I thanked her and signed off. When I looked over at Gabriel, he didn’t meet my gaze, just pushed his chair back, stood, and walked from the room. The front door opened and then shut. I tore my gaze back to Rose and tried to say something, but when Gabriel’s silhouette passed the front window sheers, I turned to follow it.

“Go,” Rose said.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you should. Go after him, Liv. Please.”

—

Gabriel was already halfway up the street and moving fast. He’d put on his boots but left his jacket at Rose’s, and he didn’t appear to notice the cold. It seemed clear that he didn’t want company. I slowed far enough back to give him space. He stopped and turned.

“I’m not trying—” I began.

“I know.”

“You have the keys to my place. If you want to just go there and be by yourself for a while, I can work at Rose’s.”

He motioned for me to catch up, and we continued on to my house. Gabriel walked straight through while I took off my boots inside the door and shook the snow from them.

“Do you want—?” I began.

The back door shut with a click. I looked out the rear kitchen window to see Gabriel in the garden, heading for my new wicker set.

I hurried upstairs and grabbed towels. When I got onto the back porch, Gabriel was already sitting on the love seat.

I walked out, towels in hand. “Use these. Those cushions are soaked from that snow. We really need to put them in storage for the winter.”

He said nothing. Didn’t even look up.

“I’ll go back in,” I said. “I’ll leave the towels here.”

“Do you want to go back in?” he asked.

“No, I just…” I shifted my weight. “Let’s not do this. It always escalates into a fight and hurt feelings. I’m fine with doing whatever you need right now. Just tell me.”

He gave me this look, as if I should know the answer and he was confused that I didn’t. He lifted his hand. I tossed him the towel and he laid it, folded, on the seat beside him. That’s when I understood what he meant—if he wanted to be alone, he wouldn’t have chosen the love seat.

I sat beside him.

“I don’t want to care,” he said after a moment. “Whether it’s her?”

“If it is, I don’t want to care that she’s back. I’m not…”

He trailed off, and I heard his words from earlier, that he wasn’t a child anymore, couldn’t be shoved into a cubbyhole anymore.

“It’s not—” He bit off the sentence so hard his teeth clicked. Then he sat upright. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Of course you will. But you were going to say…”

An abrupt shake of his head.