Page 53 of Where She Belongs
We haven’t had a moment alone all day—the ceremony flowing directly into photographs, then the cocktail hour, then the reception. Our interactions have been limited to brief touches, meaningful glances, the occasional whispered comment as we fulfilled our roles in the wedding party.
Now, as his arm circles my waist, as we begin to move together to the gentle rhythm of the music, I feel the familiar fluttering of nerves mixed with anticipation.
“You’ve been breathtaking all day,” Gabe says, his voice low beside my ear. “Every time I looked at you during the ceremony, I had to remind myself to pay attention to Tristy’s vows.”
I laugh softly, my hand finding his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure being distracted during the bride’s vows is a serious offense.”
“Worth the risk,” he counters, his fingers splaying slightly wider against my back. “How are you holding up? It’s been a long day.”
The consideration in his question, the genuine concern for my well-being, touches me deeply. “I’m okay,” I assure him. “Tired, but happy. Tristy’s radiant, isn’t she?”
“She is,” he agrees, his gaze momentarily shifting to where Tristy and Tyler sway together at the center of the dance floor, lost in their own world. “They both are.”
“They make it look so easy,” I murmur, a hint of wistfulness creeping into my voice. “Being certain about each other.”
Gabe’s eyes find mine again, his expression turning serious. “Sometimes certainty comes slowly,” he says. “Sometimes it builds over years, friendship laying the foundation for something more.”
The weight of his words, the implication behind them, makes my breath catch. “Gabe?—”
“I know,” he interrupts gently. “This isn’t the time or place for that conversation. But tonight, when it’s just us...” His hand tightens almost imperceptibly on mine. “Tonight, I want to talk about what’s next. About what’s real between us.”
“Yes,” I say simply, the single word carrying all my resolve, all my tentative hope.
His smile—slow, intimate, full of promise—sends warmth spiraling through me. We continue dancing, moving as oneacross the floor, our bodies finding that same natural rhythm we discovered during the hula lesson, during last night’s bachata.
“I don’t think anyone would notice if we slipped away early,” Gabe suggests after our second dance, his tone carefully neutral though his eyes betray his intention.
The temptation is powerful—to leave now, to return to our suite, to finally explore this shifting landscape between us without interruption. But my responsibilities aren’t quite complete.
“I can’t,” I say regretfully. “Not yet. Tristy and Tyler are cutting the second cake for the late-night reception in half an hour, and then there’s the bouquet toss, and?—”
“And you’re the mother of the bride,” Gabe finishes for me, understanding in his voice. “I know. It was a selfish suggestion.”
“A tempting one,” I admit, my hand squeezing his. “But worth waiting for.”
His eyes darken at my words, at the promise they contain. “I’ve waited ten years,” he says, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “A few more hours won’t kill me.”
“Won’t it?” I tease, surprising myself with the flirtation.
His quiet laugh sends a shiver through me. “I make no guarantees, Dr. Martin.”
We separate as the music changes, as other guests approach for conversations, as wedding responsibilities pull us in different directions. But throughout the remainder of the reception, I’m acutely aware of Gabe’s presence—his gaze finding mine across the room, his hand briefly touching the small of my back as he passes, the way he appears at my side with a fresh glass of water just when I’m feeling parched.
Small gestures. Thoughtful attentions. The culmination of a decade of friendship now charged with something totally new. Totally real.
Even if it’s just for tonight.
SIXTEEN
By the timeTristy and Tyler make their grand exit—sparklers lighting their path to the waiting car that will take them to their honeymoon suite at the other end of the resort—I’m watching Andrea from across the crowd, my heart racing with anticipation. The official festivities are over, guests are dispersing, and there’s nothing standing between us and that conversation we’ve been promising each other.
Nothing except ten years of carefully maintained boundaries, of professional distance, of a friendship I’ve been terrified to risk by admitting deeper feelings.
I make my way to her side as the last sparkler dims, as resort staff begin the cleanup process. “Ready?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite the emotions churning inside me.
She nods without speaking. I reach for her hand, hoping mine isn’t trembling as our fingers intertwine. Her palm feels warmagainst mine as we navigate the now-quiet pathways toward our suite.
We walk in comfortable silence, though my mind is racing. What will I say? How do I explain that what began as pretense has become the most real thing in my life? That I can’t imagine going back to just friendship now that I know what it feels like to hold her, to kiss her, to be something more?
