I need to get my shit together. No matter how attracted to Gabe I am, I can’t do that. I’m here to be a friend for him, not some creep in his shower misusing his shampoo.
By the time I’m toweling off, my brain’s spinning through my list for the day: final inspection, shipment of equipmenttomorrow, set up the check-in kiosk, staffing admin—thank fuck Zeke and Jules both said yes.
Zeke’s ex-military, a wall of muscle, the kind of guy who doesn’t have to raise his voice to get a room to listen. He’s been running trauma-informed coaching sessions at a gym in the next town over. When I told him what we wanted to build here—inclusive, safe for anyone who’s ever felt intimidated by the gym—he didn’t hesitate signing on.
Then there’s Jules, who’s pure energy with lavender hair. They’ve run the most creative group classes I’ve ever seen with zero tolerance for body-shaming bullshit.
I wander back to my room and spend a few minutes unpacking the rest of my stuff I hauled over. I set my sneakers by the door and pull out my old cassette tapes, lining them on the shelf one by one. It makes the place feel more mine. I put my old cassette player beside them; it’s the one Gabe’s parents gave me on my fifteenth birthday. I don’t know how it’s still going, but it’s one of my most valued possessions.
I pick up the book that’s on my bed, the one Gabe left for me. It’s a high fantasy; I started it the night I moved in, and I’m loving it. I run my thumb over the piece of paper I’ve been using as a bookmark: “Happy belated birthday.” Warmth runs through me knowing that, after all this time, he was able to pick out something that I like.
My phone lights up on the nightstand with a message from Aiden, asking if I’m on the way. I shoot him a thumbs up and head downstairs.
Gabe’s behind the counter, half-hidden by a row of brown paper bags. He’s bent forward, a stubborn wave of hair falling toward his forehead. The urge to reach across the counter and push it back hits me so fast it’s stupid—it looks soft, so dark and glossy, I bet it would slide easily through my fingers.
I shove my hands in my pockets.
He’s tying twine around the top of a bag with precision, tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates. God, that’s cute. The bow is perfect, and then he smooths it down with his thumb before reaching for the next one. I watch the way he moves—putting care into something most people wouldn’t think twice about. It makes my chest warm in a way I can’t look at too closely right now.
When I get closer, he glances up for a second, then back down again, and I notice he shifts back slightly.
“Morning,” I say, soft enough not to sound loud in the quiet.
“Morning,” he says, voice hushed.
I nod toward the bags. “What’s all this?”
“Goodie bags,” he says, tucking a copy ofRomeo and Julietinto one. “My friend Abbie teaches at Willowrun High School. Her class is starting next week. Thought if they had their own copies—and bookmarks—they might… I dunno, like it more.”
I raise my eyebrows, genuinely surprised. We had duct-taped paperbacks with missing pages when I went there. “Guess the school’s come a long way since I was a student if they’re organizing this.”
His hands pause, then he shakes his head without looking up. “Not the school.”
I blink. “What, you mean you just… did this, without anyone asking?”
He hesitates, then nods, fingers resuming their work. “Yeah. I know it’s not”—his voice dips, sounding almost embarrassed—“a smart business move, giving away books for free. But Abbie said some of them don’t even have a copy at home, and I just…” He shrugs like he’s waiting for me to tell him it’s a waste.
I see it so clearly—that quiet, guarded part of him that expects to be questioned for doing something kind.
Affection blooms in my chest, strong enough it almost hurts. “Hey,” I say softly. “That’s… really thoughtful.”
His movements stop. His ears turn pink, then the color spreads down his neck. He ducks his head and starts tying the twine like it’ll save him from the compliment.
I bite back a smile and lean casually on the counter, still giving him space. “Seriously, Gabe. They’re lucky kids. And Abbie’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can tell it means something to him.
I start to turn away, ready to head out, when his voice catches me mid-step. “Are you seeing Aiden today?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Heading over to his place now.”
He hesitates, then picks up a slightly bigger paper bag from the corner and sets it carefully on the counter. “Can you give him this, please? Something small for Rose.”
I grab the bag gently, noticing the books inside and the satin rainbow ribbon he’s tied on it. That’s sweet. “Of course. I’m sure she’ll love this.”
His mouth ticks upward, almost a smile—and for some reason, it feels like I passed a test I didn’t know I was taking.
“See you later,” I say, and he bobs his head without looking up.
