Page 145 of Gabriel

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

I shrugged, but then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Because I worry about losing you, and just the idea hurts. I cannot fathom…”

Dammit, I was getting too emotional around him. He claimed he loved that side of me, but it made me feel vulnerable. Although, it seemed appropriate that we’d both be at some stage of feeling vulnerability: him with his sight, and me with my feelings.

“I want to tell you something, but you have to promise me not to get too… excited,” he started slowly.

“Excited or pissed off?” I asked, smiling.

“Well, I hope you’ll be excited,” he replied with humor.

“Okay, hit me with it.”

“I’ve started to see shadows.”

“Huh?” My mind seemed not to be able to grasp his words while my heart soared with hope. “How… when… what are you saying?”

“I kind of like you tongue-tied.” He chuckled. “For weeks, whenever I would open my eyes, it would be just darkness. Now,I’m seeing something, shadows in the fog, but it’s not pitch-dark anymore.”

I gasped, a hope sparking in my heart.

“But why didn’t you tell the doctor?” I breathed. “Maybe he could?—”

He shook his head. “He can’t do anything, and I didn’t want to give you false hope.”

“Gabriel,” I protested. “This isn’t false hope. This isrealhope. Progress.”

He nodded. “Yes, progress.”

I lifted on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly.

“I’m so happy,” I whispered, burying my face in his neck. “You’re the most wonderful man and deserve all the best. I love you so much.”

“You’re forgetting I have the best. I have you,” he rasped. “I love you too.”

My lips found his and I kissed him deeply, pouring all my emotions into it.

“I’m so happy,” I murmured against his lips. “I don’t deserve this or you, but I’m going to keep you anyhow.”

He chuckled. “You better,preciosa, otherwise I might have to resort to some questionable methods to keep you by my side.”

“No need. I’m yours forever.”

He brushed his nose against mine. “I like the sound of that.”

We resumed walking, our hearts lighter as we wandered slowly, surrounded by narrow alleyways and ochre-colored townhouses with ivy clinging to the walls. Window boxes overflowed with late-blooming flowers, and the scent of cinnamon from a nearby bakery clung to the air like an invitation.

Every few steps, we would pause. I’d take in the view and describe it all to Gabriel as he clung to my every word.

We crossed bridge after bridge, arching gracefully over the waterways that laced through the city like silver veins. I told him Stockholm was often called the “Venice of the North,” and he tilted his head, smiling as he pictured it.

I described everything I saw as vividly and poetically as I could. I explained to him the way the water shimmered beneath the bridges, catching the reflections of spires and sailboats and seagulls mid-flight or how buildings leaned into one another like old friends, their windows glowing amber with evening light.

He listened with that quiet, focused intensity he always carried and like my words were building a world he could walk through, even if he couldn’t see it.

At one point, we stood along the edge of the waterfront, wind tugging at my hair and the hem of his coat. He reached out, fingertips brushing the wrought-iron railing as I leaned against his side and whispered about the boat with white sails and a wooden hull drifting along the harbor.

“You make it sound like a dream,” he murmured.