Tall in a way that makes other men fade out of the frame.
His shoulders fill out a dark shirt that clings to every line of muscle. The fabric strains across his chest enough that I have to force myself not to stare.
There's silver at his temples that somehow makes him even more devastatingly delicious.
His beard is trimmed neat and close, shaping a jaw that could absolutely ruin someone's life in the best way.
He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. It's the simplest thing someone could do, but it makes butterflies explode in my stomach anyway.
He looks around the room once, just a sweep of his eyes, but it feels like he's taking inventory of every person, every angle, every possible threat or exit. Ex-military men don't stop being ex-military, I guess.
Then his gaze lands on me.
It's like being pinned without being touched. His eyes are a deep, stormy gray, and when they lock onto mine, something warm sparks in the center of my chest.
I straighten without meaning to and my breath catches. I hope no one can see the way my pulse jumps under my skin.
He doesn't look surprised to see me.
He looks… aware, like he recognizes me from those old photos too, except I'm not the kid in pigtails anymore.
The recognition in his eyes sends a warm rush through me so fast, I have to grip the tray again.
For a split second, I wonder what he sees. The dress. The curves I still don't always know how to carry with confidence. The girl who has spent the last year feeling like her reflection belonged to someone she didn't quite trust.
The intensity in his eyes softens. Dad calls his name from across the room, but Gabe doesn't look away yet.
He holds my gaze for one slow beat longer. It makes my heartbeat thud low and heavy.
Then he smiles, and it isn't a polite, or even a hello, smile. It's a slow, warm smile that curls up one side of his mouth and looks a lot like "where have you been all my life?"Or maybe the breakup really has made me delusional.
Dad gets to him first, cutting straight through the crowd. He pulls Gabe into a rough hug, the kind men give each other when they haven't seen each other in years but refuse to get emotional about it.
Gabe's big hand claps my father's back, and the sound echoes through the hallway.
Then Dad wipes his palms on his jeans and gestures between us like he's presenting a science project.
"Lena," he says. "You remember Gabe."
I do. My body remembers him even more.
Gabe steps forward. He takes my hand like he's claiming the moment instead of stumbling into it.
His grip is warm, firm, just a little too tight, and he holds it a breath longer than necessary.
Long enough for my breath to sit high in my chest, long enough that I have to swallow before I can speak. "It's good to meet you properly," he says.
His voice is warm and rich, smooth in a way that stays with me. It carries without effort. "You grew up well."
The words land softly and heavily at the same time.
A compliment should feel light, but this feels intentional, like he's saying more than he's willing to risk out loud.
My face heats instantly. I can feel the flush rise across my cheeks and down my neck.
Dad laughs at something someone yells from across the room and wanders off, leaving the two of us standing there like he didn't just hand me over to the most dangerous man I have ever seen in dress shoes.
Gabe doesn't release my hand right away.
