Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Bobby
The first thing I felt when I woke up was warmth.
For a moment, I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, afraid that if I did, this would disappear like every other dream I’d had of her. But the weight against my chest was real, the slow rise and fall of her breath against my skin, the way her fingers rested lightly against my side. Gabbi.
I blinked against the dim light of the cabin, my body sore but relaxed in a way it hadn’t been in years.
The storm still raged outside, the rain hammering against the roof, the wind howling through the cracks in the wood.
The fire had died down to nothing but embers, leaving the cabin colder than it had been last night. But I barely felt it.
She was still wrapped around me.
Her bare leg was tangled between mine, her face tucked against my shoulder, her breath warm against my skin. My arm was around her, fingers resting at the curve of her back, holding her close like it was the most natural thing in the world. And for a few stolen seconds, it was.
I let myself soak it in. The way she felt in my arms. The way her body fit against mine like she belonged there.
The way her fingers twitched slightly in her sleep, like she was dreaming.
I hadn’t had this in so long, hadn’t let myself have this.
And now that she was here, now that she was in my arms again, I felt something deep inside me start to unravel.
But I knew better.
I knew this wasn’t real, not in the way I wanted it to be.
Gabbi let out a soft sigh, shifting slightly, and I felt the exact moment she woke up. Her breathing changed, her fingers flexed against my side, her body going still as if she wasn’t sure whether to pull away or stay exactly where she was.
I didn’t move.
Neither did she.
Then, slowly, she lifted her head, brown eyes still heavy with sleep, her hair a mess around her face. Beautiful.
For a second, she just looked at me. No tension, no anger, no ghosts of the past between us. Just Gabbi.
“Your hair is a disaster,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
A slow smirk pulled at my lips. “You’re one to talk.”
She groaned, burying her face in my chest for a second before pulling back with a grin that did something dangerous to my chest. “Yeah, well, I don’t look like a hedgehog exploded on my head.”
I huffed out a laugh, reaching up to run a hand through my hair, which, yeah, probably did look like hell. “Not my fault I got stuck in a storm with a woman who wouldn’t let me sleep.”
Her eyes darkened slightly, her fingers absently tracing over my ribs. “Didn’t hear you complaining last night.”
I sucked in a slow breath, my grip on her tightening slightly. “Not complaining now either.”
She watched me, something flickering behind her expression, something too real, too deep. Then she pushed herself up, the blanket sliding off her shoulders as she stretched. “Come on, Norman. If we’re stuck here all day, I need coffee.”
I sighed, running a hand over my face before sitting up. “Fine. But if you want coffee, you’re helping.”
She snorted, already moving toward my pack where I had some supplies. “You don’t trust me to make it myself?”
I smirked, rubbing at the stiffness in my neck. “I trust you to burn water, Mason.”
She shot me a glare over her shoulder. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
She huffed but didn’t argue.
We moved easily around each other, like we hadn’t spent years apart, like we weren’t two people who had lost everything and still didn’t know how to put the pieces back together.
The small camping stove I kept in my bag wasn’t much, but it was enough to heat water.
Gabbi sat cross-legged by the fire while I crouched next to her, watching the steam curl into the air.
“You know,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice, “this almost feels normal.”
I glanced at her, watching as she wrapped her hands around the makeshift tin cup we were using. “Almost,” I agreed.
She sighed, taking a slow sip before tilting her head slightly. “What are we gonna do when this storm clears?”
The question hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer.
I stared at the fire, at the way the flames licked at the last remaining bits of wood, at how the light flickered against the walls, against her face.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, because lying to her was pointless.
She nodded, like she had expected that answer. “Yeah. Me either.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and full of things neither of us wanted to say.
Gabbi broke it first, nudging my knee with hers. “Do you ever think about how different things could’ve been?”
I let out a slow breath, resting my elbows on my knees. “All the time.”
She studied me for a second. “What do you think would’ve happened if that day never happened? If Liam never…” She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat. “I think we’d be married by now.”
Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “You really think that?”
I nodded, because I had never been more sure of anything. “Yeah, Gabbi. I do.”
Her gaze dropped to her coffee, her fingers tightening around the cup. “I think about that too.”
A sharp ache built in my chest, something close to regret, to longing, to everything I had tried to bury.
I reached out without thinking, gripping her wrist gently, guiding her hand away from the cup, forcing her to look at me. “We don’t have to talk about this now,” I murmured.
She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. “Okay.”
We sat in silence for a few more minutes, sipping coffee, letting the warmth settle between us. It was dangerous—this feeling, this temporary peace. But I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.
Gabbi must’ve felt it too, because when she set her cup down and leaned into me, I didn’t stop her.
When she rested her head against my shoulder, I pressed my lips to her hair without thinking.
And when she whispered, “I wish we could stay like this,” I closed my eyes and pretended, just for a second, that we could.
I pulled her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her, holding her like I had the right to. She melted against me, her fingers tracing patterns over my chest, her breath warm against my neck.
I kissed the top of her head, my fingers threading through her hair. “Me too,” I whispered, even though I knew this wouldn’t last.
Even though I knew I was going to have to let her go.
But not yet.
Not yet.