Page 24 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

“That wasn’t for show,” Gabe says, his forehead resting against mine, his voice rough with emotion. “None of this is for show anymore, Andie. Not for me.”

The confession I’ve both longed for and feared wraps around my heart, squeezing tight. “Gabe, we can’t?—”

“Why not?” he challenges gently. “Give me one reason why not, besides the fact that you’re scared.”

“I am scared,” I admit, the truth forcing its way past my defenses. “I’m terrified. You’re younger, you’re?—”

“If you say I’m some kind of playboy, I might actually get offended,” he interrupts, though his tone remains gentle. “You know me better than that.”

“I know you don’t do long-term,” I counter, voicing the fear that’s plagued me since this morning. “I know your dating history, Gabe. I’ve watched you cycle through relationships for years.”

He winces slightly, but doesn’t pull away. “I deserve that,” he admits. “But there’s a reason none of those relationships ever worked.”

“Which is?”

Gabe’s eyes—those expressive dark eyes that have always been able to see through my carefully constructed walls—search mine with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

“Because I couldn’t commit to someone when my heart was already taken,” he says simply. “I tried to. They were smart, beautiful, ambitious—everything I thought I wanted. But they weren’t...”

“Weren’t what?” I prompt when he trails off.

“They weren’t you.”

The words land like a physical touch, soft yet powerful, breaking through the last of my defenses. I stare at him, searching for any sign of insincerity, any hint that this is just another line, another role he’s playing. But all I see is raw honesty, vulnerability laid bare.

“How long?” I whisper, not trusting my voice with more.

He gives a rueful smile. “I don’t know. Years, probably. But I pushed it down, convinced myself it was just friendship, respect, professional admiration. You were married. You were my mentor. You were...”

“Safe,” I finish for him, understanding dawning. “As long as you kept me in that box labeled ‘friend,’ you didn’t have to risk anything.”

“And neither did you,” he counters gently.

The observation hits with startling accuracy.

Have I been using our friendship as a shield too?

Keeping Gabe at a specific distance where I could have his presence, his support, his companionship without risking my heart?

Didn’t I drop everything when he got into that accident three years ago, the one that prompted Daniel Drexel to broach the topic of investing in his practice so Gabe wouldn’t have to moonlight at other clinics just to earn extra money?

I saw his patients for a week, until the doctor okayed him to return to work. I didn’t have to, but I did.

“I’m not Simon,” Gabe continues, his voice low and intent. “I won’t betray you. I won’t leave when things get hard. I won’t dismiss your work or your dreams.”

“I know that,” I say, because I do. Whatever else is uncertain between us, Gabe’s loyalty, his integrity, has never been in question.

“But?” he prompts, hearing the unspoken reservation in my voice.

“But what if this ruins everything?” The fear that’s been lurking beneath the surface finally emerges. “What if we try and it doesn’t work, and we lose ten years of friendship in the process?”

His expression softens. “What if it does work? What if we’ve been circling each other all this time, waiting for the right moment, and this is it?

” His thumb traces my lower lip, sending a shiver through me.

“What if all the women I couldn’t commit to, all the relationships you couldn’t make yourself try for after Simon, were just preparing us for this? ”

It’s a beautiful thought—the idea that all our missteps and false starts were leading us here, to this moment, to each other. But life isn’t a fairy tale, and happy endings aren’t guaranteed.

“I can’t lose you, Gabe,” I admit, the truth raw and painful. “Not after everything else I’ve lost.”

“You won’t,” he promises, pressing his forehead to mine. “Whatever happens between us, you will never lose me. That’s a promise I can actually keep.”

Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts through our bubble of intimacy.

“Mom! There you are!” Tristy appears at the edge of the dance floor, slightly breathless. “We’re doing the champagne toast in five minutes, and Tyler’s mom is looking for you for that photo she wanted.”

Reality crashes back with startling force. We’re still at the rehearsal dinner. My daughter is getting married tomorrow. This is neither the time nor place for life-altering confessions or relationship revelations.

“I’ll be right there,” I tell her, straightening my dress, hoping I don’t look as thoroughly kissed as I feel.

Tristy’s gaze shifts between us, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Take your time,” she says with a wink. “But not too much time. The photographer wants everyone together.”

As she disappears back into the crowd, Gabe catches my hand, his expression turning serious. “We’ll talk more later,” he says. “After the wedding. No pressure, no expectations. Just honesty.”

“Honesty,” I repeat, the word both terrifying and liberating.

He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Go be with your daughter. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

As I make my way back to the main reception, I can’t help but feel I’m walking toward more than just a mother-daughter dance. I’m walking toward a future suddenly full of possibilities I hadn’t dared contemplate before tonight.

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, the thought of what might come next fills me with anticipation rather than dread.

The suite is quiet when we return after the rehearsal dinner, the only sound the distant crash of waves against the shore. I kick off my heels with a sigh of relief, padding toward the bedroom in stockinged feet.

“You were amazing tonight,” Gabe says, loosening his tie as he follows me. “The way you handled Simon, the way you danced with Tristy... everyone could see how proud you are of her.”

“I am,” I agree, pausing at the bedroom door. “She’s going to make a beautiful bride tomorrow.”

“And you’re going to be the most beautiful mother of the bride anyone’s ever seen,” he counters, his smile teasing yet sincere.

The compliment warms me, but it also reminds me of the reality of our situation. Tomorrow is Tristy’s wedding day. I’m the mother of the bride. I need to be present, focused, rested—not distracted by whatever is evolving between Gabe and me.

As if reading my thoughts, he takes a deliberate step back. “You should get some sleep,” he says. “Big day tomorrow.”

“You too,” I reply, though neither of us moves.

The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. After our dance floor confession, after that kiss, it would be so easy to take the next step. To invite him into the bedroom, to lose ourselves in the physical expression of what we’ve been circling for so long.

But it wouldn’t be right. Not tonight. Not with tomorrow looming so large.

“I’ll take the sofa bed,” Gabe says finally, breaking the tension. “You need proper rest before tomorrow.”

Relief mingles with disappointment. “Are you sure? After last night?—”

“Last night was different,” he interrupts gently. “We were both caught off guard. Tonight...” He pauses, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. “Tonight, I’m not sure I could just sleep beside you, Andie. Not after that kiss.”

The honesty of his admission sends heat flooding through me. “Gabe?—”

“After the wedding,” he says firmly, though his eyes betray the effort this restraint is costing him.

“When we’re back home, when there’s no audience, no charade.

That’s when we figure this out.” His smile turns rueful.

“Besides, I believe Tristy mentioned you have a 6 AM call time in the bridal suite.”

I groan, remembering the extensive beauty regimen my daughter has scheduled for both of us. “Don’t remind me.”

“All the more reason for you to get some real sleep,” he says, reaching past me to grab a pillow from the bed, his body close enough that I catch the lingering scent of his cologne. “I promise the sofa bed is perfectly comfortable.”

“Liar,” I say, but I’m smiling.

He shrugs, his own smile widening. “A gentleman never admits to discomfort when a lady’s honor is at stake.”

“My honor?”

“Well, your rest at least.” He hesitates, then leans in to press a gentle kiss to my cheek, so close to the corner of my mouth it makes my breath catch. “Goodnight, Andie.”

“Goodnight, Gabe.”