Page 23

Chapter 23

APRIL

I always pictured Gabe as a morning person, that he popped out of bed, ready to tackle his training and any other obstacle that dared to stand in his way. However, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, the ruffled hair, and the way he hunched over, head in his hands for several minutes before finally getting up, Gabe despised the mornings. Or maybe it was just this particular morning. It seemed highly possible the hotel bed didn’t adequately fit his monstrous frame.

At any rate, he shuffled around the hotel room as a man of very few words. In fact, he answered all my questions with nods and grunts until we picked up our volunteer shirts at the registration tent.

When I asked for a larger size, commenting about needing a nightshirt, Gabe reached over with that long arm of his to stop the interaction.

“You already have a sleep shirt.” Still warming up, his deep voice sounded extra gravelly. “Did it not meet your standards?”

I laughed. “No, your shirt was fine.” In all honesty, it wasn’t just fine. I loved sleeping in it. The fabric smelled like him, which was probably why it took me forever to fall asleep. The scent had me replaying our kiss over and over. “You don’t mind if I borrow it again tonight?”

“No, April. I don’t mind.” He must have heard how gruff he sounded because he cleared his throat. “You can keep it—looks better on you, anyway.” I think that was supposed to be a joke, but there was nothing funny about the intensity in his dark eyes.

“So, are you keeping the small? Or . . .” the volunteer behind the counter asked, looking uncomfortable to be caught in whatever the hell that was.

“Yeah, I’ll keep the small.”

It was still dark as we approached the technical tent—a delicate crescent moon hung at the horizon's edge. However, the tent was already a blur of mechanics working to assist athletes with last-minute issues.

“How can I help?” Gabe asked as I joined the chaos.

“Don’t you need to be at the massage tent?”

“Not until the first athletes cross the finish line.” He looked at his watch. “So, I’m yours for a few hours.”

I’m yours.

I had to stop taking his words out of context.

I grabbed some handlebar tape and tossed it to him. “She’s got some exposure here. Can you rewrap her bars?”

That’s how we worked. Gabe assisted with putting bikes on stands or removing wheels, and I handled the more technical side. Lost in the bustle of repairs, we didn’t do much talking other than when he asked for clarification or I gave him directions. It was peaceful working elbow to elbow with him—okay, maybe it was more elbow to bicep with his height.

I didn’t usually like working with others while doing repairs because I couldn’t get lost in the puzzle of the bicycle. But either Gabe sensed that, or he didn’t feel like talking. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. It was cozy.

Most athletes who visited our tent were appreciative. We were fairy godmothers, there to save their race day with a quick fix of a dropped chain or inner tube replacement. Of course, there were exceptions to the rule like when someone wanted me to replace his corroded bolts. They would have to be pried out, and while I agreed the guy needed to have the bolts replaced, we were there for race day emergencies, not freebie repairs.

“Unfortunately, that’s something you will have to take to your local bike shop. We’re only doing quick fixes today.”

“If you start on it now, you could be done with it by the time I get out of the swim.”

Doubtful, but more importantly, working on his issue could keep me from fixing a bike that really needed it.

“Sorry, that’s not what the technical tent is here for. But good news, you can still ride with it in this condition.”

“Sweetheart, thanks for your help,” he said condescendingly. “But I want to talk to someone else. Someone more experienced.” He shifted his gaze to Gabe, who’d been down on one knee, tying his shoe. “Can you have a look?”

“Out of the three of us,” Gabe said, still working on his knot, “I can assure you, she has the most bike experience.”

The man looked between us, most likely used to winning The Customer is Always Right battle. “Why are you even here if you won’t do your damn job?”

I wish I could say the escalation surprised me, but triathletes tended to be on the more entitled side. All that mileage and endurance gave some athletes a God complex. I folded my arms, trying to conjure the politest way to say scram , but then Gabe extended to his full height, and, I swear, the guy lost his coloring.

“This isn’t our job. We’re volunteering,” Gabe answered calmly. “And on that note, you can leave this tent voluntarily, or I can let an official know you are berating the technical support.” The guy’s mouth fell open, but before he could conjure an argument, Gabe continued, “Your choice whether or not you want to start race day with a disqualification.”

The guy stood there, beady eyes narrowed. I could see the fight or flight warring in his features. Finally, he grabbed his seat and guided the bike away with a string of expletives.

“That’s not fair,” I said, peering up at Gabe.

His eyebrows rose. I’d clearly surprised him with my complaint. “What?”

“All you have to do is be tall and people listen to you.”

He scoffed.

“No, seriously. You stood up, and I watched the guy’s life flash before his eyes.”

I meant it as a joke, but Gabe’s smile fell. “Do I give the impression that I’d hurt someone?”

“No, Gabe.” He was the very definition of a gentle giant. “But self-preservation is loud. And what are they going to do? Argue with someone who blocks out the sun?”

Gabe removed another busted glove. The technical tent only had gloves for regular-sized humans, and they stretched so tight on Gabe’s massive hands that the integrity was compromised. He was on his third pair due to tearing. “I don’t block out the sun,” he said, leaning into my space to toss the ruined glove into the trash behind me. “I provide shade.”

“Did you get your height from both parents? Or just one?” I asked, eyeing his frame.

He pulled on another glove, fighting to stretch it over his Jack Skellington fingers. “My father is tall,” he said. “My mom is about your size. Maybe a little shorter.” He squinted as he scrutinized my height. “How tall are you? Five two?”

“Five three.” I straightened my spine so he could behold every inch.

His lips pressed together as he fought a smile. “Yeah, you have her beat by two inches.”

I bit back my own smile. “How old were you when you outgrew her? Four?”

He hoisted the next bike onto the stand. “How old were you when you realized you’d never be allowed on all the rides at Disney?”

My mouth fell open in mock offense, but then I had to fight off a laugh, because I wasn’t used to Gabe being this sassy. I didn’t know if it was from lack of sleep or too much time in my presence or just the real him coming out, but I liked it. “I’ll have you know that I’m almost an average height. I'm sure it's hard to tell from your spot in the nosebleeds.”

He put his hands on his hips, and that scarred brow of his hiked—a playful warning. The last time things had gotten playful, he’d pinned me to the wall. I felt lightheaded, imagining his body pressed against mine again.

Gabe’s eyes flicked to my lips, and the world around us disappeared. I suddenly couldn’t even remember what we’d been talking about. The air between us felt magnetized. He must have felt it, too, because he shifted forward slightly. I held my breath in anticipation, but to my dismay, he stopped, shaking his head as if snapping out of it.

“Back to work, Baird.”

“Yes—” I had to clear my throat. “Yes, Coach.”

At race start, my shift was over, which left Gabe and me free to spectate for a couple of hours before he had to be at the massage tent.

I loved this race because while it wasn’t as big as an Ironman, it still was a sizable party. For athletes and volunteers, they had a tent serving food and drinks, but food trucks were parked and ready for spectators. Vendors of all sorts gathered—most catering to the triathlon community: shirts with sporty phrases, an array of nutrition options, headbands in every color, massage boots, non-alcoholic beer, and on and on.

We were browsing an apparel booth when Gabe held up a shirt that said If I crash, stop my Garmin .

I huffed out a laugh. “I need that.”

“You do not,” he said, hanging it back up. “Because we are done with crashes, Baird.” He leveled a look at me. “You hear me?”

“Oh, are we?” I asked, sliding shirts over on the rack. “Good, my bike will be happy to hear that.”

“Speaking of your bike. You did a great job with your rides this week.” I looked back up at him so I could fully drink in the compliment. His words made me feel like my chest was filled with carbonation—all fizzy and bubbly. “So much so that I wondered if you’d brought your bike computer for a car ride.”

I laughed. “Why hadn’t I thought of that yet?”

“Seriously, though. You’re crushing it.”

“Thank you,” I said, then my smile faded as I remembered how he’d left me checking my phone all week, waiting for a message from him or a call. I fantasized about him walking into the store about a hundred times. “I wasn’t sure, since I didn’ t hear from you.”

He briefly looked away. When his gaze returned, it was hard to hold eye contact for the intensity. “I’m sorry. I just thought we needed space after we . . .”

“Yeah,” I said.

“We can’t let something like that happen again.” I looked down, embarrassed, but he lifted my chin. “I want to.” His words teamed up with the sincerity in his eyes, and the gentle press of his fingers on my jaw made my spine feel like it conducted electricity. “But we can’t.”

I swallowed. “Because you’re my coach.”

He dropped his hand and sighed. “That’s a big chunk of it, yes. But also because I only do casual.” So, Billie’s information about Gabe had been right. “I won’t ever change my mind about that.”

My chest felt hot. Why did everyone think I’d be the one to catch feelings? “What makes you think I’m looking for something serious?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just like to make myself clear on that.” Then he shook his head. “Not that it matters because I’m here to coach you through your Ironman, and, more importantly, I don’t want to complicate things between us because we’re friends. Right?”

Friends. What every woman wants to hear out of her crush’s mouth. “Right,” I said. And even though I felt disappointed, I knew he was making a good call. “Come on,” I said, looking for distraction in any form. “We’d better get something to eat before our massage shift.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “ Our massage shift?”

“Yeah, you helped me with mechanical stuff. I’m going to help you with massage stuff.”

“And how do you plan on helping with that?”

“Hmm.” I chewed on my bottom lip as I considered. “I could check people in or squirt oil into your palm.” I ticked off the ideas on my fingers. “Or, oh! I know! I can hold people’s hands while you apply ‘pressure,’” I said with air quotes.

Gabe rolled his eyes and started walking.

“How many people do you plan to make cry today, Coach?” I called, struggling to keep up with his massive strides. “I can see if the medic tent has any tissues.”