Page 15 of Where She Belongs
Andrea’s hand tightens on my arm as Dax Drexel, my best friend since we were nine-year-olds obsessing over Power Rangers, strides toward us with an expression I can’t quite read. Behind him, his wife Harlow James’ eyes are wide with shock.
“Three months?” Dax demands, stopping in front of us. “I was literally at your clinic last week installing that custom reception desk, and you didn’t say a word about dating Andie.” He emphasizes her name like I might have forgotten who she is. “Our kids’ godmother. Your mentor. Harlow’s best friend.”
“Bro—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Don’t ‘bro’ me. We grab coffee every morning when I’m working in my studio. You could have at least given me the heads-up.”
Dax is an award-winning woodworker who specializes in custom-made furniture and sashimono, the Japanese art of joinery that doesn’t require the use of nails or glue. Although he spends most of the year building and designing furniture in Taos, his Fifth Avenue showroom boasts a year-long waiting list for private consultations and pieces that command six-figure price tags. It’s become the go-to destination for collectors and designers who appreciate the way he combines Japanese precision with his signature live-edge designs, earning him features in Architectural Digest and Elle Decor. Not bad for a kid who never graduated from college.
As Andrea’s fingers dig into my bicep, I cover her hand with mine, needing to project calm confidence I don’t quite feel. Lying to strangers is one thing. Lying to my best friend of twenty-five years is something else entirely.
“We weren’t ready to tell anyone.” Interestingly, the lie seems to flow so easily through my lips even I’m surprised.
“Bullshit.” Dax crosses his arms. “We tell each other everything. Have since fourth grade.”
“And that’s why I asked him to keep it quiet,” Andrea interjects smoothly. “Because we wanted to be sure first before we told our closest friends. You know how complicated this things can be.”
“Complicated?” Harlow finally speaks up, moving to hug Andrea. “I think you two are overthinking this.”
“What?” Andrea and I say in unison as we stare at her.
“Oh please.” Harlow rolls her eyes. “The way you two are always in sync? How Gabe drops everything when you need him? The fact that he hasn’t had a serious relationship since—well, ever?”
“I was serious about Courtney,” I protest weakly.
“No, you weren’t,” Dax and Harlow say together.
“So how’s the showroom going?” Andrea asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Booked solid through next year,” Harlow answers proudly. “Which means a lot of traveling. Dax would rather work at home than deal with all that.”
“The twins hate when I’m away too long but that’s work for you,” Dax adds, shrugging. With some of his inventory—old slabs of walnut, maple, and rare hardwoods—housed in a warehouse in Upstate New York to slowly cure in climate-controlled conditions, his trips to New York often stretch longer than planned.
“Who’s keeping an eye on them while you’re here?” I ask, glad for the successful change of topic.
“Nana, of course,” Dax replies, referring to Anita Anaya, his maternal grandmother who continues to make the best breakfast burritos in Taos (as far as I’m concerned), making sure to always set aside a few for me to pick up on my way to the clinic. “And Dad.”
“He was probably happier to see us leave so he can spoil the twins,” Harlow adds, laughing.
Dax grins. “Although I’m sure he’ll be poring through the business books like he always does.”
While Dax is the creative force behind every Takeshi-Drexel Woodworking & Design, his father Daniel Drexel handles the financial side of things. His expertise with money and his powerful connections helped transform his son’s one-man custom furniture business into a global design firm with Dax’s designs showing up in places like Dubai, Singapore, and Monaco.
He also happens to be my business partner, his investment turning my one-physician small clinic into a combination of a concierge medical practice and a community clinic, catering not just to the wealthy with our retainer model but also to those who can’t afford medical care or are without insurance. It’s also why I need to get that approval from the IRS as soon as I get back.
Suddenly Tristy’s voice carries across the pavilion. “Mom, Lola and Lolo have been asking for you,” she says, using the Filipino terms for her grandparents.
“We should probably make the rounds,” I say to Dax and Harlow as I slip around Andrea’s waist, pulling her close. With Andrea’s parents next in line for us to deal with, we’re going to need to get our stories straight. “But drinks later?”
“Oh, you better believe it,” Dax says, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously. “You’ve got some explaining to do, bro.”
“Noted,” I say as he and Harlow walk away.
“You okay?” I whisper in Andrea’s ear as we head toward her parents.
“I’m not sure,” she replies, her eyes wide in panic. “Look, Gabe, I know we never got to talk about it, but no weird pet names, no excessive PDA, and absolutely no?—”
“Andrea!” Her mother’s voice cuts through the murmur of conversation. “Anak, since when do you date younger men?”
