Page 28 of One Room Vacancy
My stomach plummets as I remember…she’s done.
The apartment went quiet when Liam left hours ago, claiming he had “packing to do” for Hannah’s arrival, but I think he just didn’t want to be in the middle of whatever it is Sage and I are—or aren’t.
I linger in the kitchen longer than I need to. Load the dishwasher even though half the stuff’s already clean. Wipe down the counter again, try not to think about how she looked tonight when she laughed. Or the way she didn’t look back when I told her I was sorry.
Her bedroom door’s still closed.
I don’t know what I expect when I knock. A fight, maybe. Silence. But the soft shuffle of feet followed by the click of the door unlatching catches me off guard.
She doesn’t open it all the way—just leans in the frame, hoodie tugged around her, curls a little frizzy after her long shift.
Her expression is unreadable. “What?”
“I didn’t say it right last night,” I tell her. “At the bar.”
Sage sighs and leans her shoulder against the frame. She doesn’t close the door. Doesn’t open it more, either.
“You don’t have to forgive me,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “I wouldn’t if I were you. But I’m not leaving unless you tell me to.”
Something flickers across her face—something that softens, just barely, before it hardens again. “You always say the right thing,” she says. “Doesn’t mean you mean it.”
“I know,” I admit. “That’s why I’m not trying to convince you anymore. I’m just gonna keep showing you.”
Sage stares at me for a long time. The silence stretches, heavy and fragile all at once.
And then, with a sigh, she steps back and lets the door fall shut.
Not slammed. Not locked.
Just…closed.
SEVEN
SAGE
The bar smells like burnt citrus and old fryer oil.
That’s how I know it was a bad night. When the scent lingers on my skin like it’s trying to remind me of everything I couldn’t fix.
Harry didn’t even yell; that was the worst part.
He just stood there with this vacant look, like he’d already decided to let it all go. Said he was tired, said maybe it’s time, that some big chain came sniffing around again and maybe he’ll finally say yes.
I think I nodded, I think I said something supportive, like, “Do whatever’s best for you.”
But I don’t remember—my chest was too tight to breathe right.
I didn’t intend to get so emotionally attached to a damn bar. And it’s not even a nice bar—it’s not like it’s some top-level-of-a-fancy-hotel, $22-well-liquor-cocktails kind of bar.
It’s a dive bar that’s been open for decades with hardly any renovations since it opened.
And still, I love it just the same.
Ain’t that a kick in the dick.
Now I’m standing in the dark kitchen, keys still clutched in my fist like I forgot to put them down. The fridge hums. There’s a flicker in the hallway light, like even the apartment’s given up.
And Gabe?—
