“Yeah,” he says honestly, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I am. We’ve worked hard to get it ready. It feels good knowing people will finally get to see it.”
I nod, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget all the noise in my head. Because I really do feel proud of him, of Aiden, and what they’re building. It’s like I’m carrying a little bit of his joy.
“My parents would be so proud of you both,” I tell him, and they would. They loved Noah like a son, and I see how they influenced the kind of man he’s become. He’s got a surprisingly gentle nature—reassuring and compassionate. There’s a lightheartedness to him, but he’s deeply sincere beneath the playful charm. I don’t know why I was so worried that he might have changed. He’s still Noah.
“Thank you for saying that,” he responds quietly. He clears his throat, and his eyes are soft when he looks at me again. “Theopening’s Friday, we’re taking Thursday off, last official day of freedom.” His voice dips. “Happy to help with whatever you need around here.”
I glance around the shop, biting my lip as I picture the cluttered corners, the shelves I’ve been meaning to move for months. “That would be great. I’d actually love to take down this shelving unit. Make more space.”
Then I look at him, and it feels like stepping into a spotlight. His gaze doesn’t waver, and I wonder if he sees how much of me is stitched together with fear and hope. I hesitate before saying, “You don’t have to spend your last day of freedom helping me, though. You’re going to be really busy with the gym after that. You should spend that day relaxing.”
“I want to. I like spending time with you.” His response is so absolute, and I find myself thinking, yet again, why does someone like Noah want to spend their time with someone like me?
The thought comes and goes because there’s a glimmer in his eyes, and I can’t stop the small smile that creeps across my mouth. “Okay,” I say, pleased, and I hate how obvious I am. “Thanks, Noah. You’re a good friend.”
The words taste bittersweet even as I mean them. Heisa good friend—steady, reliable, more patient than I deserve. But when I see something flicker across his face, quick as a shadow, I know I’ve said the wrong thing somehow. My stomach sinks, but before I get myself too worked up, he gives me a small grin. “You too.”
We lock up in silence, climb the stairs, and peel off into separate rooms. The quiet of mine swallows me whole. Lying in bed, the quiet presses in. My mind replays every second—Noah’s arm along the back of my chair, the curve of his mouth when I actually managed to make a dumb joke, the brush of his pinkie against mine.
I should feel good. Idofeel good. But the doubt comes anyway. As much as I enjoyed today, it also felt like I was moving through a shadow of myself. A version that used to belong here without question.
And the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever get that version back.
I try to hold onto the moment our pinkies brushed, how his warmth seeped into my skin. The fact that I didn’t move away.
I smile into the dark, but happiness is like sand in my hands. Grain by grain, it slips through my fingers, no matter how hard I try to hold on.
And then it fades to nothing, because I know how much my past has stolen from me.
I wonder how much more it will keep me from.
12
NOAH
The other night is stuck on repeat in my mind. All week, the words kept coming back to me.
“Thanks, Noah. You’re a good friend.”
And just like that, my heart sank. I kept my smile in place, but it felt tight. Gabe’s right, I am his friend. But it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that’s all I want to be.
As I lay in bed, I could still feel the ghost of his skin against mine. Such a tiny thing, but it felt like the start of something. The first time we touched, and he didn’t move away.
Didn’t he feel it too?
I huff, annoyed with myself for letting my mind go there again.
Get a fucking grip, Richards.
Gabe hasn’t shown any signs of attraction toward me—we’re just friends, and I need to remember that. I just thought that simple touch had meant…something.
It’s barely past ten on Thursday, and I already have splinters in my palms.
“Pretty sure this thing is just staying together out of spite,” I grunt, yanking another rusted nail free from the bookcase frame.
The store speakers are playing a Duran Duran playlist Gabe found. The volume is low, the familiar songs filling the space. I was surprised when he chose it, but he just shrugged, smiling at me.
Gabe gives a quiet laugh from where he kneels across from me, steadying the wooden panel. He takes his cardigan off and throws it toward the nook, hair falling forward as he leans in to hold the panel again. “Considering it’s probably older than I am, I’m kind of impressed with it.”
