His hand slid back into her hair and he leaned closer, his mouth hovering over hers. “I am going to prove to you that I listen. I am going to prove that I love you in that madly, deeply, let-you-eat-crackers-in-my-bed, shouting-Stella-from-the-courtyard sort of way.”

Tears burned at the proof he had listened, at least to that.

“I love you for who you are. But I can’t prove it to you here. Come to the town house, then I will prove it.”

She managed to dash away the threat of tears. “You can’t come in here and ask me to go to your house at the snap of your fingers.” She raised her chin. “We are no longer friends with benefits, Gabriel. I’m sorry.”

His features cemented, but not with anger. “We were never friends with benefits, Portia.”

“Oh, that’s right. We were fu—”

“Enough.”

He said the word quietly, but with a strength that resonated through the café. “I love you, and the only thing that’s crazy is if you think I’m going to let the best thing that ever happened to me walk out of my life.”

He bent to her again and his hands ran down her arms. “Come home with me. Let me prove how much you mean to me.”

When she started to resist, he shrugged. With one swift movement he lifted her over the counter as if she weighed nothing, putting her on her feet before him.

She shrieked with the surprise of it. At the same time, visions of the meal, Gabriel’s Meal, danced through her head, taunting her.

“I can’t,” she breathed.

“Wrong answer,” he told her, and actually smiled.

He bent down and had her over his shoulder before she realized what was happening.

“Put me down!”

“Sorry. Can’t. If you won’t walk on your own, I’ll have to carry you.”

“You can’t carry me to your house like this,” she snapped, bracing herself against his back and flailing her legs, trying to get down. “You’ll get arrested!”

“If a cop stops me, I’ll tell them what you’ve put me through and they’ll drag you to the house for me.”

“Ha-ha. If I tell them what you’ve put me through, they’d arrest you and throw away the key.”

“Portia. I’m serious. One way or another, you’re coming with me.”

She made all sorts of outraged noises, but his grip only tightened, like a vise around her legs, and she realized she wasn’t going to win this one.

“Are you going to walk?” he asked. “Or do I carry you?”

“Has anyone ever told you cavemen aren’t attractive?”

“As a matter of fact, Ariel says pretty much the same thing all the time.”

Instantly, she softened, her body easing on his shoulder. “How is she?”

“Missing you.”

“Playing the guilt card?”

“Just telling the truth. Now, can I put you down so you can get your bag or whatever else you need? Or am I going to carry you home?”

He barely gave her a minute to get her coat and handbag.

“Front door’s already locked,” he said. “We’ll go out the side door.”

She glowered at him, but he remained unfazed, and all too soon they were walking up Columbus Avenue. He took her hand. She yanked it away, only to have him take it again.

“The caveman thing. Unattractive. Remember?”

He just laughed, pulled her hand up to his mouth, and kissed it. She hated that it felt good.

When they arrived on Seventy-third Street, the lights in the town house reminded her of how much she loved the place, standing tall like a wedding cake stacked up into the night sky, snow beginning to accumulate like icing on the window panes and eves.

Gabriel pulled her around to face him, his hand slipping into her hair and tugging her head back so he could see her eyes. “This is your home, Portia. You belong here. With me. With us.”

She thought he was going to kiss her, but at the last minute, he pulled back. “First things first,” he whispered.

They took the steps to the outer vestibule. She was surprised when he led her down to the garden apartment instead of straight inside to his apartment. The smell of fresh paint hit her first. Then she noticed the refinished hardwood floor on the stairs, the quaint welcome mat outside the open front door. Then she heard the sound of people.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, her hand flying to her hair.

“You’ll see.”

“I’m a wreck!” she moaned, hanging back.

“Am I going to have to put you over my shoulder again?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He went for her, but she scampered back up a step. “Bossy.”

“Stubborn.”

It took a second for her mind to register all the people inside. Ariel, Miranda. Cordelia and Olivia. Even Stanley and Marcus.

Abruptly, the others became aware of her.

“Portia!”

She blinked, trying to take it in. Her friends and family were standing in the garden apartment … which had been completely redone.

“Don’t you love it?” Ariel cried, flinging herself forward and winding her arms around Portia’s waist. “Dad did it all himself.”

Miranda nodded. “With his own hands.”

Ariel stepped back. “Same thing, Mir.”

“It’s beautiful,” Portia said, awed.

“It’s your dream,” Ariel explained, hands on her hips, looking bossy and worried, at the same time. “Not all perfect and professional like those people did upstairs. Dad took everything out, did it just like you wanted, then brought all the old junk back in, fixed up, cleaned up.”

“Just as you described,” Gabriel said, his voice deep with emotion. “I listened, Portia.”

He had, that time they had lain together after making love, talking about her vision for the apartment.

“Oh, Gabriel, I don’t know what to say.”

Gabriel stepped forward and took her hands. “Portia, this is your home. The people here, we are your family. And in this town house, you have cooked or baked or done something for each person here. So I asked everyone to make something for you to show their thanks.”

It was then that she noticed the table, set with the pitted silverware and mismatched dishes.

Stanley straightened, after placing a dish on the table. He took one look at her and grimaced. “Good Lord, woman, is that frosting in your hair?”

“Mind your manners, old man.” This from Marcus, who was making room on the table for a platter.

“I can’t tell you the last time I did anything in a kitchen,” Stanley said, jutting out his chin. “But I did, for you. Because you’re a dear,” he added. “So I decided that I would make the one recipe I know. Sweet jalapeño mustard.”

A jolt went through Portia.

“Can you believe it?” Marcus said. “A New Yorker who makes anything with jalapeños?”

“As you well know, I was born and raised in Texas. I might be old, but I still remember my mother’s sweet jalapeño mustard.”

Marcus wrapped a lanky arm around his partner’s stooped shoulders. “Yes, once upon a time you were a good ol’ boy from south of the Mason-Dixon Line. I made my fried chicken for you, Portia, to go with my beloved’s mustard.”

A chill ran down her spine.

“Miranda and I made biscuits!” Ariel cheered.

Portia couldn’t move. She felt Olivia looking at her for a long beat, her brow furrowing. Then Olivia laughed and came forward, taking her hands, pulling her close, pressing her forehead to Portia’s. “Some things are true whether you believe them or not,” Olivia whispered just for her.

Portia’s breath let out in a rush; then she threw her arms around her sister.

She then pivoted to face Gabriel. “But how did you know?”

His brow furrowed. “Know what?”

“The meal. You—this is the meal. It’s your meal.”

“What are you talking about? I just asked everyone to bring something for you, something they could make, something that meant something to them.”

Portia swept her gaze over the table. The slaw was there, the buttery mashed potatoes. Each item from Gabriel’s Meal sat on the table, just as she had seen it in her mind—this menu, in this garden apartment that she had loved since she was a child.

She didn’t realize Gabriel had gone to the kitchen until she turned and found him reappearing. Before she could say anything, he held out a dish. “Strawberry pie—”

“With fresh whipped cream,” Portia breathed.

“I made it,” he said. “Can’t swear to how good it is, but I know you love strawberries, and the girls say it’s the only thing I’ve made in a month that was half edible.”

“I can’t believe it,” Portia whispered. “You were the ones who were supposed to make the meal. Not me. That’s why mine didn’t work.”

She looked at each person in turn, and then finally at Gabriel. “This is the meal that came to me when I first saw you on the steps. The meal I tried to make, but ruined.”

She didn’t wait another second. She ran to Gabriel, throwing her arms around him. “We’re meant to be.”

He tipped her head back. “It’s the meal, the food, that’s what convinced you?”

“Yes.” Portia hesitated, holding her breath. “Do you understand?”

He looked into her eyes, really looked. Then he smiled. “What I understand is that the rest of my life will be filled with food, food that answers questions that haven’t been asked yet, food that you know we need before we know why.” He lowered his voice. “You’re mine, Portia, and have been since the day I found you on the steps in your flowered shoes.”

There was a universal groan, and Gabriel glanced over, as if he’d forgotten anyone else was there.

“What?” he demanded.

Ariel spoke up first. “Maybe think about asking her if she wants to be yours.”