Chapter 30
THIRTY
ROSEMARIE
A week had passed. After Gavin dropped Elodie and I off at my apartment, she’d barely said goodbye. Just grabbed her bag, mumbled something about needing to be alone, and left.
I tried to ask her—more than once—what the hell happened at the station.
Why Teagan had lashed out the way she did, and why Elodie looked like she’d aged five years by the time we got home.
But every time I brought it up, she shut down.
Said it was nothing. That she needed to deal with “some things.” I knew she was keeping something from me.
I also knew that pushing her wouldn’t help.
Elodie was the kind of person who told you the truth when she was ready, and not a minute sooner. So I’d been giving her space.
In the meantime, I’ve been holed up between my apartment and my bookstore downstairs, doing my best to keep moving forward with getting the shop ready to reopen …
eventually. As Gavin’s team had promised, we were only about two weeks away from having the shop feel like itself again.
Or as close to itself as it could, after gallons of water had decided to rain down on my life.
The last few days, Gavin’s crew had been busting their asses.
Drywall touch-ups. Trim replacement. A fresh coat of paint.
They were installing new floorboards, recaulking the front windows that had never been fully sealed in the first place, rewiring the checkout desk corner, and replacing the ruined ceiling tiles.
One of the guys had even brought me coffee yesterday because, in his words, I looked like I was “five seconds from sobbing and they didn’t want any more water damage to fix. ”
He hadn’t been wrong.
While they’d been rebuilding my store, I’d been sorting through invoices and box after box of replacement inventory. I’d gotten into an argument on the phone with a supplier two towns over after they’d shipped me the wrong color bookshelves for the second time. Again.
Apparently “warm oak” and “espresso black” were basically the same thing in their world.
They weren’t.
And on top of all that, I’d been avoiding running into my parents.
Not really shocking, but even though their office was right next door to the shop, I hadn’t seen them. No calls. No texts. Not even a check-in when the replacement flooring had gotten dropped off a few days early and blocked their parking spot for half the day.
But somehow, they always found time to talk to Gavin.
Apparently he was the one who gave and received the updates now—about the progress, the schedule, the scope of damage, the electrical inspection.
Meanwhile, I was the one standing here up to my ears in logistics, wondering when exactly I’d become an afterthought in my own parents’ lives.
I got that they owned the building, but this store owned my soul, and they should have known that.
When I’d called them the other night to suggest we all go out to dinner together this evening—to catch up and, not that I’d said it, tell them that Gavin and I were seeing each other—Dad had said it sounded like a lovely way for me to “thank Gavin for all the work he’s so generously provided when he could be focusing on other profitable rehabs. ”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Gavin had so “generously” come over last night to help me replace the lightbulbs above the new checkout counter because I couldn’t reach them, and the old ones had been giving off the vibe of a late-night gas-station interrogation room.
I also hadn’t mentioned how, once the bulbs were in and we were both standing beneath the soft, golden glow of new light, he’d pulled me in and kissed me slow and deep and right against the counter—“generously,” of course.
Or how we’d had dinner upstairs—takeout, from that Thai place we now frequented a couple times a week. Or how, after I’d poured the wine—a normal amount—he’d taken the glass from my hand and “generously” kissed my collarbone instead.
I hadn’t told him that Gavin had screwed me on the kitchen table before dinner. And “generously” again on the couch after.
I guess “thank you” meant different things to different people.
Things with Gavin felt … strong. Steady.
We’d seen each other almost every night this week, even if only for an hour or two.
He’d show up with takeout or wine or just those quiet eyes of his that seemed to see straight through me.
He touched me like he already knew I’d needed grounding, before I’d said a word.
He was calm. Confident. Like none of this fazed him. Like introducing us to the world—or at least, to my parents—was just another thing on his list.
Me?
I was shitting my sundress.
I’d been playing this dinner over and over in my head.
The looks. The awkward silence. The way my mother would lean across the table, all pearl earrings and measured tone, and ask how long “this little situation” has been going on.
The way my father would go quiet and check his watch.
Or, worse—say nothing at all. Or, really worse—get angry.
Sighing, I stretched my arms and back after sitting on the shop floor with my laptop for the past few hours.
Noticing that I had about an hour to get ready before Gavin arrived to drive us to our death—I mean, dinner—I stood and took a full look around the shop.
It was coming back to life a little more each day.
Meanwhile, I thought Gavin had somehow managed to bring me back to life since everything had fallen apart.
At exactly seven o’clock, I heard the shop door chime downstairs. Not a minute more. Not a minute less.
There were only three people who had a key, and only one of them I expected to be walking through the door and up to the apartment tonight.
I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress and glanced at myself in the mirror one last time. It wasn’t my usual style—not one of the floaty sundresses that made me feel like I belonged in a storybook or at a farmer’s market. This one was more structured. More … grown-up.
It was a soft slate blue, with clean lines and a square neckline.
Knee-length. Fitted at the waist, but not tight.
The kind of dress that said I am an adult woman who pays taxes and has opinions about epoxy versus elastomeric paint.
And maybe, if you looked close enough—the kind of dress that still offered a little bit of sex appeal.
The barest hint of cleavage. The suggestion of shape beneath structure.
I wanted to look nice, of course. But mostly I wanted to look like someone my parents would see beside Gavin. I didn't want them to see their daughter as someone who had a silly crush on the contractor.
I pulled the apartment door open and found him standing at the base of the stairs, looking up at me with a slow, deliberate smile.
Oh, hell.
Tonight, he was in a pair of dark jeans and a light blue button-down that stretched just enough across his chest and shoulders to make my mouth dry up entirely.
He hadn’t shaved—thank heavens—but his dark grey-flecked hair was combed back, still a little damp at the edges, like he’d just stepped out of the shower.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I said before I could help myself.
His grin widened. “Could say the same.”
He climbed the stairs slowly, eyes raking over me from top to bottom. He didn’t try to hide it. Didn’t rush. When he got to the landing, his hand slid around my waist, pulling me in.
“You look beautiful,” he muttered. “Elegant. Sharp. Sexy as hell.”
I smiled, nerves fluttering. “Too much?”
He shook his head. “Not even close.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment, then added, “Does it make me look more … I don’t know. More adult?”
Gavin’s brow lifted slightly. “Adult?”
“You know. Like someone who’s not about to sit next to her fifty-two-year-old boyfriend and tell her same-aged parents she’s dating him.”
That earned me a low, rough chuckle. “You look stunning, Rose. You always do. But”—he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear—“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the sundresses. Preferably with no bra.”
Heat bloomed down my spine. “You’re evil,” I whispered.
He kissed me, slow and teasing, like he knew exactly what he was doing—and exactly how close I was to forgetting we had dinner plans. But before I could melt into him completely, he pulled back just enough to speak.
“Teagan’s downstairs in the truck.”
I blinked. “What?”
He held my gaze, gentle but unreadable. “I told her about dinner with your parents,” he said after a beat. “Figured she’d say something sarcastic or brush it off, but … she asked if she could come.”
“She asked?”
He nodded. “Shockingly, she said she’s not mad. Still confused, sure—but she told me she sees a difference in me. In you.”
I stared at him. “Different … how?”
He shrugged, but it was the thoughtful kind. The kind that meant he’d been thinking about it. “She said I don’t seem like I’m walking through cement anymore. That I look lighter. Less bitter. Like I’m in it, instead of just moving through it.”
My throat tightened.
“She said you’ve changed too,” he added. “That you seem more risky. Like you finally stopped holding your breath.”
I pressed my palm against his chest.
“That doesn’t mean she’s all in on us,” he went on. “But … it means she’s trying.”
I let out a slow exhale. “You think she’s trying for you? Or for me? Or for whatever weird thing is between Elodie and her?”
“I think she’s trying for herself,” he said honestly. “And maybe for all of us, too.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
We walked downstairs together, the soft click of my heels sounding louder than usual on the stairs.
Outside, the truck was parked at the curb. The passenger door opened before we even reached it, and Teagan climbed out. She didn’t say anything. Just looked at me.
A flicker of something passed behind her eyes—then there was a small, tight smile. Nothing more. No bite. No frost. Just … neutral.
Has hell frozen over?
The anxiety began to build. This was too much. This was all too much. Dinner. My parents. Teagan. My sundress-turned-office secretary dress. I must’ve stopped moving, because a second later, Gavin stepped up behind me. His hands brushed down my arms, grounding me with the smallest touch.
“Breathe, Rose,” he murmured. “It’s going to be fine.”
I closed my eyes. “And if it’s not fine?” I asked quietly.
“Then it’s not fine,” he said, voice steady. “And we’ll figure it out. Together.”
I nodded once and began to climb into the passenger seat of the truck.
Gavin gave me one of those smiles that caused the rest of the world to fade and then shut the door.
While he moved to the driver’s side and started directing the truck toward the restaurant, I continued to think of every possible way that this conversation could go.