Ava
“I’ll be back in the morning,” Gabe says, slinging an arm around me and kissing my forehead as we stand there in quiet awe.
Three kids. Six blankets. Every pillow we could find. Ten, I think.
They’re all asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. Sweet little angels and their trail of discarded socks.
Harrison checks on them one last time.
“Why don’t they use the spare rooms?” Gabe asks, lowering his voice. “There are enough of them.”
“They’re chasing fun. What’s your excuse?”
“Same thing,” he says, waggling his brows, clearly eager to retreat to his half-empty man cave.
“Why so anxious to leave?” I tease. “Got a hot date?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I love how you think there’s only one.”
“Yes, ladies. Meet Gabriel Alvarez. New York’s most eligible man-whore,” I say, messing up his hair.
He laughs, but his hand drifts to the bracelet at his wrist, thumb worrying the bent metal clasp he keeps fixing.
I ask the one thing I shouldn’t. “Have you heard from Isabel?”
He’s been quietly pining over her for years. Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong frenemy.
The kind of love that’s obvious to everyone but them.
“I have. She’s moving to New York.”
My interest sharpens. “That’s wonderful.”
He sees it, hesitates, then adds quietly, “She’s getting married.”
“Oh.”
Gabe reaches for the door. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he says, kissing my cheek.
Before he gets too far, I catch his sleeve. “Can you grab some pain au chocolat, an apple tarte Tatin, and maybe a few white chocolate pistachio croissants from the bakery on your way back?”
He snorts. “Wow. How very Hollywood of you. What’s wrong with a dozen day-old donuts ifrom the bodega on the corner?”
I consider this. Then nod. “Get those, too.”
He laughs as he heads down the hall, waving behind him.
I close the door softly and turn back toward the fire. The kids are still sprawled there, peaceful and relaxed in sleep, and the tight feeling in my chest sharpens. Time is running out.
Tick. Tick. Tick…
I slip into the kitchen to clean up, mostly to give my nervous energy somewhere to go.
I walk in and stop in my tracks.
Harrison has beaten me to it. His tall, muscular frame looks unexpectedly natural here, moving with quiet, flawless precision.
Dishes rinsed. Counters wiped. The last of the cups lined neatly in the cupboard.
