“You’re not an asshole. You’re a good dad, you have the right to worry.”
He blinks at me, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks.”
“It’s true,” I say honestly. “You have Rose the majority of the time, and you’re starting a new business. That’s a lot.”
He just nods and goes back to adjusting the shelf, clearly avoiding the compliment. Outside, the sun dips low, casting golden light over the street.
Aiden pulls off his gloves and stretches, and I hear his back crack. “We done for today? I wanna get home to my girl. Macy’swatching her, that woman’s a godsend, but I don’t wanna take advantage of her time.”
I smile to myself as I start tidying. He’s wrapped around that little girl’s finger, and we all know it. “Yeah, I’m gonna head over to the bookstore now anyway.”
He claps my shoulder. “Say hi to Gabe for me.”
I nod again, but before I can turn away, he adds, “You’ll probably meet Abbie and Ciarán during the week. I’m sure you’ve heard Gabe mention them before. They’re kind of a package deal.”
That makes me smile, knowing Gabe has people there for him. There’s a faint ease to his shoulders when he speaks again. “Abbie’s great,” he adds, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ll like her. She’s always up for a laugh. She’s got a good heart, loves Gabe.”
I nod along, absorbing all these details about Gabe’s life. “And Ciarán?”
I’ve heard Gabe mention him before, going to book events or brunch together, but I don’t know anything about Ciarán himself.
His smile dies fast, mouth twisting like he’s tasted something sour. “He’s fine.”
I frown, surprised at his reaction. “You don’t like him?”
Aiden blows out a breath through his nose. “Not really.”
“Why?” I ask because Aiden isn’t the type to dislike people without a reason.
His brow furrows. He shrugs, but the movement isn’t casual. “Just don’t.”
I study him, trying to understand his reaction.
“Is he a bad friend to Gabe or…” I let my question trail off, hoping he’ll fill in whatever I’m missing here.
He stares at the ground, then slowly he moves his head side to side. “No, he’s a great friend to Gabe,” he mutters begrudgingly.
“Right,” I say slowly, still not sure what the problem is. “Well, guess I’ll find out for myself when I meet him.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, hooking his bag over one shoulder. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
He leaves it there. I’m left staring after him, wondering what the fuck that was all about.
As I step out into the early evening, the breeze cool against my neck, I feel a strange combination of nerves and excitement.
It’s only a short walk to Gabe’s place, but when I get close, I slow down to stare. The building is redbrick, ivy crawling up the walls, but the storefront is painted a deep hunter green. On the display window,Evergreen Booksis hand-painted. And underneath, he’s built this tiny version of Willowrun out of stacked books—some open for rooftops, spines as walls. Fairy lights run along the bottom, throwing little shadows across it all. It’s whimsical, so perfect, and it makes me smile.
I step inside, and the place smells unexpectedly like lavender; it’s comforting. For a second, I pause, taking it all in.
It looks different from how I remember it when I was a kid. The shelves are more crowded now, with large sections dedicated to queer stories and authors. The back wall has a little reading nook lined with plants and string lights that give the place a soft, lived-in glow.
And there, behind the counter, is Gabe.
He looks up, and when our eyes connect, I forget how to speak. How to breathe. I’m not prepared for this version of Gabe Shaw. This isn’t the Gabe I knew before I left—that version of him was a boy compared to who stands before me now.
Tall and lean—a body built from repetition and endurance. I see it in the way his faded T-shirt stretches across his chest, the firm cut of his shoulders, the long lines of his arms. A runner’s body. Aiden mentioned he took up running. I assumed that meant he did twenty minutes each day and called himselfa runner—that obviously isn’t the case. He’s all tendon and lean muscle; this man is in serious shape.
But his face, that stops me in my tracks.
