Gabe
With a sigh, I stared at the abyss that was my house. The three-bedroom craftsman I’d purchased five years ago wasn’t grand. It needed a lot of updates. Updates I’d sworn I’d get to and never did.
The furniture was old, most having come from my parents when they made the move to Florida.
This was where I slept. But it was not a home.
And while I had never cared about that before, the last forty-eight hours had completely changed my life.
After pizza and movie night and pestering Sabrina endlessly with questions, Laurie had given me a blanket and I’d curled up on her couch, my mind racing.
I was going to be a father. In approximately thirty-one weeks.
And the rush of love, responsibility, and protectiveness that had engulfed me when I saw the flickering heartbeat was real. Possibly the most real thing I’d ever experienced.
I wasn’t father material. I was a mess. Physically and mentally. For years I’d only existed, doing everything all the time for everyone around me. Never looking inward at what I was missing, what I was denying myself.
I’d spent the last two days catching up on work and popping in to check on Sabrina. She’d felt fine, thankfully, and hadn’t experienced any bleeding. She’d checked in with the doc yesterday, and it looked like things were on track.
Except for me. I was way, way off track.
And that had to change.
I kicked my boots off and surveyed the piles of mail, files, laundry, and wreckage all over this house, wincing.
The change had to start here.
I’d fired up the coffee maker and had just thrown a load of laundry into the washer when the doorbell rang.
Navigating the piles I’d roughly sorted things into, I headed to the entryway. And when I opened the door, the sunlight hit my face, blinding me.
Sabrina was nothing but a silhouette until she stepped inside, wearing all-black workout clothes that hugged every curve. But she wasn’t alone. Laurie stood beside her, holding several paper bags.
And—my stomach plummeted—were those my parents?
“Um.” I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “What’s going on?”
Head held high, Sabrina pushed past me into the house. “I assembled a team. To help you clean.”
I froze, no. Not possible. No one could come in here.
“We want to help.” My mom gave me a genuine smile. She was holding the spinning mop she’d bought off an Instagram ad and never stopped telling people about.
Dad, toolbox in hand, followed her wordlessly, knowing better than to disagree with the boss.
“You’re not supposed to do anything strenuous,” I reminded Sabrina.
“For twenty-four hours. That time has come and gone. But I knew you’d say that, so I brought reinforcements,” she quipped.
Out front, a car door slammed, and a moment later, Logan strolled in without knocking.
“I’m here,” he called out. “Late night.” Stopping at the threshold, he pulled his long hair back into his signature man bun.
“Had a late night treating a goat pox outbreak. But Sabrina said it was time, and you know me; I love a project.” He clapped and rubbed his hands together vigorously.
The whole crew migrated to the kitchen, where Sabrina was pulling coffee mugs from a cabinet.
This was my nightmare come true. The people I cared about here, in my house, judging me.
Only no one wore a judgmental expression.
This felt more like care. Like help.
Help I desperately needed but had no idea how to ask for.
So I rolled up my sleeves and let it happen. Eventually, the judgment would come. The scorn. Or the shame. They just needed time to settle in. And once they really got a good look, they’d be horrified.
Mom and Laurie tackled the second floor, scrubbing bathrooms, moving old boxes out of the spare bedroom, dusting, and cleaning the baseboards.
Dad got to work fixing loose doorknobs, the broken kitchen cabinet, and replacing the broken garbage disposal.
Logan appointed himself in charge of laundry and pulled a steam cleaner out of his truck, proving himself pretty adept at carpet and upholstery cleaning.
“How do you know how to do this?” I asked.
“I live with a houseful of animals. This is just one of several steam cleaners I own,” he said.
I tackled the kitchen with Sabrina’s help—because no matter how much I begged, she wouldn’t sit and put her feet up—scrubbing, pulling out appliances, and cleaning out drawers and cabinets.
She worked with ruthless efficiency and without complaint. In fact, all I saw there was a desire to do something for me.
I’d been there for her in Burlington and the night after, and if I had to guess, this was her way of being there for me. She’d never say it out loud, but the realization caused warmth to spread through my chest.
“You know what every kid needs?” Logan shouted from the living room. “A pet.”
I snorted. I could barely take care of myself and had seven months to figure out a newborn. There was no way.
“Got a lead on a litter of kittens that may need homes.”
Sabrina’s face softened.
I dropped my rag and took a step toward her. “Wait,” I said. “You’re a cat person, aren’t you?”
She put a hand on her hip and donned that sassy look that did strange things to my insides. “All reasonable people are cat people, Gabriel.”
I gasped.
“I respect creatures that are independent and discerning,” she went on, buffing the stovetop. “Pets that do not require constant validation.”
“As opposed to dogs, who are friendly and loyal and actually happy to see their owners?”
She sighed. “I have no time for the emotionally needy. Go sniff someone’s butt. I’ve got shit to do.”
Logan broke into hysterical laughter in the living room, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Dogs like people,” I offered.
“They’re needy.” She rolled her eyes. “Just admit you’ve built an existence around your need to be liked.” She winked, taking some sting off the barb, but it still landed dead center.
“You sound exactly like a cat,” I snapped.
“I just have high standards,” she retorted. “Sorry you can’t relate.”
“Cats destroy things for fun. They scratch people and pee wherever they feel like it.”
She shrugged. “Relatable.”
I stepped even closer, and her sharp, floral scent washed over me. “Cats still need people,” I said softly.
“No they don’t.”
“See, that’s the thing.” I leaned even closer, our chests almost touching. “They pretend they don’t, but really, they need the love and affection of their families.”
Her eyes flashed. “You’re projecting.”
“Just admit it. You’re not as cold and mean as you pretend to be.” I raised an eyebrow.
She scowled. “And you’re not as perfect as everyone thinks you are.”
A sharp laugh worked its way out of me. “I’m the farthest thing from perfect. Look at this place. I have nothing to hide.”
We squared off, practically nose to nose. My fingers itched to touch her. My arms ached to be wrapped around her. My lips were desperate for another kiss. I was high on sleep deprivation and wild emotions, and this woman made me reckless.
“Ahem.”
Startled, I jumped back.
Logan grinned from the doorway. “I feel like I need to weigh in on this debate. Professionally.”
“He’s a dog,” Sabrina said. “So the question is, what breed?”
Logan scratched his beard. “Ooh. This is good.” He looked me up and down. “Not a golden. Wrong energy. And definitely not a Chihuahua.”
“High functioning and smart,” Sabrina said. “With a hero complex.”
Eyes lighting up, my friend clapped. “Lassie. You’re Lassie, dude. Total collie vibe.”
Sabrina smiled widely, hands on her hips.
“Works constantly, because if he doesn’t feel useful, he spirals.” Logan laughed.
“Also very responsive to praise,” Sabrina added. “Tell him he did a great job cleaning the oven.”
Logan smirked. “Best I’ve ever seen.”
I narrowed my eyes, attempting to glare, but only ended up breaking into laughter.
“See? Peak collie energy.”
“This conversation,” I said, between heaving breaths, “is both ridiculous and unproductive.”
“Sure,” Logan said. “She clocked you.”
He gave Sabrina a mock salute, then sauntered back to the living room.
“Now get back to work on the fridge,” she said. “We’ll give you a cookie later.”
I grumbled, feigning annoyance, but in truth, I was grateful they were here.
Eventually, my parents and Laurie headed out, and quickly after, Logan yawned widely and checked his phone.
“Need to go to the office. Have a vaccine clinic tonight.”
“You’re still on the clock?” Sabrina asked.
He laughed. “I’m always on the clock. But I might even have time to shower first.” Wandering toward the door in that lazy fashion of his, he pointed at her. “Be nice to my boy.”
She nodded.
Once the door shut behind him, I collapsed on the couch, marveling at how pretty the wood on the coffee table was. I hadn’t seen its surface in years.
“This feels amazing,” I said. “Thank you.”
She sat at the far end and turned so she faced me. “You’re welcome.”
“I see you, Sabrina Monroe. You care.”
“Me?” She gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
I bit my lip. She was cute like this—silly and tired and unguarded.
“How about we make a deal?” she suggested. “You take care of yourself, and I’ll take care of myself. This kid needs us at our best. We’re not exactly top-shelf parenting material right now.”
“Speak for yourself,” I joked, even as her words seeped into my soul. “Sure, there are some things I need to work on. But I’m ready. Everything’s changed.”
She held her hand out.
Taking it, I scooted closer. “But we need to be friends.”
She tilted her head, studying me for a moment. “As much as it pains me to say this, and as much as it feels like a betrayal of my deepest-held beliefs, I agree. We need to be friends. It will take some work.”
“Good.” I was still holding her hand, unable to let go. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“After yesterday, I don’t want to.”
The smile that spread across my face made my cheeks ache. “I want to be a dad,” I said softly.
“And you’ll be great.” She dropped my hand.
I ached for more contact, but I wouldn’t push my luck. “Friends.”
“Friends.”
The word felt like both a victory and a defeat.