“Go, I’ll clean up here,” Gabriel says.
“But—”
“Go help your dad.”
I smile gratefully at him and then race to the diner to find Dad behind the counter, looking frazzled but determined. The place is packed. People are taking selfies with the vintage decorations Avery and I put up.
Dad's relief is obvious. “Noelle, thank goodness. They keep asking for your Christmas Dinner Melts. How do they know about them?”
“I'll explain later. Let's cook.”
We fall into the same rhythm we had when I was in high school, before I left for culinary school. Before we started disagreeing about the diner’s future. Dad works the grill while I assemble. He doesn't question my ingredients, just keeps up.
Three hours later, we've served over a hundred sandwiches. We're out of everything. My feet hurt, my back aches, and Dad's leaning against the counter, exhausted but grinning.
“That was incredible. The sandwiches were brilliant, kiddo.”
My throat tightens. “Really?”
“Yes. Maybe I've been too stubborn about changing things.”
The bell above the door chimes. Gabriel walks in, and my heart does its familiar skip.
“Hey. Thought you might want this.” He holds up my phone. “That dog knocked it into the snow.”
“Thanks.”
Dad looks between us. “I should head home. Your mom will want to hear about today.”
After he leaves, it's just Gabriel and me in the empty diner.
“You must be tired,” he says.
"I am." I sink into a booth.
He slides in across from me, then seems to reconsider, coming around to my side instead. “Come home with me.”
“Gabriel—”
“I'll makeyoudinner. Real dinner. You've been feeding everyone else all day. Let someone else take care of you.”
The way he says it, quiet and certain, undoes my reservations and I nod. “Okay.”
His cabin is warm, all wood beams and a big stone fireplace. Books everywhere. He makes carbonara while I drink wine and admire him.
I taste it and smile. “This is incredible.”
“Good. I was worried about cooking for a chef.”
“You have skills.”
We talk about people from high school, his brother, and I tell him a little about my mind-numbing job testing fake cheese in the city. We fall silent and I can’t stop looking at him.
“Tell me to take you home,” he says quietly.
“I don't want to go home.”
He's around the counter in two strides, kissing me hard. I wrap my legs around his waist as he lifts me onto the counter.
