His jaw looks sharper than I remember, with enough stubble to show he hasn’t shaved today. His cheekbones are high, cut like someone sketched them flawlessly. His nose is a little crooked, it always was, but it suits him—makes him look more real, more human. His mouth…Fucking hell. Soft lips, fuller on the bottom, a faint bite line like he still chews it when he’s nervous. I remember that he used to do it all the time.
His eyes hit like a punch to the ribs.
A thick wave of dark brown hair falls over one. Mossy green. The kind of green that makes you think of deep woods, of wet leaves after rain. They’re watchful. Not entirely guarded, but careful. And still, there’s something painfully open in them. Something that hasn’t been crushed completely. Those eyes lock onto mine for just a second before they flick downward, retreating to the safety of whatever he’s holding.
As his head dips, the light ghosts across his face, and I see it. A pale scar on his right cheekbone. Subtle but impossible to miss. My stomach churns seeing the evidence of what he’s been through. I pull my focus from it; the last thing I want is for him to catch me staring at it. I stand there like an idiot, every word I rehearsed on the walk over gone. Because fuck, he’s even more beautiful than I remember.
Which is not a thought I should be having.
I clear my throat and step closer. “Hey,” I manage, giving him a smile I hope isn’t too much. “Long time no see, Gabe.”
He nods once, throat working like it’s hard to talk. “Hi. Y-Yeah. I… It’s been a while.”
His voice is just the same as I remember. Deep but soft. He sounds nervous as I step further inside. The place hadn’t felt small, but now it feels like it’s closing in on me. Fuck, I’mnervous now. I’m rarely nervous, but the thought of Gabe being uncomfortable around me is making me feel off.
“This place looks great, I love the window display,” I say genuinely, trying to ease the moment. “Do you run the place alone?”
He nods, hands shifting on the paperback he’s holding like he needs something to hang onto. “Yeah. My friends help sometimes, but… I’m mostly alone.”
There’s something so heartbreakingly resigned about the way he says it that I don’t know what to say, so I smile and look around. “Well, you seem to be doing a great job.”
He glances at me, it’s quick and cautious, before he looks away again. His brow furrows like he’s really considering what I said. Shit, I’m messing this up already.
“I know you like the quiet,” I say, hoping to break the tension. “I’ll try to be a good guest.”
“It’s… fine. I mean, it’ll be fine.” He shifts on his feet, breathing harder now. Still holding that book like it’s a shield. It’s like he’s afraid of me. The thought turns my stomach.
“Gabe,” I say gently, trying to keep the hurt out of my tone. “It’s just me.”
That gets me another glance. It’s quick, but enough to see the flush rising up his neck. He nods, almost to himself. His mouth twitches, not a smile exactly.
I grab a book from the nearest table to give him a second to breathe. A dark romance about… werewolf Mafias? Is this the kind of thing Gabe likes to read now? I don’t even know what he likes anymore. That stings. I used to think I knew him. Enough to pick the books that might get him talking when he barely said two words to everyone else.
I glance toward the counter, where he’s still standing. I hate that I don’t know him well enough anymore to know what would make him comfortable right now.
He clears his throat. “I was just finishing closing off the till. So, I can show you the apartment now.”
“Sure,” I say, giving him a warm smile, setting the book back down.
He walks to the front door and locks it; the sound is loud in the quiet. His hand trembles.
“You have to come up through the store, so you’ll need two keys,” he says shakily, pausing at the stairs, his eyes flicking back to the shop door before leading the way. I follow him up, our footsteps muffled on the old wooden stairs.
The apartment is small but cozy. The entry opens into a narrow hallway—bedroom on the left, another across from it on the right, and a bathroom. At the end of the hall, the space opens into a main living area with wooden floors and mismatched furniture. A small sofa, a worn armchair, bookshelves overflowing with paperbacks.
The kitchen is tucked to one side, a narrow island separating it from the rest of the space. Beyond that, double glass doors open onto a small balcony. A tiny table and two chairs are set up out there. I can already picture drinking coffee there in the morning. Would Gabe join me for coffee? Or tea. Yeah, he was always more of a tea guy.
He shows me to the guest room—my room now—and I set my duffel on the bed. I’ll need to pick the rest of my stuff up from the gym. I left it there so I wasn’t weighed down coming over. Gabe hovers in the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.
“It’s not much,” he says. “But the bed’s practically new. And I, uh, put on clean sheets. Um… the window sticks a little, but it opens if you give it a push.”
He’s rambling. I watch him for a second, and I can’t help it, familiar fondness swells in my chest. “It’s perfect. Big step up from The Inn.”
His eyes dart to mine, then away. “Okay. Good.” He swallows, still trying to get a handle on his nerves.
I see the little tells. Fingers flexing in his pockets. Foot bouncing like he’s ready to bolt.
“I’ll let you settle in,” he says as he starts to back away.
