Page 44 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

“I can tell.”

We stand there for a long moment, the silence between us no longer uncomfortable.

Alina tilts her head back to gaze up at the stars. Her profile is delicate and graceful, all smooth lines and soft shadows. She has a lovely mouth, pouty and permanently frowning, but in an endearing sort of way.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to tear my gaze away from her. I can’t let my thoughts go there. Even if it’s a place they’ve been to before.

Chapter Fifteen: Alina

As we continue our walk down the beach, Gabe is quiet. I steal glances at him out of the corner of my eye, still trying to figure out why he asked me to go on a walk with him in the first place. Still trying to figure out why I agreed to it, too.

His gaze is fixed on some distant point ahead of us, his hands shoved into the pockets of his linen trousers. He dresses like the sort of person who might be in the mood to step out onto his yacht for the afternoon at any moment, yet he behaves like a surly academic who spends most of his time sequestered in forgotten corners of dusty libraries.

Then again, maybe that’s only because that’s the version of Gabe thatIknow. Maybe everyone else in this world knows a different version. Maybe everyone else gets to see him smile and hear him laugh, and I’m the odd one out because I pinned him as my enemy over a decade ago.

Or perhaps all of those thoughts are childish and useless. Where Gabe is concerned, I’m stuck in the past, and I really need to be focused on what lies ahead instead.

I follow a step behind him, the faint warmth of the few sips of the cocktail I forced down lingering in my chest and fluttering throughout my bloodstream. It’s not enough to make me brave, but it’s apparently enough to make me nonsensical to the point where I’ve agreed to be alone with him.

It’s not so bad, though. Especially when he’s not talking.

He’s terribly, mesmerizingly handsome, after all. Every time he turns his face up to the stars and his profile is backlit by the moonlight, I watch his thick eyelashes flutter… and then I can’t help it when my gaze drops down to the shadow of his strong jawline and, lower, to his broad shoulders.

I should say something.

I should keep my mouth shut.

I should ask him where we’re going.

I should endure this silence as we continue to tread in the general direction of our duplex.

And then I should grumble out a simple goodnight, go upstairs, and empty my head of all thoughts of him, and never think about this bizarre night ever again.

I don’t like the feelings that are bubbling up inside me.

I don’t like that, in this weirdly comfortable quiet, I can recognize where I went wrong in the past. Where I might have taken confusing emotions or unwanted attraction and allowed them to warp into cold obsession, flippant disdain, and vicious dismissal.

There’s a chance that I made Gabe into my enemy because I was terrified of what he might have become otherwise.

Not that it matters.

The sky is an endless expanse of stars, each one glimmering faintly against the inky blackness that drapes over the town like a silken blanket. It’s the kind of night that feels alive, like the universe is holding its breath. The sound of the waves whispersin the silence between us as we walk, our footsteps muffled by the soft dunes.

“You don’t talk about her often, do you?” I ask, and immediately have to hold back an outward cringe. My voice is too sudden, too jarring. It disturbs the tranquility of the scene, slicing through the murmuring of the beach grass.

I don’t know what I expect him to say. Maybe he’ll brush it off, act like he doesn’t know what I mean, give me one of those nonchalant shrugs of his, and change the subject. But something in the stillness of the night and the way he holds himself right now makes me feel like he might actually answer.

He slows his pace slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“Your wife,” I clarify, taking a small step closer to match his pace. “You don’t talk about her.”

It’s more of an observation—an assumption I’ve made based on how closely I’ve been watching him this past week or so—but there’s a dozen questions written underneath it.

His shoulders stiffen. For a moment, I think I’ve made a mistake. It’s really none of my business, anyway. It’s just that I was thinking about Wren, and then that led me to thoughts of Wren’s mother… and how challenging it must be for that sweet girl to navigate this world without a mom.

Not your business, I repeat to myself.You should take it back. Say,“Never mind.”

But then he lets out a slow breath and stops walking.

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