Gabe woke before the alarm went off, savoring the feeling of his body curled around Bex’s slim, soft frame. When she’d called at lunch on Friday to tell him that Sam’s kid was being born and that she was taking the closing shift at The Walton, it should have been a good thing. Instead, she’d sounded distant and rushed on the phone.

“Can I come play barkeep with you?” he’d asked. “No need to do this alone.”

“You’ll be too distracting,” she’d protested, brushing off his offer to help.

“Distractingly awesome,” he’d countered.

“Yes. But I have a hard enough time remembering the recipes as it is.”

Gabe’s stomach had dropped, but he wasn’t going to let it show. He knew Sam and Aderyn had been waiting for this moment for a long time, and he didn’t want to jinx it with an argument. “Fine, Bex. I’ll leave the door open for you.”

Between the rejection after their fight the other night and her refusal now, his chest tightened. But despite the open door, she hadn’t come to him, claiming that Colton still needed her help at the bar. Gabe had waited up for her on Friday, and then again last night. At least now that it was Sunday—or, technically, Monday—she was here.

Bex had slid into bed at nearly 4:30 in the morning smelling like alcohol. She was going to run herself ragged this way, but Gabe knew she wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved that once she let her walls down, she gave everything to the people she cared for. She could love so fully and completely. But giving too much of yourself away could deplete a person.

Gabe pressed a kiss to Bex’s shoulder. His agenda for the day was to finish matting the prints for the Trailblazer and deliver them to be hung. While he needed to get up and take care of things, he didn’t have a set schedule. Instead, he had set the alarm for Bex, knowing she’d still insist on heading into X Enterprises despite the late night.

He reached for the alarm before it rang. “Hey, honey.” He nuzzled her neck. “Time to get up.”

Bex groaned quietly. “Why did I think catching three hours of sleep would help? I should have just pulled an all-nighter.”

“Three hours is better than nothing. And if it helps, I’ll start coffee for you.”

He kissed her cheek and froze when startling heat radiated from the skin beneath his lips. “Bex, you’re so hot.”

She waved a tired hand at him. “There’s no way you’re getting in my pants right now. I can barely lift my head.”

“No, honey. You’re always sexy hot, but today you’re hot hot. You’re burning up.”

She pressed a hand to her flushed cheeks and moaned softly. “I am. Shit.”

“Go back to bed and take a sick day.”

Bex shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve got to start judging this competition. The sooner the results are in, the sooner I can stop torturing myself. And anyway, I’ve got to wash all the baby clothes I bought and take them over to Sam’s house. They’re going to need them when they get back from New Mexico.”

Bex’s nephew, Weston Robert Kingsley, had been born on Friday night, sometime around last call. Sam and Aderyn had made it just in time to see the birth, and Gabe knew how proud Bex was that she’d given them the freedom to haul ass out of town.

“You’re putting a lot on your plate,” he said, brushing the back of his hand across Bex’s forehead. She needed to stay home and take care of herself. Hell, if he could, he would ply her with chicken soup and DayQuil until she let him strip her out of her pajamas and remind her of the healing power of a solid orgasm or two.

“I’m coming through for my family.”

“Yeah, but if you’re sick, you’re no good to anyone.”

Bex flinched, and pain bloomed in his chest. Wrong choice of words. “I’m fine,” she muttered.

“Will you at least make a doctor’s appointment? I’ve got to take these prints to the gallery, and I won’t be able to focus if I’m worried about you.”

Bex made a face.

“I’m withholding coffee until you say yes.”

She cracked a small smile. “Nothing gets between me and my coffee.”

“Good girl.”

Vinny’s name appeared on the screen of Gabe’s phone as he drove toward the Trailblazer Gallery. He hit the speakerphone, and his brother’s voice filled the car.

“Which club are you taking me to on Thursday?”

Gabe winced. “None of them.”

“I thought we were going to hit the town in anticipation of your art world debut.”

Maybe Gabe would feel more like partying after the show, but for now, everything felt wired tight. Especially with the way Bex had slid out the door this morning in her pencil skirt and heels, looking so tired that he’d almost changed his mind and forced her to stay home. “I thought you were coming out here to look at places to live, not to party.”

“I can do both. Consider our visit a chance for me to checking out prospective bars to work at.”

Gabe snorted. “That’s a technicality.”

“I’ll still take it.”

Gabe smiled. “Fair enough. I’m going to bow out on joining you until after the show, though.”

Vinny’s voice came through easy and light. “Suit yourself, big brother. I should be at your place around six on Thursday. Get some clean sheets ready for me.”

Gabe was so surprised he almost missed his next turn. “My place?”

“Your crash pad.”

“I might have missed something here. My crash pad is currently occupied.” Or, at least, he hoped it would be later this week. With the way things were going with Bex, he couldn’t be sure if she’d be naked in his bed or running more errands as an excuse to hide from him. They needed to talk, and Vinny sleeping in his apartment was going to put a damper on that.

“Such a warm welcome,” Vinny teased.

Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I’m being an ass. You can take the couch.”

“Attaboy.”

Vinny clicked off without further comment, and Gabe resumed the drive toward the gallery. By the time he pulled open the doors to the gallery, his nerves were shot.

Angelica, at least, was happy to see him. The gallery manager greeted Gabe at the door with an air kiss on each cheek. She waved him inside, taking one of the frames from his full hands and leading him toward the two walls she had cleared for his show.

“These look great,” she said, eyeing the first few pictures in the stack.

Gabe set them down gently. “Thanks. There are more in the car.”

Angelica instructed him where to unload the prints and left him to gather the rest of the frames. For the most part, Gabe had assembled framed prints in single mats—crisp and minimal, so as not to distract from the photos themselves—but he’d also included a huge image that he’d printed on canvas because it felt especially like a painting.

When he arrived with the second batch of prints, Angelica had already begun arranging the photographs in a mock layout on the floor. There was a magic to arranging everything in the right place to make the best impact—finding the right height, considering the spacing and groupings of photographs. Angelica seemed to have mastered the art of hanging photos, and the images all fit perfectly together.

Gabe stepped back and watched her work for a moment, her careful eye assessing the pictures to select the right one for each space.

“Everything okay, Gabe?” she asked, glancing up from her spot in front of his wall.

His wall.

It was still surreal to be here, to know that in four days he’d have an opening, a showing. After years of working, he’d started to make the impact that he knew he was capable of.

“Yeah,” he coughed. “I’m good.”

She gave him a knowing look. “There’s no reason to be nervous. Your pictures are fantastic.”

Was he nervous?

Dammit, he was.

But the pictures weren’t the problem.

Gabe forced himself to stop fidgeting, then flashed her a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“If this is it, I can take it from here,” Angelica said with a kind voice. “We’ll get these pictures hung and ready for Friday night.”

“Right.” He nodded and backed away. The pictures would be ready, sure. Gabe himself, though, might just be falling apart.