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Gabe: The same as always. We open presents at home, then move to my grandparents for the rest.
Ameline: Well, enjoy. I’m heading out for breakfast and then . . . I don’t know. There’s not much to do today but tomorrow should be fun. Merry Christmas. x
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ameline
I’m on my bed, laptop open in front of me, though my attention is anywhere but the economics essay I should be writing. Instead, I want to cozy up on my small couch, wrap myself with my throw blanket, and forget that I have a gazillion things to do. Most of all forget that no one—and I mean no one—remembered my birthday.
A knock at the door startles me. I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s seven-thirty on a Tuesday night. Who could possibly be stopping by unannounced?
I look through the peephole to find Gabe standing there, holding a hemp grocery bag in one hand and a small white bakery box in the other.
Stepping back, I do a double take. Gabe Decker is here. Gabe? Why is he at my door? My heart stammers as I take in his unexpected presence. I haven’t seen him in over a year. Sure, we text almost daily, but why would he be here today?
He came for me? No. Don’t you dare to start thinking that he has a thing for you, Ameline Lewis. He’s just a friend, I remind myself sternly. But the sight of him still makes my stomach flutter traitorously.
“Gabe,” I say, pulling open the door in surprise.
“Surprise.” He grins, brushing past me into the apartment.
“It is a really big surprise,” I murmur, pulse racing.
“Well, I was in the neighborhood,” he says casually, “and wanted to drop by to say happy birthday, Ame.”
“You remembered my birthday?” I ask, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes me wonder, for a fleeting moment, if there’s more to his visit. “I . . . I didn’t think you would.” Especially since everyone else seemed to forget this time.
He sets the bag and box down on my kitchen counter before enveloping me in a hug. The scent of his woodsy cologne surrounds me, and I find myself momentarily lost in the comfort of his embrace.
“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I forgot your birthday?” he asks and I’m reminded of the cruel reality that he’s just a friend. That nudges me to the present, and I step back from his strong, comfortable arms.
I repeat again what he said: Friend. The word that reminds me I’m just some girl that he’s been hanging out with because she happened to stumble into his apartment a couple of years ago. His former roommate’s little sister. I, of course, manage a smile, pushing aside the pang in my heart.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to.”
He scoffs and gives me a look as if saying, “Don’t be silly.” From the bag, he pulls out a lumpy gift-wrapped present.“Happy Birthday, Ame.”
As I take it, our fingers brush, sending that familiar jolt of electricity through me. I turn quickly, hiding my reaction under the guise of examining the bag. I meticulously peel back the wrapping paper. Inside is a periwinkle blue sweatshirt, thick and cozy. I unfold it to see “Vienna” embroidered across the front in looping script.
“I love this so much,” I breathe, stroking the soft fabric. I want to throw my arms around him, but I resist. What if I do something stupid, like kiss him?
“I saw it at a little shop and thought you might like it,” he states casually.
“I really do,” I say honestly, wondering if this was just recently or last year when he was in Vienna traveling with his twin and cousins. Does it even matter? I shrug those thoughts away. “Thank you, Gabe.”
As our eyes connect, a silent exchange seems to unfold between us, a language of glances that carries more than words could convey. Though, I can’t understand what we’re trying to say, or maybe I’m confusing everything—again. His eyes hold a depth of emotion that stirs something within me, a longing to close the gap between us, to feel the warmth of his embrace.
Yet, I restrain myself, aware that such a step could alter the nature of our friendship irreversibly. Clutching the sweatshirt to my chest, I try to calm the fluttering in my heart, to suppress the part of me that dares to yearn for something more. Something beyond friendship, texts, and the occasional call.
The urge to close the gap and press my lips to his becomes overwhelming. I imagine the kiss, slow and tender. Hesitant at first as our breaths mingle and we gently explore each other. I can almost feel the softness of his lips, growing bolder as the longing takes over.
In my mind, the kiss unfolds slowly as we let the pent-up emotions we’ve held back free. It’s just a daydream, a fantasy that I stop while trying to calm down. A leap like that would just hurt me in the end.
When my pulse finally steadies, I set the sweatshirt aside and turn my attention to the bakery box and the takeout he brought. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you, Gabe. You didn’t have to go to all this effort for me.”
He shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal. “It’s your birthday, Ame. I wanted to do something special for you.” Gabe glances around the studio, taking in my décor. “I like what you’ve done with the place—very vintage-boho-chic.”
“Thanks.” I smooth my suddenly sweaty palms down my jeans. “Izzy helped me with it. We went to several stores and some garage sales.”
