Page 42 of Snowbound

CARLY

Despite all of Gabe’s reassurances, I’m still nervous. I’m usually great at acting like I know what I’m doing at parties. I usually thrive off the challenge of being whoever I need to be to fit in.

But this is a challenge unlike any I’ve ever faced before.

At least normally, when I come to things like this, I know what I’m getting myself into. Millionaires are easy to please with the same old tired jokes. It’s easy to be there in conversation without even listening to a single word they’re saying. It’s all the same: showboating, big talk.

Here, though, I know I’m being judged for absolutely everything I do.

It’s why I’m standing in the corner sipping on a drink with a low alcohol content. I definitely need to be in my right mind if I’m going to navigate this one without embarrassing myself.

It helps that Gabe doesn’t seem entirely at ease either. I get the feeling that these are people he hasn’t seen in years, and he’s remembering now why he hasn’t seen them in years and that he doesn’t actually want to see them now. But it’s too late and we agreed to come, so he’s doing his best to be sociable.

He’s also drunk at least three beers, which is another reason why I’m taking it easy. At least one of us needs the ability to drive home tonight, and I’m quickly getting the feeling that it’s not going to be him.

Something I am good at, though, is standing and observing. So that’s what I’m going to do, keep out of the way and watch. If I didn’t know him, I’d think that Gabe was exactly like all the rest of these guys, small-town and simple.

Not only is that an unfair thought, but it’s also completely wrong. These are clearly the guys who think they’re better than everyone else, the ones who must have fallen into some sort of elite social category at school and decided that meant they were destined to be the best forever.

The discomfort is radiating off Gabe too as he stands and chats with them, flinching every time they try to draw him into their jokes and some comments when he clearly doesn’t want to be led.

Gabe heads to the bar for another drink, then slides his way over to me. “You okay?” he asks, sipping his beer.

“I’m a bit overwhelmed,” I admit.

“Like I said, you have nothing to be worried about. These are guys I knew at school, who never grew out of the popular-footballer mentality. I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”

“Because you don’t want to be a recluse your whole life,” I remind him.

He nods with a frown. “Becauseyoudon’t want me to be a recluse my whole life.”

“Hey, this has nothing to do with me.”

He raises both eyebrows as if to saythis has everything to do with you. “I’ve changed since I met you,” he says suddenly.

“You have?”

He nods and swallows like he’s got something stuck in his throat. “Don’t be smug about this, but you reminded me what the point of being alive is. That there is a purpose to having friends, to having other people in your life. I think I needed that.”

If we weren’t in public, I would have kissed him. Instead, I tighten my grip on my cup and smile. “Gabe, that was all you. All I did was show up.”

“I’m glad you did,” he says quietly.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” We share a smile, and I add, “I like this side of you. Makes a nice change from grumpy.”

With that, he lets his face drop into an exaggerated frown, which is good because less than a heartbeat later, his so-called friend Jensen is standing behind us. “Well, if it isn’t the lovebirds.”

“You could not have a more wrong idea about what is going on here if you tried,” says Gabe.

I don’t let my smile waver, but a small part of my heart aches with how strongly Gabe is denying any relationship we might have.

Jensen looks me up and down. “You’re what? Designer? Flower girl?”

“Wedding planner,” I say. It’s clear enough that he already knew that, and he was trying to provoke me. But unluckily for him, I’ve dealt with many people a lot more annoying than him, so I know how not to rise to the bait. “And you’re what? A barista?”

“Gabe’s friend,” he bristles. “I’ve known Gabe since we were thirteen years old and he was skinny and pathetic. It was me who made him try out for the football team, and, well. Look how well that ended for both of us. I’ve been making a name for myself out there.”

I notice Gabe rolling his shoulders back and standing up straighter, clearly unhappy with the implication that Jensen has achieved more than him. In truth, I doubt it. Jensen just knows how to brag in the right ways. I’ve met hundreds of men like this, and they’re all equally as irritating.

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