Page 85 of Where She Belongs
Heat rises to my cheeks as I shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Roman. I’ve heard a lot about your... privacy concerns.”
Gareth laughs. “Call me Gareth, please. And don’t worry—doctor-patient confidentiality goes both ways. Your relationship secrets are safe with me.”
Gabe clears his throat. “Should we get started on the actual visit?”
“Oh, yes, the shots,” Gareth says. “Of course.”
As Gabe prepares the vaccines, Gareth leans toward me conspiratorially. “Between us, I’ve never seen him like this about anyone. When that Instagram post from the wedding went viral, he couldn’t stop smiling during my entire check-up last week. Had to practically pry details out of him.”
The revelation that Gabe has been openly proud of our relationship—even sharing it with his celebrity patient—touches something deep inside me. While I’ve been panicking and pushing him away, he’s been confidently embracing what’s between us, speaking of me with evident pride to people like Gareth.
The next hour passes in surprisingly easy conversation as Gabe administers the necessary vaccines and performs a quick check-up. Gareth proves to be thoughtful and well-informed about healthcare disparities, genuinely interested in our work.
Throughout it all, I observe Gabe’s easy rapport with his high-profile patients, the careful way he explains each vaccine and potential side effect. It’s a side of him I’ve seen countless times before, yet somehow it feels new—as if I’m seeing him through different eyes now that I understand how openly he’s embraced what’s between us, even when I was keeping it carefully compartmentalized.
By the time the professional part of the visit concludes, the storm outside has intensified dramatically. Wind howls around the house’s corners, rain lashes against the windows, and occasional flashes of lightning illuminate the rapidly darkening landscape.
“You two aren’t driving back to town in this,” Gareth says decisively, peering out at the deluge. “The arroyo crossing will be flooded by now, and these mountain roads turn into rivers during storms like this.”
Gabe moves to the window, assessing the conditions with a frown. “He’s right,” he says, turning back to me. “That last section of road before the gate dips through a usually-dry creekbed. In this rain, it’s definitely underwater.”
The implications register slowly—we’re stranded here, together, for the night. After the emotional intensity of our interrupted conversation in his office, we now face an evening in forced proximity with our most critical discussion still unfinished.
“The guest house is ready for you both, if you want after dinner,” Gareth says. “Unless you’d rather stay in here. I’ve got threeother bedrooms you can use. Four if you count the gaming room.”
“No, the guest house will be great,” Gabe says before turning to look at me. “Will that work for you?”
“You know this place better than I do, Gabe,” I say as he starts putting away the medical supplies.
“The guest house has a view of the plain and once the rain stops, maybe you could even see the wild horses,” Gareth says as I stare at him.
“Wild horses roam on your property?”
“All the time,” he replies. “I mean, not exactly on my property but close enough. It’s why I bought the place. Can’t ride them but I sure love looking at them.”
TWENTY-THREE
The guest housefeels like a carefully orchestrated seduction—from the flickering firelight casting shadows across Andrea’s face to the intimate space that seems designed for exactly this moment. I watch her move toward the warmth of the flames, nervous energy radiating from her as she processes what Gareth just told us about the wild horses, about this sanctuary he’s created.
Dinner was surprisingly comfortable, but now that we’re alone in this romantic haven, the weight of everything unsaid between us settles like a physical presence in the room.
“Well,” I say after a moment, my voice slightly rougher than usual as I take in the wine already poured, the soft lighting, the king-sized bed visible down the hallway. “Gareth doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?”
Andrea laughs nervously, moving to warm her hands by the fire. “I guess not. Though I’m grateful for the fire. The rain was freezing.”
I approach slowly, carefully maintaining a respectful distance as I stand beside her. The firelight plays across her features, softening them, and I’m struck again by how beautiful she is—not just physically, but the whole of her. The brilliant mind, the compassionate heart, the stubborn streak that both infuriates and endears.
“Andie,” I say quietly, because we can’t keep dancing around this. “In the car, you started to apologize. But I need you to understand something.”
She turns to face me, vulnerability written across her features. “What?”
“I forgive you,” I say simply. “For the email, for shutting me out, for making decisions without me. I forgive all of it.”
Her eyes widen, as if she wasn’t expecting such immediate absolution. “Just like that?”
I reach for her hands, needing the physical connection. “Not ‘just like that.’ It hurt, I’m not going to deny that. Being dismissed, having my calls ignored, reading that email...” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “But when I got your text today saying you were coming to Taos, when I saw your face in my office—I knew I couldn’t stay angry. Not when I’ve spent so long denying how I really feel about you.”
“And how do you feel?” she asks, the question barely a whisper.
