“So why do you look like someone burned down your gingerbread house?”
I hesitate. “He didn’t ask me to stay.”
Avery blinks. “Stay?”
“I told him I got the Harvest & Hearth job. He said it was great and that I should take it. Not that I should stay here. He obviously wants me to go.”
She tilts her head. “You sure that means what you think it means?”
“What else could it mean?”
She stirs her coffee slowly. “Maybe he thought that’s whatyouwanted.”
Her words hit me like a snowball to the chest.
“Well, why didn’t he say that? Maybe it’s better like this. If he didn’t want me to stay, I couldn’t handle hearing it.”
“Maybe you left before he had a chance to say anything,” she says softly. “I know what you’re like, Noelle. When in doubt, you bail. Do you remember the time we had a fight and you ran into that snowdrift by mistake, trying to get away from me?”
When Avery finally leaves, the diner is too quiet. The snow outside drifts past the windows in slow, lazy flakes. I wipe down the counter again. There’s an empty space on my wrist where my watch usually sits. I must have taken it off and forgotten to put it back on.
Reaching into my pocket, there’s nothing there. My heart sinks.
“Crap.”
Did I leave it at Gabriel's? I imagine him finding it. Maybe he’ll tuck it in a drawer and forget it, just as he’ll forget me.
I rest my hands on the counter, close my eyes, and whisper to the empty diner, “Please, Gabriel. Don’t let this be the end.”
A soft knock makes me jump.
When I turn toward the front window, Gabriel’s standing outside in the falling snow. One gloved hand rests against the windowpane.
For a second, neither of us moves. The snowflakes drift between us, glowing in the streetlight. Then I walk over and press my palm to the glass, right over his.
His lips curve into that slow, melting smile that undoes me completely.
Chapter Eight
GABRIEL
Noelle’s palm presses against mine through the cold glass, and everything I practiced saying disappears. I have to have her in my arms again. I push through the door.
“You forgot something.” I pull her grandmother's watch from my pocket.
“My watch.” Barely a whisper.
“Let me.” I take her wrist, fastening the delicate band as her pulse flutters under my fingers. “There. Right where it belongs.”
“Gabriel. Thank you.” She holds it up to her ear. “It’s working!”
I can’t let go of her hand. “When you told me about the job this morning, I said it was great and told you to take it… because I thought that's what you wanted to hear. I didn't want to be the guy who held you back.”
Her eyes fill. “You could never?—”
I step closer, cupping her face. “But I don't want you to go. I want you right here. To wake up with you every morning and fix everything in this place until it's perfect… so you can make all the amazing sandwiches you want.”
She's crying now. Great. I’ve made her cry.
