Page 49 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)
“Why do you think I added that mudroom? And the kid-height sinks in the guest bathroom?” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I want everything with you, Andrea Martin. The practice, the family, the life we’re building. All of it.”
Tears spill over. “Even if it takes time? Even if we’ll need... help?”
“Even then.” I wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “Though based on this morning’s activities, I’d say we’re giving it our best shot.”
She smacks my chest, laughing. “Gabe!”
“Too soon?”
Before she can answer, a knock at the door interrupts us. “Are you two done being sweet and all?” Tristy’s voice carries through. “Because the beef empanadas are getting cold and Tyler’s about to start eating his steak.”
“We’d better go rescue our food then,” Andrea says, but I hold her back for one more moment.
“Hey.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “I love you. Whatever happens, however our family grows, I love you.”
Her smile is radiant. “I love you too.”
Outside, our guests have taken over the patio with its amazing view of the Sangre de Cristo mountains.
Tristy and Tyler are showing the twins some new TikTok dance while Dax films it—although this one isn’t meant for posting.
None of their pictures ever get posted; that’s how fiercely they value their family’s privacy and after Andrea and I went viral in Hawaii, I totally get it. I don’t want to go viral ever again.
Harlow’s deep in conversation with Nana, Sarah, Benny, and my mother about traditional New Mexican recipes, while Andrea’s parents chat with Todd, Sawyer and Alma about their latest renovation projects.
The only person missing is Daniel who, if he were here, would probably be discussing market trends with Tyler or making sure Nana doesn’t spend too much time in the kitchen cooking all our favorites (“let the kids cook for you, Nana,” he’d remind her and they…
no, we all do even if she still continues to make my favorite breakfast burritos whenever she can).
Instead, Daniel’s in New York for some family matter he’s been cryptic about. Something about his sister’s family whose business he oversees. Whatever it is must be serious for Daniel to miss Sunday lunch, especially since the twins have been asking for their grandfather all week.
“There you are!” My mother spots us first. “Andrea, mijita, come tell me if these chiles are spicy enough for your taste.”
I watch as Andrea joins her, the two most important women in my life bonding over food and family traditions. My mother had been skeptical at first—her baby boy dating a divorced woman—but Andrea had won her over a long time ago, when she took over my practice for a week after my accident.
“Tio Gabe!” DJ calls out. “Watch this!”
I turn to see him attempt the dance move Tristy’s been teaching them, nearly knocking over the lemonade in the process. Andrea’s quick doctor reflexes save the pitcher as everyone laughs.
“Careful, buddy,” I say, steadying him. “Save the advanced moves for when you’re not near the food.”
“Speaking of food,” Eduardo says, “when are you two hosting that big dinner you promised? The one to celebrate the clinic partnership?”
Andrea and I share a look. We haven’t told anyone our other news yet—about her moving in permanently, about our plans for a family.
“Actually,” Andrea starts, reaching for my hand, “we were thinking next weekend would be perfect. We have some news to share.”
The knowing looks that pass between our family members tell me they’ve already guessed, but they play along.
“News?” Tristy’s eyes narrow. “What kind of news?”
“The kind that requires family celebration,” I say diplomatically.
“And maybe some help painting,” Andrea adds with a grin.
“Finally!” Dax throws up his hands. “That beige was killing my soul.”
As everyone launches into suggestions for home improvements and dinner menus, I pull Andrea closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“You happy?” I murmur.
She looks around at our gathered family—the one we’ve chosen and the one we were born to, all blending together in the afternoon sun. At the house that’s about to become our home. At the future we’re building, step by step.
“More than.” She tilts her face up to kiss me properly, ignoring the theatrical groans from the twins and Tristy’s “Get a room!”
“Speaking of rooms, is anyone going to mention the elephant in the room?” a familiar voice calls out from the side gate. “Like how Dr. Lova Lova finally got his head out of his ass?”
“Amazing how things change,” I murmur to Andrea, squeezing her hand as we turn toward that familiar voice. From Mile High Club discussions to planning our future together—who would’ve thought?
But then again, maybe everyone saw what I refused to admit all those years: that all those casual relationships were just me running from what I felt for my best friend.
“Claudia!” I break into a grin as my cousin strides through the garden, her husband Trevor right behind her. Her flight from Virginia Beach must have just landed. “I thought you couldn’t make it!”
“And miss this?” Claudia Romero-Hawthorne moves with the same confident energy she’s had since we were kids, though her East Coast life has polished some of her New Mexican edges.
But not too much; she still craves all the Hatch green chile I make sure to ship to her. “Please. I had to see it for myself.”
She hugs me tight, then turns to Andrea. “Finally! Do you know how many years I’ve had to listen to him talk about you? ‘Andie this’ and ‘Andie that’ every time he called?”
“Claudia,” I warn, but she ignores me.
“Even when he was dating other people,” she continues, making herself at home at our patio table, “it was always Andrea this and Andrea that. Trevor nearly went crazy listening to him during his bachelor party weekend.”
Trevor, still imposing despite being retired from the SEALs, gives me a knowing look. “Two hours straight about her lumpia recipe. While we were supposed to be deep sea fishing.”
Andrea turns to me, eyebrows raised. “Really?”
“I was drunk,” I protest weakly. “And hungry.”
“He wasn’t drunk,” Trevor stage-whispers. “Just lovesick.”
Claudia reaches for the lemonade, making herself at home like she always has.
Growing up, she was more sister than cousin, especially after her father’s death when she was ten brought her and her mother to live with us.
“Remember when he drove three hours in that snowstorm just to deliver Tristy’s Christmas present? ”
“The soccer jersey,” Andrea says, smiling.
“He said it was because he promised,” Claudia continues, accepting a plate of lumpia from my mother. “But we all knew.”
“Knew what?” the twins ask in unison.
Claudia grins. “That Tio Gabe was in love with Dr. Martin way back then. He just didn’t know it yet.”
“I knew,” I admit quietly, pulling Andrea closer. “I just wasn’t ready to admit it.”
“Well, thank god that’s over,” Claudia declares. “Now, when are you two giving me some nieces and nephews for Trevor to teach survival skills to?”
“You know,” I say, catching Andrea’s eye with a soft smile, “some things are worth waiting for. Like finding the right person to build a family with.”
The meaning behind my words isn’t lost on Claudia. Her expression softens as she looks between us, reading volumes in how Andrea’s hand has drifted to rest on her stomach.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, then catches herself before she can announce anything to the whole gathering. Instead, she squeezes Trevor’s hand, sharing a look with her husband that speaks of their own dreams of starting a family.
“Besides,” I add, lightening the moment, “shouldn’t you and Trevor be making that announcement first?”
I spot my father hovering near the edge of the gathering, trying to make himself useful by helping my mother with the food.
He’s been different since our fight—more careful, more thoughtful in his interactions with Andrea.
Today he’s even wearing the guayabera shirt she gave him for his birthday, a peace offering that surprised us both.
He catches my eye and raises his glass slightly—the sparkling water he’s switched to since his doctor’s warning about diabetes. Another change. Another attempt at being better.
When Andrea moves to help my mother with the salad, I watch him deliberately make space for her, offering her the serving spoons with a gentle “Here, mijita.” The word sounds different when he says it now—less patronizing, more genuine.
“You’ve always been brave, Gabriel Alejandro Vasquez,” she says. “Even if it meant dating half of Taos and Albuquerque combined just to prove to yourself that what you felt for me wasn’t real.”
I tighten my arms around her. “Didn’t work very well, did it?”
“No,” she laughs softly. “Though I have to admit, watching you with all those women... it wasn’t easy, even when I thought I was happily married.”
“Yeah?” I can’t help the hint of satisfaction in my voice.
She turns in my arms. “Don’t get cocky, Dr. Vasquez. I seem to remember a certain someone getting very grumpy whenever Simon bragged about my accomplishments at medical conferences.”
“He never deserved to take credit for your success.” The old protectiveness rises in my chest. “You built that clinic on your own.”
“And now we’re building something together.” Her hands come up to frame my face. “Something real.”
“Something real,” I agree, leaning down to kiss her. “Though I still say my lumpia is getting better.”
Her laugh echoes through our kitchen—our kitchen, where we’ll raise our family, where we’ll build our future. Where the longest road finally led us home.