Sooner rather than later.
I hope.
As she types away, chewing her lip almost aggressively, I watch her. I’ve taken her away from her home, from everyone she knows, and not hidden the truth from her at all. She’s fully aware of the danger she’s in, of how close she’s come to dying, and how hard people are looking for her.
And I see the effects of that as time goes on. She calls her dad more often, and sometimes I’ll catch her staring out the window quietly, not writing or listening to music.
She’s homesick, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.
“Gibson?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for coming with me.”
She lifts her gaze to me, her head tilted, her hands hovering over her keyboard as we stare at one another. Silence stretches, interrupted only by the crackle of the fire. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”
I shrug. “You could’ve said no.”
“I did, and you threatened to kidnap me.”
“Just …” I sigh. “Accept the thank you. Asher wanted to keep you safe, and me doing that … it means I can do something for you that I couldn’t do for him. It’s important to me, or whatever. So, thanks.”
Ella nods and looks at her laptop. “You’re welcome, Gable.”
Chapter 31
Ella
My alarm yanks me from my dream, and I groan into my pillow. That means it’s after lunch, and even though my stomach is growling, I hide under the covers.
I wrote all through the night again, so there’s no way my brain is ready for the day. It doesn’t help that I’m in a foul mood. Before I’d gone to bed this morning, Gable informed me that we’re nowhere even close to finding out more about the hard drive or who killed Asher.
It’s taking forever. I knew it wouldn’t be simple, but I miss home. I miss my bed, my dad, my flower shop, my routine. It’s lovely here, and quiet, and I appreciate what Gable is doing for me, but it’s slowly getting to me.
Don’t be miserable, Ella. Get up.
“No,” I cover my face with a pillow.
Sulking isn’t attractive.
It is today.
So, I go back to sleep and wake up hours later.
To the smell of cooking.
After quickly showering and dressing, I leave my roomand pause at the bottom of the stairs, peeking down the large hallway. Standing in the open-plan kitchen, in front of the stove, is Gable.
I’ve never seen him cook, not once. But he’s right in front of me, in a T-shirt and jeans, acting like he belongs in a kitchen. I approach slowly, cautiously, wondering if this could be a mirage.
“Hey.”
He looks over his shoulder, then wipes his hands on a kitchen towel as I approach. He extends his hand. “Gable Flynn.”
I arch a brow, my gaze darting between his face and his hand. “Did you hit your head?”
He sighs then leans close. “Living in a warzone isn’t easy, so let’s try and find some common fucking ground, Gibson.” He raises his brows. “You wanted something normal. Here’s normal.”
