Page 19 of One Short Summer

Just like that, all the built-up tension leaves my body.

“Am not.” I pretend to pout, but I don’t think I succeed.

“Are too.” He holds the pillow close to his chest, the playful smile on his face giving him almost boyish looks.

I want to see him like this more often, this carefree and happy.

He’s always so intense about his work, so deep in thought, trying to figure out whatever plot point he’s working on, that he often walks around with a frown. Or maybe that’s just what it seems like to me since I see him “at work” in his own house all the time.

His brown eyes study me, and I wonder if he’s contemplating another comeback. We used to have more of these fun back-and-forth exchanges, but haven’t in a while. If I’m honest, that one is probably on me and the depressive hole that tried to swallow me whole this last year.

But this now, this is familiar and light, and it feels pretty dang good.

Openly staring at each other, we both smile like idiots while my eyes lazily take in his features. His brown hair that’s standing up in every direction—probably a result of the frustrating phone call with his agent—as well as a good amount of stubble that has accumulated on his face.

I like it.

A lot.

Even more so, I’ve caught myself on more than one occasion wondering if it feels soft or rough to the touch.

I’m not sure why my brain takes me where it does, but it’s enough to snap me out of it. It’s like this trip has ignited a spark—a fascination with Gabe, or maybe even a slight obsession?—inside of me that’s consuming me a little more every day.

My gaze moves back up to his eyes, and what I find there is the exact opposite of the heat my mind just started to fabricate.

Pure warmth and kindness.

Without a doubt, two of the things I’ve always admired about him the most. I’ve met more than my fair share of people who thought I was cold and bitchy—apparently, those are the synonyms some use for people who are determined and focused—the complete opposite of this man in front of me.

Not a lot of people like that seem to exist anymore, and I don’t think anyone can meet him without instantly liking him.

He’s a dang unicorn.

I clear my throat, feeling my emotions slowly getting the better of me. Apparently, I’ve also turned soft these past few months. Now these sentiments are taking charge of my mouth as well. “Have I told you recently how grateful I am to you for taking me in, and for everything else you’ve done for me?”

He shakes his head at me. “You know that’s not necessary.”

“I think it is, so thank you.” My words come out as a whisper, yet still strong. It’s important to me he knows how much I mean them. “You didn’t have to keep a roof over my head all this time, especially when I turned into a sulky and depressed monster, or when I almost burnt down your cottage. You’re a good guy, Gabe, areallygood guy, and I appreciate it more than I can ever tell you.”

What was left from his previous smile leaves his face as he gets up to come over to my chair. He sits down next to me and puts his hand on my arm. “I meant it, there’s nothing you need to thank me for.Mi casa es su casaand all that. Plus, some days I wonder if I should thankyou. Life has definitely been more interesting with you around. Maybe I needed that too.”

“Only some days?” The corners of my mouth automatically lift up at his remark because exchanges like this—the teasing, playfulness, but somehow still deep connection—feel pretty much like second nature to me. Tous.

They make mehappy.

This friendship with him has been good for me, in more than just one way. “Seriously though. I think my recovery would’ve been a lot worse if it wasn’t for you.”

He stares at me, the gentle smile he’s sporting the same one I’ve seen on his face plenty of times, usually when Mirabelle gets hurt. It’s soft and comforting, silently conveying a, “Hey, it’s going to be all right.”

Before I know it, he opens his arms for me, and I don’t hesitate for a second to lean in, to let myself be wrapped up in his warmth and soothed by his comfort, getting one of the best hugs of my life.

Maybe eventhebest hug of my life.

Chapter Seven

Monica

Despite the supercomfy bed in my room, sleep eluded me extra early this morning. Instead of tossing around, I decided to play catch-up with my best friend and all things Brooksville. Since Charlie’s doing the early morning shift at her bakery this week, she’s been up with the birds too, making this the perfect time to talk.

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