He’s only taken a few mouthfuls of his.
“This is amazing,” I tell him honestly.
He dips his head like he’s not sure what to do with the compliment. “Thanks.”
I make sure to finish every last bite, even sopping up the broth with bread. “Seriously. Delicious. Haven’t had anything that good in ages. I can cook for us, too, you don’t need to do it every day.”
This time, a tiny smile slips through. It’s gone as fast as it came, but I catch it.
“I actually really love to cook.” The words come out like a confession. “I used to try different dishes every week. Ciarán and Abbie would come over for dinner, we’d make a night of it.” There’s a nostalgic air to his words.
“You don’t do that anymore?” I ask, interested in every piece of information I can gather about him.
He shakes his head slowly. “Not as much.”
I clear my throat and try to keep my tone level, I don’t want to sound overeager. “We could cook together, invite everyone over sometime. Doesn’t have to be something set in stone every week, but it could be nice.”
He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and looks into his soup, and when he speaks again, I hear the quiet longing in his voice. “That does sound nice.”
It’s not an agreement, but as he eats more soup, I think to myself, that’s something we can work toward.
When we’re done, I stand before he can. “I’ll clean up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. Plus, it’s only fair. You cooked, so I’ll clean.”
He hesitates, then nods and lets me. I wash the bowls and set them in the rack, careful to line them up the way I’ve seen him do.
When I turn back, he’s at the kitchen island, his laptop open. The glow from the screen lights up his face. He looks up at me, then back at the screen like he’s debating closing it, but doesn’t.
“You made the website for the gym, right?”
“Yeah,” I tell him.
His tone is nervous when he asks, “C-can I show you something?”
“Of course, what is it?” I say in a relaxed way, but every part of me is dying to know what he wants to show me.
“Online store,” he mumbles after a pause. “For the shop. I don’t know if I’m going to put it live, but…”
He swivels the laptop toward me as he lets out a shaky breath.
The page is simple but clean—green background, a banner of willow leaves, and across the top in soft lettering:Evergreen Books – A Quiet Place of Queer Joy.
It’s beautifully done, not finished, but looks great so far.
“Wow,” I breathe.
Gabe’s shoulders go tense. “I know it’s not great. I’m not the best at doing things like this. It’s a bit…”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s perfect. Feels right for the shop. Suits the energy of your space.”
He searches my face, like he’s checking to see if I mean it.
“I mean it,” I tell him. “You’ve done a good job so far, it’ll be great when it’s finished.”
He looks like he wants to believe me, but can’t.
