He narrows his eyes. “Then why, explain to me, did one of them open with, ‘U up?’ at three o’clock? Yes, I was up. I’m a fucking adult and also deleting your message. Is this the kind of shit they’re proud of?”
Abbie cackles. “Wait—at three in the afternoon?”
“Broad daylight!” He sighs dramatically, hands held out like scales. “Imagine those being my options for romance in this town. Trout in one hand, bad grammar in the other.”
I can’t stop laughing. He’s ridiculous, and I love him for it. But under the humor, something small and worried stirs in me. He jokes, but I’ve seen the way he looks at his phone sometimes, hopeful first, then hurt. I think he's lonely, but he'd never admit it.
“Maybe they’re just… awkward,” I say, trying to sound positive for him. “Some people panic and lead with the worst line possible.”
Ciarán gives me a look that’s half exasperation, half fondness. “You’re so sweet, Gabe.”
“Someone has to balance you out,” I say, laughing.
“Cheeky fucker!” He gasps a laugh while Abbie shouts, “Here, here.”
“Anyway,” he continues, suddenly brimming with excitement, “Theo told me about this vacant building on Fern Avenue near his shop that’s up for rent. I’m thinking of contacting them, maybe using it as a dance studio so I can practice more.”
Abbie perks up instantly. “Wait,a dance studio?That’s amazing, Ciarán!”
He waves a hand like it’s nothing, but his grin betrays him. “It’s just an idea. The rent’s apparently decent, and it’s a good location…” He trails off, eyes distant for a second, lost in thought.
I smile into my glass. “That sounds perfect, you’ve talked about having your own space for years.”
He shrugs, still trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I mean, who knows. It’d be nice not to keep renting rooms by the hour at the community center and having to deal with Mrs. Kennedy asking me every single time if I’msureI don’t want to date her daughter. Please, woman, look at me, do I look like I’m interested in anyone’sdaughter.”
My wine nearly comes out my nose.
Abbie leans in, voice sly. “And Theo, huh? Sounds like you two have been getting cozy.”
Ciarán’s smile curves as he narrows his eyes at her. “Calm yourself, woman. We’re friends.”
“I dunno,” Abbie says, nudging his arm, “you went on a motorcycle ride, sounds pretty romantic to me.”
Ciarán rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t. Terrifying and exciting? Definitely. Romantic? No.” Then he grins wickedly. “Anyway, if any poor soul wants romance with me, they’ll have to work for it. I’m not easy,” he says demurely.
“News to no one,” I tease, and he laughs, flicking a crumb of focaccia at me.
But as the laughter fades, I can’t help thinking how good that spark of excitement about the space looks on him—the light in his eyes. He deserves that.
We eat way too much. Abbie insists on doing the dishes. I dry and stack plates while Ciarán talks beside us with his hands. “So,” he says as we move around each other without thinking, “now that we’ve established our Gabe is well-fed and well-kissed, what’s next, hmm?”
I stay quiet because the honest answer is I’m not sure. I want more. I want the weight of him against me, his hands where they haven’t been. I want to give him something that isn’t shaped by fear. I want to choose him. My friends don’t know everything Kyle did to me in the past; they know he’d try to talk me into things I didn’t want. They don’t know he forced them on me when I said no. I want to tell them, but it’s like the more time that passes, the more impossible it becomes to speak the words. There’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think of saying it all aloud.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “He’s so patient. We’ve only kissed, I think I want more, but… I’m not sure what I’m ready for.”
“Go for it,” Abbie says from the table, drying forks. “Go as far as you feel ready for. And if you don’t want more… he’ll stop.”
The words are a balm poured over something raw inside me.
It’s my biggest fear, one I’ve never said out loud, that I’ll say no, and it won’t matter. That I’ll be heard and ignored like before. Abbie’s certainty makes it feel smaller. Like the people who love me know Noah well enough to trust he won’t cross that line, and that trust settles something deep in me. My chest loosens, my breath going deep for the first time since the topic came up. The tension in my shoulders eases.
Ciarán leans a hip against the counter and watches me intensely, choosing his next words carefully. “He looks at you like… he knows how unique you are. Exactly as you are,” he says, voice lighter than the weight beneath it.
“I’m not unique,” I say reflexively.
“You are,” he shoots back firmly. “Abbie and I know it. Your annoying-as-fuck brother knows it. And Noah thinks you are too. I see it in his eyes when he’s watching you, that boy is crazy about you. So if you feel brave enough to move things along, do it. And if you don’t? Doesn’t matter. He’s not going anywhere.” He flicks a droplet of water at me, grinning, but his words are kind. “You’re allowed to want things. I think you forget that.”
I nod, more to myself than to them. I want so many things, I just don't know if I get to have them.
