37. Gabe
37
GABE
Let the record reflect that I’m not happy that anyone suffered an asthma attack, was struck by a vehicle, or experienced a mild seizure.
I am thrilled none of the incidents resulted in serious injuries.
Selfishly, I’m also glad that all of them, as well as the brush fire on a hillside by the highway that we extinguished in twenty-five minutes, kept my mind off Arden.
There’s no room for thinking about women when you have to put out flames.
But now my shift is ticking near to closing time. As Shaw and I check the equipment on the truck, he gestures toward Charlie, who’s hanging out with us at the end of his shift. One of his last shifts. “Did you hear Charlie’s boss says he found a new guy already?”
“That so?”
Charlie affects a frown. “They don’t let the bodies get cold in our field.”
“He’s not starting for another week or so, but yeah, the boss man found someone from . . .” Shaw stops and scratches his head. “Hell, he told me when I saw him at the ER, and I already forgot.”
I’m tempted to make a wisecrack about his mind going to hell, like I usually do, but I’m not in the mood to joke.
Which is odd, since I usually am.
But I’m antsy, waiting to hear from Arden. As we wrap up the checklist, my phone dings with a text from her.
Arden: Working late. Doing inventory. Are you almost done?
Smiling, I figure she must want to see me ASAP.
It’s ten, and it’s been quiet for a spell. Plus, her store is only two blocks away. I clap Shaw on the back. “I’m going to see Arden for a few minutes. Call me if anything comes up, okay?”
His eyes widen in surprise. “A booty call? You dog.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, exactly. I’m going to her store for a quickie in the stacks. No, you dickhead. But I did finally tell her how I felt.”
“About time. And what did the future Mrs. Harrison say?”
“That’s what I’m going to go and find out.” I rub my hands together, a burst of excitement zipping through me.
“Get the hell out of here, Casanova.”
A few minutes later, I knock on the door to A New Chapter. It’s dark inside. Only a few lights flicker. She walks to the door, looking as gorgeous as she did when I left her last night. Maybe more. She opens the door, and I half expect a kiss.
Wait.
I wholly expect a kiss.
Instead, she smiles faintly, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks for coming.”
And no kiss is coming my way. Judging from her serious expression, I’m not getting the yes I was hoping for either.
My shoulders slump, but I keep my tone light. “No problem.”
“I thought about what you said.”
I grit my teeth, trying to swallow my own pending disappointment as I wait for her to speak again.
“I value our friendship too much. I don’t want to lose you, Gabe.”
“I don’t want to lose you either.”
“And today, I was thinking about all these things. Giving books to your mom, and telling you stories about my day, and hearing your stories, and visiting your pops, and rescuing Hedwig, and going bowling. I don’t know how we can do that. Because what if it doesn’t work out?”
“But . . .” I start, thinking of all the ways I can convince her it’ll work out.
Except maybe she doesn’t want to be convinced. Maybe she wants an out, and a gracious one. An escape hatch that’ll preserve what matters most—the foundation we’ve built of friendship.
And if she wants an out, I suppose this is the lesser of two evils—her letting me down now before we try to become something more, instead of her letting me down when I’m in even deeper.
I drum my fingers against the shelf, a little loose. “Hey, no worries. I hear ya. I get it.” I study the wood, grateful for the distraction. “Want me to fix this?”
“You don’t have to.”
I wave a hand, making it clear this is no big deal. “Nah, it’s easy. I know where you keep the tools.”
I head to her office, grab the tool set, and fix the shelf in two minutes. I want to show her I do understand. I do respect her boundaries. I don’t want her to think I’m going to vault past them simply because she shared some secrets with me about her sexual fantasies. Besides, she made her intentions clear from the start. Maybe we both crossed a line last night, but that happens in the heat of the moment, sort of like when two actors fall for each other on set. We were playacting, stage fighting, and stage fucking.
When the curtain falls, the romance ends.
I try to rattle the shelf, pleased it won’t budge. I pronounce it good as new.
“Gabe,” she says, like my name pains her. “I’m sorry.”
She’s not talking about the shelf. But a knife’s nicking away at my heart, and it’s hard to pretend it doesn’t hurt as I stare at the person wielding the blade. I do my best when I answer her. “Fixing it was easy.”
“I meant about?—”
I slice that notion off at the knees. “Hey, we’re good.” I tuck my finger under her chin. “Never ever worry about us. We are all good. I promise.”
“You swear?” Her voice trembles.
I lie. “I do.” I pile onto the lie. “In fact, let’s go bowling on Saturday. Like we always do. Your week of studies is nearly over. I’d say you passed with flying colors, learned all you needed, and we can get back to seven-letter words that lead to pizza being on you.”
“Or maybe I’ll kick your butt,” she says, and she sounds like she’s faking it too.
Maybe we’ll both fake it for a little while, but for different reasons, until we return to our balance.
I return the tools to her office, and when I leave, a call comes in for a small restaurant fire. Battling the blaze takes my mind momentarily off the way my heart seems charred to a crisp by a word I once thought was wonderful.
Friend.