Page 61 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

“No,” Lucas agreed softly, “but she might choose to stay… if we all decide to let her.” The suggestion sent a shudder of fear and yearning through me—a potent mixture that both terrified and tempted me in equal measure.

“She’ll never let us coddle her,” I muttered under my breath, rubbing a tired hand over my eyes as if trying to physically erase the rush of conflicting emotions.

“She doesn’t need coddling. She needs us to be real with her,” Lucas asserted, his tone imbued with a steady confidence that I admired even if I couldn’t fully embrace. It all felt too soon, too intricate, to embrace such raw vulnerability.

I exhaled once more, a soft sigh laden with uncertainty. “I don’t know,” I admitted quietly, the struggle between desire and the fear of emotional compromise warring within me—a battle I feared had already been lost.

“Things will work out in the end. You’ll see,” Lucas said with a gentle smile, clapping me on the shoulder before heading off down the hallway, leaving me with the heavy silence of the moment.

I lingered for a few moments longer before switching off the kitchen light and returning to the living room. The glow from the window shifting shadows over Vivian’s sleeping face, her lips gently parted with each soft breath, and her furrowed brows had finally relaxed into serene repose.

Settling myself on the floor near the edge of the couch, I positioned myself with careful consideration—close enough to offer my presence if she ever needed it, yet distant enough to maintain the fragile boundaries we all clung to.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Iwokeslowly,emergingfromthe comforting fog of sleep with a nagging awareness that something wasn’t quite right. Warmth greeted me first—a steady, solid heat pressed against my side, matched by the rhythmic rise and fall of another’s breath. The scent followed: clean sandalwood and apricot, layered with a deeper, unsettling note that made my chest tighten with conflicting emotion. Familiar now.Safe, perhaps. Gabriel.

I blinked against the dim light, feeling my cheek pressed against the solid curve of his shoulder. At some point during the movie, I must have let myself sink further into his embrace; his arm now encircled me, his fingers lightly caressing my upper arm—protective yet not possessive, gentle yet burdened with unspoken care. This tender contact sent an uneasy shiver down my spine, sparking both comfort and a trace of anxiety.

I didn’t move immediately, choosing instead to remain still, enveloped in a rare sensation of peace that seemed both a balm and a weight on my soul. That peace felt foreign and fragile, and I hesitated to disturb it even as a part of me wrestled with lingering doubts. After a few minutes, I finally stirred, slipping away just enough from Gabriel’s shoulder. His arm instinctively relaxed, granting me space while his hand slid down to my lower back—a light, steady touch that attempted to anchor me but also reminded me how tethered I felt. Ground me, he might have meant, but I couldn’t shake the pull of my conflicted heart.

“Sorry,” I murmured in a voice rough with sleep, clearing my throat as I looked up at him with uncertain eyes. “I didn’t mean to... fall asleep on you.”

Gabriel’s lips lifted into a soft smile. “You needed the rest,” he said, his deep, intimate voice wrapping around me like a secret meant solely for my ears. “You looked comfortable.”

“I was,” I admitted, cheeks rising with both warmth and embarrassment. “Too comfortable, apparently.”

“Don’t apologize for feeling safe.” His thumb traced the fabric of my shirt—a solitary, lingering touch that left an inexplicable hollow on my skin. I straightened a bit, running my fingers through my hair as I acknowledged the end of the movie. Lucas was busy gathering empty containers and chopsticks into a paper bag while Theo methodically wiped down the coffee table. Dakota had vanished—likely to the kitchen, I guessed, from the faint hum of running water and clinking dishes.

Clearing my throat out of awkwardness, I asked, “How long was I out?”

“About an hour,” Lucas replied cheerfully, though his tone held a teasing edge. “You snored. But like, cute snoring. Like a sleepy kitten.”

I groaned, rubbing my face in disbelief. “Please tell me he’s lying.”

“He is,” Theo interjected helpfully. “You didn’t snore. Your breathing stayed steady and unremarkable.”

“Thank you, Theo,” I said with a mock solemnity that failed to mask the internal tug-of-war between relief and embarrassment.

Lucas grinned, unrepentant, while Gabriel quietly handed me a glass of water. “Drink,” he suggested gently. “You probably need it.”

I accepted the glass with a grateful nod, letting the cool water soothe my swirling thoughts even as my heart fluttered with uncertainty. “Did I miss anything important while I was out?” I asked, glancing between them, caught between wanting to remain in this safe bubble and the pull of the lively banter.

“Just Dakota having a mild existential crisis over the ending of Rear Window,” Lucas explained, tossing a napkin toward the cushion Dakota had recently vacated. “He thinks Hitchcock should’ve let them both fall off the balcony for being too nosy.”

“They were trying to solve a murder,” I interjected with a wry smile, though a part of me balked at the casual dismissal of depth.

“Still nosy,” Dakota’s voice piped up from the kitchen doorway as he re-entered the room, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Boundaries exist for a reason.”

“Good to know you’re passionate about privacy,” I replied, raising an eyebrow as I battled conflicting thoughts of amusement and weariness.

He shot me a dry look. “Just saying, if someone was peering into my apartment every day with binoculars, I’d file a restraining order.”

“You’d break their camera,” Gabriel muttered under his breath, prompting Dakota’s smirk.

“Same thing,” came the light retort.

In that moment, the conversation took on a buoyant familiarity that had been absent before. Beneath the teasing and easy laughter, I could feel a steady undercurrent of uncertainty—a subtle shift, like the settling of dust after a storm.

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