Page 47 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)
TWENTY-FOUR
I wake to sunlight streaming through the guest house windows and the sound of Gabe’s steady breathing beside me. For a moment, I simply lie still, absorbing the reality of where I am—naked in his arms, my head pillowed on his chest, our legs tangled together beneath the sheets.
The storm has passed, leaving behind crystalline morning air and the kind of brilliant New Mexico sky that makes everything seem possible.
Through the windows, I can see the valley Gareth mentioned, and there—grazing peacefully in the distance—are the wild horses, their coats gleaming in the early light.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Gabe’s voice is rough with sleep, his hand stroking gently through my hair.
I watch the horses for a moment, noting how they move together in easy harmony, one large stallion keeping close to a smaller mare. “They look like they belong together,” I murmur.
“They do,” Gabe says, following my gaze. “That’s how wild horses work—the stallion chooses his mare and stays devoted to her. They move together, graze together, protect each other. It’s not just instinct, it’s partnership.”
“Like us?” I ask, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
His smile is soft, tender. “Like us,” he confirms. “Though I should mention I have no intention of sharing you with any other stallions.”
I laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Good to know. I’m rather fond of the one I’ve got.”
“Mmm,” he agrees, though I’m not looking at the horses anymore. I’m looking at him—this man who forgave me so completely, who loves me despite my fears and flaws, who held me through the night like I was something precious.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I consider the question seriously. How am I feeling? Rested, for the first time in days. Peaceful in a way I haven’t been since before the divorce. Complete, as if a piece of myself I didn’t know was missing has finally clicked into place.
“Happy,” I say simply, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Genuinely, completely happy.”
His smile is radiant. “Good. Because we should probably get dressed soon. Gareth mentioned breakfast at eight, and I have a feeling he’s not the type to keep waiting.”
We shower together—something that feels both new and natural, our hands gentle as we wash away the remnants of last night’s passion.
There’s an intimacy to it that goes beyond the physical, a quiet domesticity that makes me think of shared mornings and lazy weekends, of a future that suddenly seems within reach.
Gareth greets us at breakfast with knowing smiles and absolutely no subtlety. “You two look rested,” he observes, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he pours coffee. “Sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you,” I reply, heat rising to my cheeks despite my attempts at composure.
“The guest house has that effect,” he says with a perfectly straight face. “Something about the mountain air.”
Gabe chokes slightly on his coffee, and I kick him gently under the table.
“Before you head back to town,” Gareth continues, reaching for a small bag beside his chair, “I have something for your godchildren. Thought the twins might like these.”
He pulls out two action figures—clearly custom pieces featuring the superhero character he plays in his latest blockbuster. They’re beautifully crafted, the kind of collectible that would sell for hundreds of dollars if they ever made it to market.
“Gareth, these are incredible,” I say, examining the detailed figurines. “But are you sure? These must be worth?—”
“They’re worth whatever joy they bring to a couple of five-year-olds,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I’ve got boxes of the things. Marketing department goes overboard.”
An hour later, we’re back in Gabe’s SUV, winding down the mountain road toward Taos. The conversation flows easily—about the clinic, about my parents’ upcoming visit, about the logistics of spending more time together. It feels natural, settled, like we’ve been having these conversations for years.
“I was thinking,” Gabe says as we reach the main highway, “we should stop by Dax and Harlow’s place. Give the twins their presents and let everyone know we’ve worked things out.”
“They’ll want details,” I warn, though the thought of seeing our friends—of sharing our happiness—fills me with anticipation.
“We’ll give them the appropriate amount,” he says with a grin. “Nothing that’ll traumatize the children.”
The turnoff to Dax and Harlow’s sustainable home appears suddenly after miles of high desert—an unmarked dirt track that curves away from the main road and disappears behind a stand of weathered cottonwoods.
We follow the winding path through the sparse landscape dotted with sagebrush and native grasses, dust swirling behind Gabe’s SUV.
Then, set into the flat expanse of high desert, their home reveals itself like a well-kept secret.
The Pearl, as they’ve named it, seems to emerge organically from the red earth itself—its curved walls and south-facing windows designed to work with the elements rather than against them.
Solar panels glint on the roof, and beyond the house, the dramatic peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains rise like ancient sentinels against the brilliant blue sky.As we pull up, the front door flies open and two small bodies come racing toward us.
“Tio Gabe! Ninang Andrea!” The twins launch themselves at us the moment we step out of the car, their enthusiasm infectious.
“Where did you sleep?” Anipea asks, always the more direct of the two. “Daddy said you got stuck in the storm.”
“At a friend’s house,” I reply diplomatically, catching Gabe’s amused expression over her head. “Very safe and dry.”
“Did you see any animals?” Dax Jr. wants to know. “Sometimes there are bears in storms.”
“No bears,” Gabe assures him. “But we did see wild horses this morning.”
Both children gasp with excitement, immediately launching into questions about the horses’ colors and whether they could ride them. Their enthusiasm is overwhelming and wonderful—a reminder of the joy that simple things can bring.
“Alright, you two, let them breathe,” Harlow says, appearing in the doorway with a knowing smile. “Coffee’s ready if you want to come inside.”
The house’s interior is as impressive as its exterior—soaring ceilings, natural materials, and windows that frame the surrounding landscape like living artwork. But what strikes me most is the warmth of it, the sense of family and love that permeates every corner.
“So,” Dax says, settling into one of the comfortable armchairs that cluster around the fireplace, “you two look like you’ve sorted things out.”
“We have,” Gabe confirms, his hand finding mine automatically. “All misunderstandings cleared up.”
“About time,” Harlow says with satisfaction. “Though I have to say, you both look remarkably well-rested for people who were supposedly caught in that storm.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks, but before I can respond, Gabe reaches for the bag of action figures.
“Actually, we have presents,” he announces, effectively diverting attention from Harlow’s observations.
The twins’ reaction to the superhero figures is everything Gareth could have hoped for—squeals of delight, immediate role-playing scenarios, and questions about whether “Tio Gabe knows real superheroes.”
“These are incredible,” Dax says, examining one of the figures with an artisan’s eye for craftsmanship. “Custom work?”
“Gareth Roman gave them to us,” I explain. “For the twins.”
“The Gareth Roman?” Harlow’s eyes widen. “As in, Hollywood action star Gareth Roman?”
“Gabe’s patient,” I say simply, enjoying their surprised expressions. “He’s actually very down-to-earth. Lives on a ranch outside of town.”
“And apparently plays matchmaker in his spare time,” Gabe adds with a grin.
We spend the next hour in easy conversation while the twins play with their new toys in the adjoining playroom.
There’s something deeply satisfying about this—sitting with friends who’ve known us separately for years, who’ve watched our careful dance around each other with varying degrees of patience and amusement.
“You know,” Dax says during a lull in conversation, “we were starting to wonder if you two would ever figure it out.”
“Figure what out?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“That you’re perfect for each other,” Harlow says simply. “It’s been obvious to everyone else for years.”
“Not everyone,” Gabe protests mildly.
“Everyone,” Dax confirms. “Even Nana had money on you two getting together eventually.”
“There was betting?” I demand, torn between outrage and amusement.
“Friendly wagering,” Harlow corrects with a grin. “And for the record, I said it would happen during Tristy’s wedding weekend. I was technically right.”
“You were off by a few days,” Gabe points out.
“Close enough to claim victory,” she replies smugly.
As the morning progresses, I find myself relaxing completely for the first time in weeks.
The conversation flows between professional updates—Dax’s latest commission for a Manhattan penthouse, Harlow’s research on a new pediatric procedure—and personal news.
The twins regale us with stories from their recent camping trip with their grandfather Daniel, complete with dramatic reenactments of s’mores preparation.
“We should probably head back soon,” Gabe says eventually, checking his watch. “I have a few patients this afternoon, and Andrea has the drive back to Albuquerque.”
“Actually,” I say, the words surprising even me, “I was thinking I might stay an extra day or two. Spend some time in Taos.”
His face lights up. “Really?”
“Really.” I squeeze his hand. “My schedule’s clear until Wednesday, and after everything that’s happened... I think we could use the time together.”
“You can stay here if you want,” Harlow offers immediately. “We have plenty of space, and the twins would love it.”
“Not this time,” Gabe interrupts. “She’s staying with me. She hasn’t seen my new place yet.”
“Fair warning,” Dax tells me with a grin. “He’s gone from having a bachelor pad to buying something domestic-friendly over the past year. Built-in bookshelves, bigger kitchen island, family-sized dining table...”
“Built-in bookshelves?” I turn to look at Gabe, who’s trying to hide his embarrassment.
“I bought this place last year,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward town. “Decided it was time to move out of the bachelor pad and get something more... substantial. The bookshelves just seemed like a good idea at the time. They’ll come in handy for your medical journals.”
The implication hangs between us—that even before we admitted our feelings, he was preparing for a different kind of life. A settled life. The kind that includes built-in furniture to accommodate someone’s collection of medical journals.
“I’d love to see them,” I tell him softly.
As we prepare to leave, Harlow pulls me aside while Gabe helps the twins set up an elaborate superhero scenario.
“I’m glad you worked things out,” she says quietly. “He’s been miserable the past few days. We all have been, watching him hurt.”
“I know,” I say, guilt washing over me again. “I handled everything badly.”
“You handled it like someone who’s been hurt before and was scared of being hurt again,” she corrects gently. “That’s human, Andie. What matters is that you found your way back to each other.”
“He forgave me so easily,” I murmur, watching Gabe demonstrate the proper superhero stance for Anipea. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“You got lucky because you both stopped fighting what’s been obvious to everyone else for years,” Harlow says with a smile. “You love each other. Finally admitting it was just the first step.”
As we say our goodbyes—complicated by the twins’ reluctance to let their new toys out of their sight—I feel a profound sense of contentment. This is what I want, I realize. This easy integration into Gabe’s world, these friendships that welcome me not just as his girlfriend but as family.
“Happy?” Gabe asks as we drive toward town, his hand resting casually on my thigh.
“Incredibly,” I reply, meaning it completely. “Your friends are wonderful.”
“Our friends,” he corrects gently. “They love you, you know. Have for years. You being with me just makes it official.”
The possessive pronoun sends warmth spreading through my chest. Our friends. Our life. Our future.
“So,” I say as the familiar adobe buildings of Taos come into view, “about those built-in bookshelves...”
His grin is sheepish. “Too presumptuous?”
I consider this seriously. The practical part of me knows we have logistics to work out—my clinic in Albuquerque, his practice here, the three-hour distance between our lives.
But for the first time, I find myself thinking beyond the immediate challenges.
Someday, maybe years from now, when Salud Integrada is stable enough under new leadership, when I’ve mentored the next generation of community health advocates.
.. someday, those bookshelves might hold more than just weekend reading.
“Optimistic,” I correct gently. “Beautifully optimistic.”
And it is. All of it—the friends who love us, the man beside me, the future we’re building together one weekend at a time. After so many years of careful planning and cautious choices, of protecting myself from disappointment and pain, I’m finally ready to embrace the beautiful uncertainty of love.
I’m finally ready to trust that some things—some people—are worth the risk.
As Gabe pulls into his driveway, I catch sight of his house for the first time—a charming adobe structure with a garden full of herbs and vegetables, a covered portal perfect for morning coffee, and yes, large windows that would showcase those built-in bookshelves beautifully.
It doesn’t look like my home—not yet, maybe not for years. But it looks like possibility. It looks like a future I’m finally brave enough to want.
It looks like exactly where I might belong.