Chapter 5

The next morning,I shuffle into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, with the thought of breakfast nudging me awake. Opening the fridge, I expect to find the usual suspects—maybe some eggs, bread, or at least milk to pour in some cereal. But what greets me is a sight I wasn't prepared for. The fridge has everything, though each and every single item is labeled with a sticky note, and none of them have my brother's name. John's salami: hands off;Gabe's property—do not eat or you'll die, the notes read, one after another. My favorite: Mine: fuck off my food, Cedric!

I laugh, but it only lasts a few seconds before my stomach knots with hunger as my shoulders slump. I close the fridge gently, realizing I can't eat any of it. With just twenty dollars in my pocket and a reluctance to call Dad—I can't let Cedric get into trouble—my options are limited.

As I stand, lost in thought and hunger, the sound of approaching footsteps catches my attention. I just hope it's not Johnathan semi-naked with his girlfriend clinging to his dick. Turning around, I see Gabe walking in, his hair tousled from sleep and slight concern in his eyes as he notices me by the fridge.

"Morning, Ameline. Is everything okay?" His voice low and husky.

I force a small smile, not wanting to burden him with my problems. "Yeah, just figuring out breakfast," I reply, trying to sound casual. "Seems like Cee didn't make it home, and, just like my stepmother, he forgot to buy groceries. I'm just wondering if maybe there's a coffee shop nearby?"

Gabe frowns, his gaze thoughtful as he opens the fridge. "We could whip up some scrambled eggs. I make a mean frittata. There's also pancakes or . . ." He shuts the door then gestures toward the cabinets. "Cereal."

I point out, a bit awkwardly, "But none of those sticky notes have Cedric's name."

He casually lifts his shoulder. "It's okay. This is just for your brother who doesn't believe in contributing to the groceries but likes to drink and eat everything John and I buy."

"Sounds like Cee," I acknowledge with a wry smile. "Also like my stepmother."

Gabe pulls out ingredients from the fridge and even washes grapes and apples for me to snack on. As Gabe starts preparing breakfast, I share how Helen has a very peculiar grocery shopping habit and her own sticky note system. I offer up how I think those notes should be used for something more productive.

He looks over, a playful glint in his eyes. "Let me get this straight. You want me to use them for reminders and school notes? No harassing your roommates, huh?"

"Or you could leave love notes," I suggest, a touch of whimsy in my voice. "I don't like my stepmother much, but I'd give her points for leaving Dad sweet notes instead of just bossy ones."

Gabe chuckles. "I don't think I want to leave any love notes for my roommates. They're not my type."

I can't help but laugh. "Well, obviously not to them. I'm just saying don't waste them on groceries."

"Once your brother learns how to contribute I'll follow your advice." He winks at me and starts mixing ingredients in a bowl. I assume he's making pancakes. We never agreed to anything, did we?

After eating an entire apple, I finally say, "Men can start using those sticky notes to flirt or remind the ones they love that they're thinking of them, you know?"

Gabe, with a skilled hand, turns a pancake in the air. "Dad usually composes love songs for Mom. But maybe you're right and sticky notes are more practical," he says, focusing on the stove.

"Really?" I ask.

The idea of a man composing songs for his wife strikes me as incredibly romantic. I wouldn't want to change that. In fact, for a moment I imagine a life filled with music and lyrics—not to confuse it with a musical though.

But wouldn't it be amazing to wake up to someone serenading me just because they love me?

"Yeah, that's their thing," Gabe says, bringing me back from my romantic cloud. "I guess when the only thing you do is breathe music, that's the best way to express what you feel. He wrote pretty dark stuff when they were separated."

"I'm sorry," I say, imagining how he felt while his parents were on a trial separation. "It's hard when your parents split. I'm glad they found their way back."

He shrugs casually. "That's when he was in college. They were separated for ten years—they never told us the whole story. But they're happy, and that's all that matters."

The last words sound very final, and I don't dare to ask more about it since he doesn't know the whole story. Still, I'm curious to know why his parents went their separate ways. Maybe it's the kid in me who sometimes wonders how life would be if my parents hadn't divorced. I don't miss my mother; I barely remember her. I only yearn for what it would've been like to have one.

As Gabe plates our breakfast, I can't help but think if he does similar romantic gestures for his girlfriend. But I remember his reaction when I mentioned the girl in the photo and decide against asking him.

I pull out a chair and take a seat. "Thank you for the food,"I say, trying to keep it cool even though I'm actually starving. The smell alone is making my stomach growl.

Gabe, busy setting up the utensils, says, "Help yourself to anything in the fridge while you're here."

"Even John's stuff?" I ask, trying to sound casual but I'm half-serious. There's a tub of whipped cream and strawberries I can mix together later today.

He lets out a short laugh. "Yeah, he wouldn't give two fucks, unless it's your brother. Plus, you deserve it after having to endure Johnathan's performance last night."

I glance around the apartment, thinking about whether to text Cedric. "You think my brother will show up anytime soon?" I ask, more to myself than to Gabe.

"Do you need him for something?" Gabe asks, as he starts eating. "If you need anything, I can help you."

I shrug and slice into my pancake. It's fluffy and smells like vanilla and cinnamon. I take a bite, and it's like a little piece of cloud. For a second, all my worries about Cedric and tests just melt away.

"In theory, he's supposed to help me study for my standardized tests."

"I can help you if you need it," Gabe offers, speaking thoughtfully between bites. He pauses, looking out the window as if he's pondering something far away. "We could see if my aunt has her prep classes going on."

"Classes?" I ask, leaning in with curiosity, my fork hovering mid-air.

"Yeah. She does it every year as the standardized tests get close." He pauses, rubbing his chin. "She's really good at it."

I frown slightly, as I wonder if I should add maple syrup to the pancakes. They're perfect the way they are right now, but a pancake without syrup . . . it's just weird. Once I pour a little liquid gold I say, "I don't think Dad would pay when he thinks my brother can help me."

"Trust me, Cedric won't be spending his weekends tutoring you. But the good news is my aunt doesn't charge for it." He pulls out his phone, tapping on the screen with a quick thumb, his face lighting up with a smile. "Look, they start today at ten. It's a bit intense, but she's great at what she does."

As Gabe scrolls through his phone, I twist a strand of my hair, a habit when I'm deep in thought. "But why would she do that for free?" I ask, genuinely puzzled.

"It's just for family and friends," he replies, looking up from his phone with a half-smile. "Someone's always gearing up for a test."

I tap my fork against the plate rhythmically, still trying to wrap my head around the idea. A free class that could actually help with college admissions. It sounds almost too good to be true.

"She also has great snacks," Gabe chimes in, breaking into my train of thought with a hint of amusement in his voice. "We need to head to the high school in about twenty minutes. Think you can get ready by then?"

His words jolt me into action. "Yes, definitely," I reply, pushing my chair back with an eagerness I can't fully hide. "Just a quick shower and I'll be all set."

"The clock is ticking," he teases.

I flash him a confident smile as I stand. "Trust me, I can be fast."

As I turn toward Cedric's room, a sudden impulse makes me pause. I pivot back, closing the distance between us, and quickly plant a friendly kiss on Gabe's cheek. "You might've just become my new best friend, Gabe Decker."

His response is a wink, laced with humor. "I might like you better than your brother," he quips.

As I walk away, I can't help but feel a flutter in my stomach. But I know I have to ignore it. Sure, he's undeniably attractive, but the idea of having a crush on someone like him seems absurd. He's nearly done with college, on the brink of medical school, while I'm trying to survive high school.

Gabe Decker is definitely not for me. Plus he has a girlfriend. That's a huge no-no.