Page 7 of Should Our Hearts Catch Fire

“Oh, I get it.” Zeke snaps his fingers, pretending he just had a revelation. “He was just having a bad day, but he’s secretly a huge teddy bear.”

Gabe doesn’t say anything. He’s not going to lie, but he’s not about to give Zeke the satisfaction either.

Zeke snorts. “Classic.”

“Shut up. You didn’t feel what I felt.” It’s an old argument, Gabe blaming his sensitivity on his abilities, and Zeke insisting that sob stories are not an excuse for being an ass.

“A little tingle-tingle where your swim trunks go?” Zeke asks cheerfully, earning a glare. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Not judging. I’d totally tap that. You know, after I gagged him so he couldn’t open that irritating mouth.”

“Don’t you have chai powder to make?”

Zeke clutches a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “It’s almost like you don’t want to talk to me.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

The sound of someone clearing their throat in an overly dramatic fashion interrupts whatever Zeke was about to say. Anapology on the tip of his tongue, Gabe grins when it turns out it’s just Dawson.

“Sorry. We’re closed,” Gabe teases, earning a jab in his ribs from Zeke.

Dawson laughs. “Did we interrupt a little domestic?”

“Just another day in paradise,” Gabe says with a pointed look towards the bane of his existence.

Zeke’s eyes narrow into slits. He folds his arms, a shit-eating grin spreading across his lips. “Gabe has a crush!”

Gabe sputters, punching Zeke’s arm. The bastard doesn’t even flinch. “I don’t have a crush!”

“Oh, who is it?” Dawson asks excitedly, clearly thirsty for spicy gossip.

“I do not have a crush!”

“You sure sound defensive for someone who doesn’t have a crush,” Dawson points out. He turns to his husband. “Doesn’t he, Cal?”

Cal, who’s been studying the pastry display with knife-sharp focus, startles at the sound of his name. He looks at Dawson, then at Zeke and Gabe, clearly confused. “Um…yes?”

Dawson grins. “See?”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Har har.” He pulls off his apron. “I’m going on my break.”

“What? And not say hi to your favorite customer?” Dawson asks.

Before Gabe can ask who his favorite customer is supposed to be, he notices a leash in Dawson’s hand.

Gabe perks up, rounding the counter. “Aww, how could I forget?” He drops into a crouch, opening up his arms for a doggie cuddle. A happily panting Donut walks over to him, tail wagging so fast it’s merely a blur. “Hello, you. Did you miss me? I missed you. Who’s a good boy? You. Yes, you.” He knows he sounds ridiculous, using a sickly sweet voice and making kissy noises, but what can he say? He’s a sucker for animals, and the chubby Frenchie pawing at his chest and trying to get to his face to lick it all over is his weakness.

“Careful, or you’ll spoil him,” Dawson says between giggles, watching them with such affection it makes Gabe’s heart ache for a pet of his own. Something he could love and take care of.

“As if he’s not spoiled rotten already.” He massages Donut’s pointy ears. It earns him a happy growl. “Can I give him a biscuit?”

Donut, who must have developed a Pavlovian response to the word, stills for a second before going nuts, barking and jumping around.

Dawson shakes his head at the theatrics, still smiling. “Now you have to.”

Rising to his feet, Gabe reaches for the container of doggie biscuits he made yesterday morning. Donut dutifully rests on his hind legs, waiting for Gabe to bring a biscuit to his mouth.

“Aww, look at him. Cuteness overload.”

“I know, right?” Dawson agrees. “It’s ridiculous. Sometimes I want to cry, he’s so cute.”