Page 45 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

“What do you want to know?” His tone is light and careful.

I hesitate. The moonlight catches the angles of his face again. I feel a weird desire to trace the furrow in his brow, and then I note the way his jaw tightens as he waits for me to answer.

“What happened to her?” I find the courage to ask.

He looks away, his gaze sweeping across the horizon. The waves crash softly against the shore, and the quiet stretches for so long that I start to regret asking.

“She had a fatal arrhythmia,” he says at last, his voice quiet but steady. “Her heart just… stopped beating. It was a pre-existing condition that she didn’t even know about.”

I don’t say anything, chilled by the words as they slip past me with oily slickness.

“It was so sudden. I didn’t understand what was happening. We were in public and she collapsed out of nowhere. She’d seemed totally fine one minute and then… but I don’t know. She was always good at hiding it when she was in pain. She made childbirth look like a walk in the park. So, maybe she was feeling ill, but she didn’t understand it, so she didn’t say anything. And anyway, who expects to just drop dead without warning?”

His voice falters, just slightly, and I notice the way his hands clench into fists in his pockets.

“I didn’t handle it well,” he admits, his gaze fixed on the water. “I thought if I could just keep things moving, if I could keep working and keep providing, I could somehow fix it. But it doesn’t work that way. I know I’m messing up with Wren. I know I should be trying to find her a stepmom. She deserves that. I just—I don’t know.”

I swallow hard. I know better than most people that it’s rare for Gabe to say so much all at once. Like me, he’s not much of a conversationalist. Our preferred medium for communication is music, not speech.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, the words feeling woefully inadequate.

He glances at me, his expression shifting into a familiar sardonic expression, even as I catch a glint of humor in his gaze. “She probably would’ve liked you, you know.”

I snort. “What?”

“My wife,” he clarifies unnecessarily. “She had this way of seeing through people’s walls. She would’ve thought you were brilliant and, just like me, she would’ve seen right through that icy exterior of yours.

The compliment is bittersweet, and I don’t know how to respond to it. He’s called me worse thanicybefore, but this time he said it with an odd note of affection in his voice.

Or maybe it’s late and I’m getting tired.

We start walking again, wordlessly agreeing to head back home via the beach.

“She made me better,” he murmurs. “And when she died, it felt like the world flipped upside down. I gave up so much to build a family with her. Not because she asked me to, but because I wanted to. I quit the BSO because I wasn’t making enough to afford a baby. I made my choices, and maybe I regret some of them a little bit, but the point is that I thought I was on the right path at the time, and then all of a sudden, she was gone. I didn’t know how to keep going.”

“But you did,” I say softly.

“For Wren. She needed me. And for a long time, that was enough.”

The quiet returns for a prolonged stretch of time. I can see the lights glowing from our duplex in the distance, glittering among the other warmly-lit homes along the beachfront.

“I’m sorry,” I say for a third time.

Why can’t I think of anything else to say? A small part of me wishes I had my violin with me. Despite the fact that I’m supposed to be resting, I know that I could play him a song that would say a lot more than a patheticI’m sorry.

“I know,” he replies quietly.

Our steps are unhurried. The night feels heavy yet not suffocating, the kind of weight that makes you feel grounded instead of trapped.

“You know, Ali…”

I let out a loud sigh at the return of the nickname.

He chuckles softly. I realize I like the sound. And then I realize that it might be the first time I’ve ever made Gabe laugh. A real laugh, that is. Not a snicker or sarcastic snort.

“Habit,” he murmurs. “You know everything is going to be okay, right, Alina? With your hands? I know it feels easier to let yourself be consumed by the anxiety, but I know from experience that being level-headed will get you much further.”

My throat tightens. I’m really not used to him being nice to me.

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