“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he rasps, voice cracking on the last word.
My heart breaks a little more.
“I’m not,” I say, keeping my voice low, laced with sincerity I hope he hears. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
“I just… I hate this. I hate being like this.”
I want to reach for him so badly, but I don’t. I stay, kneeling across from him.
The morning light spills across the floor. The broken shelf lies scattered in pieces around us.
And I watch this beautiful man try to put himself back together.
The shop stays quiet after. I lock the door and flip the sign toClosed.
Gabe curls into the small sofa in the reading nook, the cardigan he left there earlier now pulled tight around him. Hestares into the distance, jaw tight, like he’s still stuck in that moment. The sight of him like that hurts.
I keep sweeping splintered wood into a pile, trying not to make too much noise, but every scrape of the broom feels too loud. Like it might send him retreating further into himself.
When the shop is clean, I sit beside him for a while, not saying anything. Just keeping him company. Letting him see that I’m still here.
When he finally stands to head upstairs, I follow him. We stand in the hall for a long moment. Gabe steps toward me, lifting his hand, and for a second, I think he might actually touch me. But he doesn’t. He turns and enters his room, and I don’t see him for the rest of the night.
Gabe doesn’t say much when I step out of my room the next morning. He was still in his room when I got up for our run. I didn’t want to disturb him after yesterday. He’s curled on the couch in an oversized cardigan, his journal resting against his knee. His lip is caught between his teeth, eyes lifting to mine and holding—green on blue. What he’s looking for, I’m not sure, but he seems to find it as he gives me a soft smile.
“Good luck today,” leaves his lips. We share a gentle grin, a wave goodbye, and I let the silence stand however he needs it to after yesterday.
I make my way downstairs and outside. Sunlight spills across my face. I make it three steps before stopping. It’s like there’s an invisible string pulling me back. I don’t want to leave him alone today, but I can’t miss the first day Anchor Strength opens, either. Then I hear the door open—soft footfall following.
I glance over my shoulder as fingers brush my shoulder gently, and his hushed voice follows. “Can I… Can I hug you?”
I’m nodding before he even finishes asking.
Then arms slide around me from behind.
Hands skim along the sides of my top, fingertips grazing the thin fabric across my ribs, before settling—one splayed against my chest, right over my racing heart, the other pressed at the center of my stomach. His fingers are light, but I still feel him through cotton—warm and real, claiming me. Whether he means to or not, he has.
Gabe’s face brushes my hair. He breathes in, then exhales slowly. The heat of it ghosts down the side of my neck, making me shiver.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I freeze, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. Is this really happening?
My chest rises unevenly against his palm, heart pounding so hard he must feel it.
And then, without thinking, my own hand lifts over his on my chest. My fingers slot between his, holding him there. Choosing him. My throat works around words I can’t risk saying out loud, so I let the touch speak for me instead.
The warmth of him seeps into me—chest to back, palm to heart—his careful strength wrapped around me. It’s tentative, delicate. And I feel the weight of what it costs him to give it.
I want to turn, to gather him close, to promise him he never has to thank me for a thing. But I stay rooted, staring at the sunlight on the street ahead, memorizing every second, every press of his fingers against me, every heartbeat shared between us.
His head dips, the tip of his nose brushing against the top of my compass tattoo. I don’t know if it’s an accident, but then, justas quickly, he’s gone. His arms slip away, leaving the air cooler. I hear the soft patter of his retreat back inside.
It all happened in a matter of seconds, but I know that I’ll never be the same. That a single embrace has marked me, carved something permanent into my chest.
Because once you’ve felt someone like Gabe choose to hold you, you can’t go back to who you were before.
It hits me hard. Not that I want him—I already know that. What staggers me is how much I wantwithhim.
