The Odds of Happily Ever After (The Reyes Siblings #2)

Chapter 9

chapter nine

luna

Luna

So great to see you guys!

Enjoy the rest of noche buena!!

Lonzo

Ate T ate your share of the ham loll

Ate

I did not. Lonz ate double.

Luna

So jealous! Miss you all!!!

Stepping out of my bedroom, I stared at the chaos in front of me.

Bowls, pans, and baking tools littered every inch of the limited countertop space while the small dining table struggled to contain my attempts at recreating bibingka. A pot of spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove beside a bigger pot with water for the pasta. In the oven, a slab of ham was roasting in pineapple glaze.

I might have gone a little bit overboard with my meal prep.

Considering I was cooking for one, that was an understatement.

“Ugh.” My loud groan cut into the cheerful carols streaming from the speaker. Why did I think this was a good idea again? Forget about eating—clean-up was going to be a massive headache.

I was psyching myself up to clear the table when the doorbell rang. Putting the music on pause, I walked to the door and peered through the peephole. Then I stood there for what felt like a full minute because my eyes had to be fooling me.

Gabe looked straight through the small circle of glass as if he could see me. “Open up, Luna.”

Moving without thought, I opened the door to him standing in the hall, dressed in a white sweater and something I’d never seen him wear before.

My jaw dropped. “Are you wearing jeans ?” The blue denim bordered on black, the fabric framing the length of his legs in a perfect straight cut.

He huffed out a breath, drawing my eyes to his face. “That’s what you find unusual here?”

“Uh, considering I didn’t think there was a universe where you owned jeans? Yeah.”

He didn’t just own them. He freaking owned them.

“It was laundry day,” he muttered, glancing down at his pants.

“You should wear them more often.” I tilted my head and considered him. “Heck, if you’re feeling adventurous, you could pair them with sneaks.”

“Noted,” he said wryly. “Are you going to let me in?”

The question snapped me back to my senses. My back straightened as I remembered that this was Gabe and I was definitely not supposed to be checking him out or giving him unsolicited fashion advice. “What are you doing here?”

He held up a large tote bag that I’d overlooked in my jeans fixation. “Gift delivery from your family.”

My eyes widened. “Oh!”

I didn’t think they would send me anything. I’d joined their celebration on video call earlier, watching them eat noche buena and open the gifts I’d ordered. As happy as I’d been to see them happy, I couldn’t help but be sad for myself too. I’d never felt so alone in my life.

“Tala shipped them to me so they’d be a surprise.” Gabe spoke carefully, as though he could sense the emotions shifting within me. “Jason sent something as well.”

I took a shaky breath, my lips quivering as I attempted to smile. “I?—”

My alarm trilled, and I almost let out a sigh of relief.

“Just a sec,” I said as I rushed back to the kitchen, grateful for the chance to pull myself together.

It didn’t matter what gifts my family sent. Even a postcard would have made me happy because it would be a reminder that they’d thought of me.

“Can I come in?” Gabe asked from the doorway.

“Su—” I caught my instinctive response because, again, Gabe , and also, my apartment resembled ground zero. I could tell him to leave the gifts by the door, but Lola taught me how important it was to make guests feel welcome. Even if I hadn’t invited Gabe—even if he’d been an ass to me multiple times—I couldn’t shake my grandmother’s voice from my head.

“Okay,” I finally said. Putting on my mitt, I opened the stove and moved the casserole dish to the counter. I lifted the foil, and the heady aroma of pork, pineapple, and sugar greeted me. The ham looked almost ready.

I lathered more glaze then put it back in the oven, setting the timer on my phone for ten minutes.

Gabe wandered into the kitchen. “Throwing a party?”

“Would I cook this much food all for myself? And on Christmas Eve too.” Which reminded me— “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

The left corner of his mouth quirked up. “Merry Christmas.” He handed the tote bag to me, and I held it in both arms because it was heavy and that was the closest I could come to hugging my family right now.

My eyes stung, and I opened them wide to keep tears from leaking out. “Thanks for bringing these over,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome.”

I braved a glance at his face and found those blue-gray eyes on me, steady and surprisingly soft. Like he understood what I was feeling. I took a deep breath only for it to lodge in my throat.

A cough sputtered out of me.

“Are you okay?” He lifted his hand, hesitating with it in mid-air.

“Yeah, I’m good. Breathed the wrong way.” I brought the tote bag over to the side of the coffee table and laid out the gifts around the mini Christmas tree I’d thrifted. “You want water or Moscato?”

“No, thank you.”

Glancing back, I found him studying the walls surrounding the sofa. I’d clipped photos onto strands of twine and taped them up together with some battery-operated fairy lights.Since I liked the effect so much, I’d draped lights across the windows too.

He turned to me. “Do you think you have enough lights in here?”

“You should see my bedroom.” The moment the words left my mouth, heat flooded my cheeks. “I mean, I added more lights there. For that cozy vibe, you know?”

Expressionless, he nodded. His eyes swept my kitchen. “Need help?”

“No, I’m good.” Remembering his past words, I added, “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure to turn the oven off.”

The lines across his forehead deepened. “Of course you will. I didn’t mean to say that. I know you’re used to cooking.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry.”

My brows flew up. Of the many surprises I’d gotten tonight, this might just be the biggest—hearing Gabe apologize. That it came due to a throwaway comment was weird, to say the least. But it was a start.

“I’ll help you clean up,” he said, already moving toward the sink.

“I can handle it. It’s just me for dinner anyway. I’m the party.” I laughed.

He didn’t hesitate. “Then you’ll have one thing less to worry about.” He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and began stacking dirty bowls and assorted utensils.

“Gabe, seriously, it’s fine. I’m sure you have places to be.”

“Your water’s boiling.”

A glance at the stove told me he was right. Hurrying to the pot, I put pasta in with some salt and set a second timer. Then I opened the oven, gave the ham a final glaze, and put it in for five more minutes.

When I checked on Gabe, he was elbows deep into the sink. I gasped, moving to his side. “You’re going to ruin your sweater!”

“It’s just soap water and food particles,” he said as he continued scrubbing a mixing bowl.

“But you’re wearing white.” I’d bet the fabric was cashmere too.

“I’ll put it in the wash when I get home.”

“Seriously, I can finish that,”I told him.

He placed the bowl on the drying rack and picked up a spatula. “I’m almost done.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re being suspiciously nice. Did you lose a bet to Ate or something?”

“She just asked me to deliver the gifts.”

“Uh huh.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head. “So what’s with the dishwashing?”

He spared me a quick look. “I can’t help you?”

A snort escaped me. “C’mon, Gabe. You only help me because of Ate. She’s on the other side of the world, so you don’t need to pretend.”

“I told you. You cooked. You shouldn’t have to clean up too.”

“I do it all the time.”

“Not this time. Take a break.”

Maybe it was the fact that it was Christmas and that he’d played deliveryman for my family. Or maybe it was me longing not to be alone on the night when most everyone had someone. Whatever it was, I ended up saying, “You know that rule only applies if you eat what I cooked, right? So since you washed, you should join me for dinner.”

He turned to me. “That’s not?—”

“Do you have other plans?” Please say no so I won’t embarrass myself.

“No, but?—”

“Fine, if you don’t want to stay, I’ll pack some food for you.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“It’s how my lola trained me. You’re not going to dishonor her memory, are you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Resorting to emotional blackmail?”

I shrugged. “Whatever works. Think of it as payment for delivering the gifts.”

“You don’t have to pay me for that,” he grumbled.

“Just give me a couple minutes to finish cooking, and I’ll pack?—”

“I’ll stay, okay?” Gabe moved his attention back to the dishes, and despite the clear annoyance in his tone—or maybe because of it—I grinned.

My phone went off again, like the buzzer at the end of a ballgame. And this time, I’d scored the win.