Page 23 of One Room Vacancy
I try to smile. “I just hope whoever takes over doesn’t ruin what makes this place special.” I pause for a moment. “I’m gonna head back out there. Pretty sure drunk strangers behind the bar are a massive liability.”
That earns a laugh.
As I make my way back, I hear my name shrieked in a high-pitched voice. Savannah, practically vibrating with excitement, is waving with Gen right beside her. I mix Savannah a mocktail without comment, keeping her secret safe.
Their laughter fills the space, and it reminds me of what makes this place feel like home. Even if it won’t be mine forever.
The night moves quickly. Just as I’m wiping down the bar, Gabe walks in.
Perfect.
Wes, Jackson, and Liam follow behind.
“Why is it that you manage to show up here every time I’m working?” I call to Liam.
“The free drinks, obviously.”
“I don’t give you free drinks.”
“Not yet. But if I lay the groundwork now…”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You love me.”
“Like taxes.”
Despite the weirdness with Gabe, I can’t help but smile. I needed a night like this.
Then Gabe speaks. “Hey, you okay?”
I grit my teeth. “I’m fine.”
I busy myself cleaning, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingers. I notice how he leans over the bar, chatting easily with a group of regulars—one of whom has clearly spilled half their beer. To my complete surprise, Gabe grabs a rag from the back counter and wipes it up before I even have to ask. He even helps Harry stack the clean glasses—no prompting, just quietly grabbing and sorting like he’s done it before. It’s not a big moment. But it’s…weirdly thoughtful.
Later, as I’m exiting the kitchen, Savannah corners me with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “He’s not exactly subtle, you know.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Gabe. The cleaning. The helping. The overly convenient ‘accidental’ coffee refills every morning. I’m just saying, if you want to keep pretending he’s not trying, I’m going to start questioning your sanity.”
I roll my eyes, but my brain replays the small things. The bathroom sink, wiped down last night. My favorite mug, washed and set out beside the coffee pot. He’s trying. I know he is.
This morning, I came out of the shower to find the trash already taken out and the floors swept. The laundry basket that had been half-full was empty—and folded clothes were neatlystacked on the coffee table. There wasn’t a note. Just a steaming cup of my favorite coffee waiting on the kitchen counter.
I hadn’t known what to do with it; I still don’t.
Now, I catch him drying pint glasses behind the bar again, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The way he moves is so damn casual, so familiar, like he belongs here—like he’s part of this life I’ve built for myself.
He glances up and catches me watching him. There’s a beat. A flicker of a smile that he doesn’t quite let loose.
“See something you like?” he asks, just loud enough for only me to hear.
I blink. My gaze jerks up from where it had, unfortunately, lingered, and his mouth curves into a knowing smirk.
Of course he noticed.
The worst part? For half a second, I liked what I saw.
