision blurs.
Happy tears, but tears all the same. My fingertips linger on the neon pink one, tracing the shape.
It strikes me how easily he’s brought his brightness into the quiet corners of my life, and how I’ve never had to ask for any of it.
“Oh,” Noah’s amused voice carries from behind me. “You saw them.”
I turn to see him. He’s in the doorway of the living room, hair windswept, hoodie draped over his shoulder. The way he smiles, like this is a small, private joke between us, makes more tears fall.
When he catches sight of my eyes, his smile slides away. “Shit,” he says, stepping forward, the lightness gone from his voice. “Baby, I’m sorry. I thought they were fun, I didn’t—”
I cross the kitchen before he can finish.
My hand latches onto the soft fabric of his top, pulling him into me as his hoodie hits the floor.
The kiss is hard, carrying all the feelings I’m not able to convey—gratitude, comfort, belonging.
So much happiness, I don’t know where to put it except this kiss.
Noah gasps, the faintest sound escaping him before he kisses me back.
When I break away, I keep my forehead pressed to his.
“I love them,” I murmur.
I love you.
I can’t say the words, but I feel them in every part of my being. Noah is mine. He was always meant to be mine. I just need to work harder to deserve him. If I try harder, maybe I really can keep him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, the words tumbling out of me. “I’m glad you came back.”
The corners of his eyes crease, his smile softens into something more tender. “Yeah?”
My hand finds the back of his neck, fingers ghosting over the top of his tattoo. “Yeah… I think you were always meant to come home.”
Home. To me.
The truth sits between us, fragile but tangible.
He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what I mean.
He just reaches up and brushes his thumb against my chin, fingers tracing a path under my ear and sliding into my hair.
His palm is warm, fingers lightly palming my scalp.
My eyes flutter closed as I sink into the feeling of utter contentment.
“Wanna go to your room and make out like teenagers?” he asks, voice dropping an octave, becoming playful.
My stomach flutters with the knowledge that he’d be perfectly happy with just that. Just kissing. Just me.
“Yes,” I laugh as I tug him to my room.