“You can’t behave for ten seconds,” Aiden scoffs.
“Watch me,” Ciarán fires back. A second passes. “Seven minutes?”
“Overly optimistic,” Aiden mutters.
Gabe’s voice goes all soft and tender. “Maybe you could get a list of what they like, so I have recommendations ready for them? I want them to know they’re safe here.”
“Fuck, Gabe, you are adorable! It’ll be feral. Teenagers are wild,” Ciarán states affectionately. He sees how Abbie is glaring at him. “Safest feral you’ll ever see, though.”
“You’re feral,” Aiden says flatly.
“Feral sees feral.” Ciarán presses his pointed boot into Aiden’s leg—hard enough to make him grunt. Aiden glares at a cushion as he picks at an invisible thread, refusing to look at anyone.
I lean toward Gabe to whisper, “Seriously, what is happening here?”
“A power struggle.” He laughs quietly, leaning into me. Fuck, that’s nice. I wish he’d do that every day.
I scratch at my chin. “Is this normal for them?”
“There’s nothing normal about them.” His eyes glimmer as he looks at me, and I feel like I’m caught in them. Our arms are pressed together, and I feel the warmth of his skin against mine. The connection goes on longer than necessary, both of us lingering in it.
The kettle whistles, pulling us out of the moment. Abbie looks between Ciarán and Aiden, hunting for a smile. “Well?”
Ciarán gets into Aiden’s space to stage-whisper in his ear, sultry as can be, “Come on, big boy. One smile. I won’t tell.”
There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth before he locks it down again.
Abbie points with her highlighter. “That counts.”
Ciarán beams. “Baker’s dozen, please.”
“Fucking nightmare,” Aiden mutters, but he’s still fighting a smile. And for the first time, I see a hint of fondness in the way he looks at Ciarán.
“National treasure, and don’t bring the cheap shit,” Ciarán says, moving swiftly away from Aiden now that he’s won.
Abbie starts pouring tea as Ciarán hops up to help. Amongst the commotion, an elbow bumps my thigh, and under the table, a hand finds mine. Gabe doesn’t look at me—just laces our fingers under the table. I squeeze once. He squeezes back. My heart hammers in my chest.
I don’t know what this is. We haven’t done more than hold hands. But I can feel the architecture of us being built, I just don’t know what will stand when it’s done.
All I know is, holding his hand feels more intimate than anything else I’ve ever done.
Theo lifts like a beast. He’s not as broad as me or Aiden, but the man moves serious weight.
“Bro, you’re scaring the clients,” Aiden laughs from the squat rack.
“Not my fault I’ve got talent.” Theo winks at me, setting the bar down hard.
“And modesty,” I tease. “How’d your head fit through the door this morning?”
Theo’s mouth tips. “Which one?”
“Idiot.” I’m laughing. Aiden is, too.
“What made you move to Willowrun?” I ask Theo.
“I was living in New York for a long time, wanted something a bit quieter, so I moved to Philadelphia. Turns out, not so quiet,” he laughs, staring out the large windows. “Then one day I read about Oregon and thought, why the fuck not? I wanted a change, wanted my own studio instead of working for someone else. And I fucking got it.”
There’s a gentle smile on his face as he watches people pass by. I get it, more than he knows. That draw to the quiet life.
