Page 61 of Where She Belongs
“Partners?” he suggests. “Lovers? Significant others?”
Each label feels simultaneously too much and not enough. I smile slightly, shaking my head. “All of the above? None of the above? I don’t think there’s a label that quite captures... this.” I gesture between us, encompassing our decade of friendship, our professional relationship, and now this new intimate connection.
“Maybe we don’t need a label,” Gabe says thoughtfully. “Maybe we just need to know that whatever this is, it’s real. It matters.”
His words resonate with a truth I’ve been feeling since the moment I first kissed him. Whatever is developing between us defies simple categorization, but its authenticity is undeniable. “It is real,” I say quietly. “And it does matter. More than I expected it to.”
The admission feels like stepping off a cliff, but Gabe’s expression—open, vulnerable, certain—gives me courage.
“I leave tomorrow,” he reminds me, his voice tinged with regret. “And you’re staying until Wednesday or Thursday.”
I nod, my thumb tracing patterns on the back of his hand. “For my parents. For some time to... process everything.”
“I understand,” he assures me, and I believe he does. Gabe has always respected my need for space, for time to think through important decisions. It’s one of the countless reasons I trust him so completely. “Take all the time you need.”
“It’s not about doubting this,” I say quickly, needing him to understand. “It’s just that everything has happened so fast, and I want to be sure I’m moving forward with clear eyes. That I’m choosing us for the right reasons.”
His smile is gentle, understanding. “I can wait,” he tells me. “I’ve waited ten years without even realizing what I was waiting for. A few more days won’t kill me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I tease, lightening the moment. “After last night, a few days might feel like torture.”
Heat flares in his eyes at the reminder of our shared passion. “In that case,” he says, standing and pulling me to my feet, “we should probably make the most of the time we have left.”
I step willingly into his embrace, my body already responding to his proximity. “What did you have in mind, Dr. Vasquez?”
“I was thinking,” he murmurs, leaning down until his lips are just a breath away from mine, “that we have this perfectly good suite all to ourselves. And a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for the door.”
“Very practical thinking,” I agree, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling his heart race beneath my palm. “I’ve always admired your problem-solving abilities.”
“I learned from the best,” he replies, just before closing the distance between us.
“I think it’s time for me to taste you,” I say, tugging the belt loop of his shorts. He shivers, desire blooming in his eyes.
“I want nothing more,” he whispers, and his sincerity makes me want to laugh and cry and shout with joy.
Instead, I pull him towards the bedroom, relishing every step, every moment.
Because this time, there’s no rush.
No pretense.
No performance.
EIGHTEEN
The Albuquerque airportfeels jarringly ordinary after four days in Hawaii. Gone are the lei-draped greeters and tropical breezes, replaced by fluorescent lighting and the familiar dry heat of the New Mexico desert.
As I wheel my suitcase toward the parking garage, phone already buzzing with clinic messages, reality settles around me like a well-worn coat—comfortable but suddenly heavier than I remember.
It’s been three days since Gabe left the island, three days of family time with my parents and extended family, three days of processing the seismic shift that’s occurred between us. Three days of texts and late-night calls that feel simultaneously natural and strange—the easy friendship we’ve always shared now layered with something new, something still taking shape.
Gabe:
Landed safely?
His message appears as I’m loading my suitcase into the trunk, and I can’t help smiling at the timing. As if some invisible thread still connects us across the miles.
Andrea:
