Orders roll around the table. Wine. Lemonade. A few cocktails. I stick to iced tea because my head is still buzzing from everything that just happened.
Gabe doesn't sit. He hovers behind my chair until a space opens beside me and someone shifts over to make room. He slides into the seat like it belongs to him. His knee brushes mine under the table, warm and steady.
Someone at the far end lifts her glass. "To Lena for bringing us together."
"No," another woman says, pointing at Gabe. "To him, for collecting all our numbers like Pokémon."
More laughter. Gabe shakes his head. "I didn't collect anything. You contacted me back."
"You included bullet points," Mia says. "That was impressive."
Gabe shrugs. "I'm thorough."
I study him while everyone talks. He isn't basking in it. He isn't trying to command the table. He just sits there, letting the noise wash over him, letting the gratitude fall around him like he doesn't need it but accepts it anyway.
The server brings bread. A few women start swapping screenshots like trading cards. Someone shows proof Tom reused the same compliment on four of them. Another discovers he sent her mother a recipe once. A whole debate starts over whether that's worse than ghosting on a birthday.
The energy shifts from anger to relief. The kind of relief that settles in after you realize you weren't crazy. Someone was actually manipulating you, and you weren't alone.
I relax in my seat. My shoulders drop. My breathing evens. And for the first time in a long while, I'm not worrying about how this will look or who will twist it later. The people here know the same truth I do.
Dinner stretches into dessert. Gabe orders something chocolate and quietly pushes half of it toward me. I poke at it with my spoon.
"You okay?" he asks under the noise.
"Yeah." I let out a slow breath. "Better than okay."
His eyes soften. His knee presses mine again.
When the bill comes, the women insist on splitting it. Someone jokes about sending Tom a Venmo request for the entire dinner. A vote is taken. Fourteen hands rise. That settles it. Someone drafts the request and hits send.
We walk out together in a loose pack. A few of them hug me, quick and warm. A couple of them exchange numbers with each other like newfound battle buddies. Mia squeezes my arm. "If he ever even breathes in your direction again, call me."
"I will," I promise.
She nods once and heads to her car.
Gabe walks me to mine. He holds the door while I slide into the driver's seat. For a second, he leans down, hand on the roof, eyes on me.
"You did well tonight," he murmurs.
"So did you."
He closes the door gently like he's handling something fragile. "Gabe?" I call out.
"Yeah?"
"Come home with me?" I ask. "We can make hot chocolate and watch what Jace wants."
He chuckles and climbs in beside me. "I was hoping you'd say that."
I'm smiling the whole drive, and the warmth continues when we go inside the house and smell cocoa and cinnamon, which means Jace's sitter has already made the hot chocolate. Jace's giggle reaches me from the living room before I even take off my shoes.
He's on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, sitting beside our sitter, Nora, who is young, patient, and probably too nice for this world. She lifts her mug in greeting.
"We made hot chocolate," she says. "He wanted marshmallows."
Jace waves at me. "Mama, look! It has sprinkles too."
