Page 46 of Stealing Home

9

GAVIN

Gavin spent the entire drive to Dom’s house trying not to let his mind turn dinner into something it wasn’t. It was a losing battle. The bottle of wine on the passenger seat suggested he was losing. He’d spent fifteen ridiculous minutes choosing it, rejecting one for looking too cheap, another for looking too expensive, and a third because the intertwined vines on the label felt unnecessarily suggestive. He finally settled on a red from Sonoma he remembered liking before life split into before and after. It was just wine. Dinner was just dinner. Dom was just his friend.

None of that felt entirely true anymore.

Friends didn’t make Gavin question promises he’d made to himself after Ethan. They didn’t make him wonder if one failed marriage didn’t have to be the end of the story. They’d spent a grand total of a few hours together in person, but that had been enough for him to replay every smile, every lingering glance, and every brush of hands, looking for signs that the attraction pulling at him might not be one-sided.

Because it was there. Gavin had stopped pretending otherwise after Dom returned from Arizona. The harder question was whether Dom felt it too. Sometimes Gavin was sure he did. It was the text conversations that turned into video calls, which lasted long after either of them had anything left to say. It was the way Dom’s face lit up when those video calls connected, and the moments their eyes met and neither of them seemed eager to look away.

Then Gavin would remember Dom’s quiet confession that he wasn’t dating. Not now and maybe not for years. That should have been enough to settle the matter. Instead, it only made Gavin wish the timing were different.

The traffic light ahead turned red, and he eased the truck to a stop.

He hadn’t been nervous about dinner with someone in years. Near the end of his marriage, dinner with Ethan had become about logistics: grocery orders, bills, whether Gavin would be home before midnight, whether Ethan would bother waiting up. Before that, when things had still been good, they’d cooked together. Ethan would sit on the counter with a glass of wine while Gavin chopped vegetables, stealing pieces from the cutting board and pretending not to hear when Gavin told him to stop.

The memory surfaced without warning and left behind a familiar bruise, and Gavin glanced at the bottle beside him. This wasn’t that. He didn’t want it to be. Except some quiet, traitorous part of him had started imagining what Dom’s house might look like on a quiet night. Would Lucia already be asleep? Would Dom cook or would they order takeout? Would they sit across from each other at a table or side by side at the island?

Gavin exhaled and looked up as the light changed. “Get a grip,” he muttered.

The drive through Dom’s neighborhood was quiet, the last of the evening sun stretching between houses and extending golden rays across driveways. Several garage doors stood open and two kids rode scooters in uneven circles near the end of a cul-de-sac. Dom’s house came into view, warm light glowing behind the front windows. Gavin’s pulse kicked up. He pulled into the driveway behind Dom’s SUV and frowned at the truck parked next to it. He was pretty sure it belonged to Evan. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, staring through the windshield.

He knew he hadn’t gotten the night wrong. He’d checked their text exchange too many times before leaving the apartment. Maybe they were dropping something off and would be leaving. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. Six fifty-eight. The front door remained closed. No one was leaving.

Gavin reached for the bottle and tried to ignore the disappointment that coursed through him. Dom had invited him to dinner. He hadn’t promised they would be alone.

Gavin had built that expectation himself, one unnecessary thought at a time.

He climbed out of the truck and strode up the path. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and something rich with tomato and garlic drifting from the house. By the time he reached the porch, he’d rearranged his expression into something he hoped was neutral.

Footsteps sounded almost immediately after he rang the bell, and the door swung open to reveal Dom in a flour-dusted apron, an apology already falling from his lips.

“I’m sorry.”

Gavin blinked. “Hello to you too.”

Dom dragged a hand through his hair, leaving a faint streak of flour near his temple, and Gavin had to fight the urge to brush it away for him. “I swear I didn’t invite them.”

Behind him, Evan appeared in the opening of the living room and leaned against the wall.

“Hey, Gavin.”

CJ stepped into view beside him. “Hey, man.”

There was a small, unreasonable drop in Gavin’s stomach, but he covered it with a smile. “Looks like I should have brought another bottle.”

Dom stepped closer, lowering his voice, and Gavin’s pulse gave a small, unsteady jump. “They just showed up because they’re assholes.”

The affection laced through his voice took the bite out of Dom’s words.

From behind him, Evan snorted. “We can hear you.”

“I know,” Dom replied without taking his eyes off Gavin’s face. After a moment, he turned to look at his friends.

CJ glanced between them, then toward Evan, and something passed silently between the two men. It was quick, but Gavin caught it. So did Dom, apparently, because his jaw clenched and he shot a warning look at both of them.

“We really did only stop by,” CJ said. His tone was easy, without defensiveness or teasing. “We brought dessert because Dom turned down movie night, which is unusual enough that we thought we should make sure everything was okay.”