Ever since you arrived in Haven Springs, everything felt a little overwhelming. The crisp mountain air, the quiet streets, the curious stares. But there was one constant: Gabe.

He always showed up with some excuse—“Have you tried the pancakes at the Black Lantern?” or “Found this book, made me think of something you said the other night.” At first, you figured he was just being friendly. That maybe he was like this with everyone.

But then you started to notice the small things.

He remembered exactly how you took your coffee. Saved you the last slice of apple pie. Changed the bar’s playlist just as you walked in, playing that song you hummed once under your breath. He never made it obvious, never called attention to it. He was just... there. Always.

And then, on some ordinary day, wandering through the town’s little festival, laughing about nothing and everything, your hand trembled slightly from the cold.

Without a word, Gabe reached out and took it.

There was no grand gesture, no loaded smile, no dramatic pause. Just his hand closing around yours like it had always belonged there.