Gabriel continues in a dispassionate tone. “Living this life, looking the way I do, it’s easy to get off whenever, however I want. I won’t lie. I took advantage often. But then Jax happened.” He stares down at his hands as they close tight around his bowl. “Everything felt false, ugly. Like we were all tainted by a lie, and those around us were liars. The amount of supposed close friends who jumped ship, turned their backs on Jax was staggering.”

He glances my way, and his eyes are red at the edges. “Don’t misunderstand; I expected it. I simply didn’t expect it to bother me.”

“Of course it would. They’re your family. Anyone can see that you love them.”

He stills as if he’s absorbing my words. “Most people believe I’m incapable of feeling anything.”

Outrage punches through my chest like a burning fist. In that moment, I know I’d go to war for this man. Even if he hated every second of it. No one should have to face the world without someone at their back. Especially not someone as dedicated as Gabriel.

“Idiots,” I snarl.

He slowly shakes his head. “No, love, it’s what I want them to see.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It helps. I was never particularly affectionate. But after Jax, I couldn’t stand to have anyone touch me. Especially strangers. It makes my skin crawl, smothers me.”

With a groan, I flop into the pillows. “And there I was on the plane, wrapping myself around you like cling film.”

His mouth quirks, and he looks at me from under the thick fringe of his lashes. “Yes, well, I’m all cured of you. Call it a trial by fire. Or aversion therapy.”

“Lovely. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy now. No.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t hold back how you really feel.”

He snorts and grabs my hand, his long fingers wrapping around my smaller ones. He gives me a squeeze before gently setting my hand down on my thigh and moving his away.

“Our situation aside, casual contact irritates me, which means casual sex no longer holds any interest. In truth, I find it repellant now.”

It’s probably wrong that I’m relieved. But if I had to watch him hook up with women during the tour, I don’t know how I’d handle it. Jealousy is not fun and also hard to control. Yet it also bothers me, thinking about him consigning himself to being alone.

“What about having a relationship?” I ask.

“Most people bore me.”

I laugh, but my heart hurts. “This you make very clear.

A frown knits his thick brows. “I’ve never been affectionate or normal, Sophie.”

He says it like a warning, or maybe a badge of honor. And yet I hear the worry behind it all, as if he fears he might be defective. I know that particular fear very well.

“Hey, what’s normal anyway? We’re all a bit crazy.”

“Some more than others,” he can’t seem to help but murmur with a small, teasing smile about his lips. “And I don’t usually have dessert. Crumble is special.”

That catches my attention. “How so?”

He pokes as his desert before answering with a secretive smile. “Mary made this for me.”

“Mary.” The name tastes of bitterness in my mouth.

He glances at me, his brows drawing together before his expression smoothes into amusement. “Glorious woman. Excellent baker. The best, really.”

“I prefer apple pie.”

The bastard gives his spoon a lazy lick. I ignore that tongue. And those firm lips that are just a bit glossy with apple-cinnamon filling. “How American of you. Don’t fret, love. I’m certain Mary could bake a luscious pie too.”

“Maybe you should ask her to sleep with you at night. Then you can have your pie and eat it too.”

“Good suggestion, Marie Antoinette. Only I think she’d turn me down. She’s constantly telling me I’m too young for her.” He shrugs. “Eighty-year-old women are prickly that way.”

I grab his spoon and take an irritated bite of his beloved crumble while he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I can’t believe I let him goad me.

“Ass,” I tell him around my mouthful of food.

“You wear jealousy well, Ms. Darling. Makes you all flushed and breathy.”

“Deluded ass,” I amend. When he won’t stop grinning, I poke his chest. “So why is crumble so special?”

All the happy smugness falls off his face, and regret pangs inside my chest. His gaze drifts off as he speaks. “My mum used to make it for me as a special treat. The only crumble I’ve found that tastes even close to my mum’s is made by Mary, who owns a bake shop here. I always order a batch when I come to town.”

I want to ask him about his family and why his mom doesn’t make him crumble instead. But agitation has settled on him like a heavy blanket he’s trying to shrug off. I can’t bring myself to pick at that scab.

With an ease I don’t feel, I take the bowl from his unresisting hand and help myself to another bite of crumble. It’s rich and buttery, crisp and spicy.

Kind of like Gabriel himself.

“Now then,” I tell him around the mouthful, “you’ve completely lost points for being Team Jacob.”

He snorts.

“So you’ll have to redeem yourself.” I wave the spoon at him threateningly. “Who was better for Buffy? Angel or Spike?”

Gabriel takes the spoon and bowl back. “Angel is a teen girl’s dream, all sad sighs and mental angst. Spike is for when she grows up and realizes satisfaction is hers for the taking.”

My grin slowly unfurls. “You, sir, are a romantic.”

He glances at me in affront. “I just said all that romantic babble was childish.”

“Only a romantic would put so much thought into that answer.”

“You annoy me,” he grumbles without heat. “And for the record, I was lying about Jacob. I think they’re both prats.”

I laugh and laugh, loving the way he eventually nudges me with his elbow. I get myself a bowl of crumble and give him another serving, then settle down next to him to watch Buffy.

I feel like I’m sixteen again, in my parents’ basement with the hottest guy in school. Only I’m on thousand-dollar sheets in a million-dollar bus, driving through Europe. And Gabriel is no teen boy.