Page 25 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable explaining that,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. “At least not in public.” The last words slip out before I can stop them, hanging between us with all their unintended implications.

“Fair enough,” Gabe says, leaning back in his seat but not breaking the contact under the table. “Full disclosure: I wouldn’t mind seeing you blush a little more.”

Hank merely nods in agreement, his gaze tracing a slow path from my eyes to my lips in a way that prickles heat at the nape of my neck. “No complaints here,” he adds, sounding entirely unapologetic. “I agree with Gabe. Making you blush like that,” he pauses, his eyes never leaving my face, “is definitely something I could get used to.”

My cheeks are positively burning now, and heat spreads down my neck to my chest. Between Hank’s heated gaze and Gabe’s knowing smile, I’m caught in a delicious trap of my own making. I bite my lower lip, trying to collect myself even as I’m acutely aware of being sandwiched between them.

“If you two keep looking at me like that,” I say, my voice lower than I intended, “I might spontaneously combust right here in this café.” I take a steadying breath, deliberately not breaking the contact with either of their thighs against mine. “Maybe you should buy me that latte first? You know, before you find out exactly how much you can make me blush.”

The invitation in my words hangs between us, unmistakable.

Hank’s eyes darken as they hold mine, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That sounds like a challenge we’re perfectly up for exploring further,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “But you’re right. First things first.” He glances at Gabe.

“What would you like?” Gabe asks, his hand briefly brushing against mine on the table, a casual touch that feels deliberate. “Let me guess,” Gabe says, his eyes twinkling confidently. “Vanilla latte with an extra shot?”

I blink in surprise, my lips parting slightly. “How did you?—”

“Lucky guess?” he offers with a smile that suggests it was anything but.

Hank leans in, his shoulder brushing mine. “We might have done some research on what you like,” he admits, his tone casual but his eyes watchful for my reaction.

“Research?” I repeat, surprised. “On my coffee preferences?”

Hank’s smile is small but significant. “Among other things,” he says quietly.

My mind races, wondering exactly what “other things” they’ve looked into and why they would bother. The thought that they’ve been thinking about me enough to investigate my likes and dislikes makes my pulse quicken.

“I’m … impressed,” I say finally, not bothering to hide my smile. “And maybe a little curious about what else you two know about me.”

Gabe winks as he stands. “All in good time,” he says. “We’re hoping we’ve got the rest right, too. We’ll see about that soon enough.” The way his eyes move between Hank and me leaves little doubt about what he’s suggesting—that they’ve thought about more than just coffee and what a relationship involving all three of us might look like.

The air between us practically crackles with possibility.

A comfortable silence settles over the table as Gabe stands to place our orders. The heat between us hasn’t disappeared, but it simmers below the surface, giving us room to breathe.I watch his confident stride toward the counter, aware of Hank’s steady presence beside me.

Minutes later, Gabe returns, expertly balancing three steaming cups. “One vanilla latte with an extra shot,” he announces with a flourish, placing it in front of me before distributing the remaining cups and sliding back into the booth.

Hank’s demeanor shifts subtly as I wrap my hands around the warm mug. His eyes, which had been dancing with playful heat earlier, turn serious as he studies my face.

“How are you really holding up, Ally?” he asks, his voice gentler than before. “Not the version you tell your dad or the doctors. The truth.”

The question catches me off guard after our flirtatious exchange. Something in Hank’s tone gives me pause—a quiet command beneath the concern—that makes evasion feel impossible. Though his words are gentle, an undercurrent of authority resonates deep within me, making the truth rise to my lips before I can second-guess myself.

I look down at my coffee, surprised not just by his directness, but by my overwhelming urge to answer him honestly. Something about pleasing him feels right. It’s strange how withholding the truth from him feels fundamentally wrong, even though we barely know each other.

Yet, as I sit between them, I realize these men who should be strangers somehow feel like anything but.

The pull is inexplicable, a sense that I could bare my soul to them, and they would understand parts of me others never could. It’s terrifying and comforting all at once—this natural instinct to let them see past my carefully constructed walls.

“I’m … ” I begin automatically, then stop myself from giving the standard “fine” I’ve been handing out. They deserve better. I glance up to find both men watching me with identical expressions of genuine concern.

“I have moments,” I admit finally. “Nothing I can’t handle, but there are times when a car backfires or someone moves too quickly nearby, and suddenly I’m …”

I trail off, not wanting to revisit those flashes of terror that occasionally ambush me.

“It’s normal,” Gabe says quietly, his usual playfulness momentarily set aside.

“The body remembers even when you’re trying to move forward,” Hank adds, his hand moving to cover mine on the table, warm and steady. “It’ll get easier with time.”

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