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We’ve talked about it a lot over the last week, where we want to end up, what size house we can afford. I know it won’t be much, nothing like the house I would have lived in if I’d become a Blackmoor. But this is so much better because it’s real. And it’s all Gabe and me.
Before I head back into the room, I snag a snack from the kitchenette and take it back with me. Ramen has been my new favorite thing lately. While I remember liking it when Gabe made it for me once in the beginning, now that I’m pregnant, it’s become a constant hankering.
I eat as I get dressed, taking a bite, then pulling on underwear, taking a bite, then putting on my pants. I have a mouthful of noodles and my head trapped in the sleeve of my shirt when I hear the door click open. I still as Gabriel’s deep chuckle rolls across the room.
“Need some help there?” he asks.
My mouth is too full for me to respond, so I nod, hoping he can see what that means through the fabric and the tangle of my arms. His fingers are on my midriff in an instant, and then he’s righting my shirt for me.
“Thanks,” I gasp once I can swallow. I smile when I finally get my head through the right hole.
“No problem.” Gabriel grins dangerously, his blue eyes gleaming. “Now, are you ready for me to take it back off?” he offers, his hands sliding beneath the fabric and skimming my skin, his callouses tickling the soft flesh of my tummy.
“Don’t you dare. You’re all covered in grease,” I object, pushing him away playfully.
“Hey, my hands are clean.” He lifts his palms to show me.
“Yeah, but what about your face?” I ask, wiping at a smear on his cheek to prove my point.
Gabriel’s been working in the garage a lot more this week, and I can tell it’s therapeutic for him. He’s been needing it with all the stress of finding a new location and getting the ball rolling on the sister chapter he’s supposed to be opening up. I think the move is more bittersweet for him than he’s willing to admit. I know he hadn’t planned on leaving Blackmoor before it became a necessity for me, not really. And now, even if he wanted to stay, he wouldn’t tell me because he knows I can’t. Not so long as Athena says I have to go. At least Rico, Dallas, and Knuckles will be coming with him. I was happy to hear that.
“Not just a quickie?” he offers, leaning closer to me so his warm breath caresses my cheek.
“Nooo, Gabriel. We have a party to get ready for.”
“All right, fine,” Gabriel groans. Still, he leans in to press a fierce kiss to my lips, making me giggle. Gabriel chuckles too. “You taste like ramen. Isn’t the party in, like, an hour or so?”
“Hey, I’m eating for two here. Don’t judge me.”
“I would never,” he denies with too much intensity to be sincere.
I roll my eyes at him. “Just go take a shower, would you?”
By the time Gabriel’s all cleaned up, and I’m finished getting ready, it’s nearly time for the party to begin, and we head out to the clubhouse to see if there’s anything we can do to help.
“What are you doing here?” Starla demands as soon as we walk through the double doors and take in the beautiful decorations and the congratulations sign hanging behind the bar. “We’re not ready for you yet!” Her hazel eyes are wide with panic as she rushes out from behind the bar, her hands up and waving as if to hide the decor from us.
“We just came to lend a hand,” I say, smiling at her mortification.
“Well, I suppose now that the surprise has been ruined,” she mumbles.
“What surprise?” Debbie asks, stepping out of the kitchen with bowls of snacks to set on the bar. “We told them we were throwing them an engagement party.”
Starla slumps. “Well, I don’t know. I guess I just thought you would be showing up last since you’re the guests of honor.”
“But… we live here,” Gabriel points out.
“Fine, have it your way,” Starla says. “Want a beer then? Not you,” she adds, looking at me. “I have something special whipped up for you and the baby.”
“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” I beam.
As much as Starla was exasperated with us, we’re not the first guests to have arrived, and as she steps back behind the bar to get us drinks, Mark steps up to greet us, a soft smile on his craggy face.
“She’s a force to be reckoned with,” he quips.
Gabriel chuckles. “Don’t I know it. I stopped trying to argue with Starla years ago.”
“She’s just passionate,” I defend my friend, though my lips spread into a wide grin. In all honesty, Mark’s not wrong. Starla gets something in her head, and then she makes it happen. That’s why she’s so good at planning community charity events. She has the bleeding heart of a saint and the determination and organizational skills to make her hopes a reality.
