High School Musical 1. Sweet Getaway

Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

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Stopping the rented 4x4 on the side of the narrow uphill road, Gabriella Montez stepped out from the driver's seat to look to her surroundings. Hands on her hips, brows furrowed in irritation over the sight she beheld—a deserted road that was not only narrow and damp and in no way can be described as well paved or passable but dangerous as well judging from the left side of the road that fell away into a deep ravine and the tall, dark emerald green and creepy looking trees lining the right side of it.

_Thanks a lot Timothy._ She grumbled silently, grabbing the map inside the car and calming her frustration long enough to trace where her location might be. The road she passed over an hour ago branched into two directions and she had the inkling she chose the wrong branch. When Timothy Bolton, her boyfriend, and Ryan Evans, one of her closest friends, recommended that she take a vacation to help her de-stress and eventually make her find her muse—writing muse—she agreed to the suggestion especially after Ryan mentioned the secluded vacation house his wealthy parents own in Zephyr Cove at South Lake Tahoe that they named Seventh Heaven.

The idea, the location and the suggestive name of the supposedly cozy house convinced Gabriella that it would be a relaxing and fruitful getaway. With a name like Seventh Heaven, she envisioned a rustic mountain cabin surrounded by beautiful landscaping, with trees and flowering plants and overlooking a lake . . . as close to heaven as she could get! The prospect of travelling without any cause for worry and having to spend a few days in a peaceful, unpolluted and carefree environment was what made the suggestion so inviting and convinced her that a change of scenery was really needed to find her muse.

Oh boy, how wrong was she!—on the travelling part at least—since she has yet to pass judgment on the house once she finds it. Her flight from Los Angeles being delayed for nearly three hours compared to the 1.3 hours actual flight should have warned her that this getaway is bound to be doomed with mishaps. If her phone had even the faintest signal right now, she'd call Tim or Ryan and give them a piece of her mind about this proposition that just became a trek into the uncharted reaches of a dense rainforest and a precipice she couldn't see clearly enough to tell how far the fall will be to the bottom.

Not that she was planning on falling just to ascertain how far the drop will be but it always helped to be aware of certain facts to keep one's senses alert especially in a foreign place like this.

Feeling a chilly blow of wind, she tossed the map on the passenger seat having figured she didn't make a wrong turn and climbed back in the jeep. The time on her watch read 5:30 PM which means in these parts, where the trees wounded with huge monsteria vines seem to be encroaching closer on both sides of the narrow rutted road, it will be getting pretty dark soon—if not already.

She most definitely doesn't want to get stuck among these scary trees. She started the car, inexplicably relieved to hear the low rev of the engine as a crazy jolt of imagination of the trees coming to life like the ones in Lord of the Rings movie suddenly beset her mind, except these trees she was warily looking at were demented and couldn't distinguish the hero from the villain.

"Tim is the villain!" She addressed aloud to no one in particular, tightening her hold on the steering wheel and swerving sharply to the left just in time when her vision swung ahead to see a huge dip in the road that might very well be the size of a volcano's crater.

Then, before she could even collect her composure, all of a sudden, a deafening crack of thunder exploded in the sky and soon after, rain ensued. Big, fat drops at the onset, making Gabriella shriek and frantically step on the brakes to gape in disbelief at the windshield as the water falling became a torrential downpour.

"I want to get there in one piece!" She shouted amidst the harsh beat of the rain on the roof of the car, yet desperately hoping not another sound of thunder would come next. She doesn't think she can handle maneuvering up the road while trying to ignore her fear of one of nature's common occurrence.

Gabriella cursed but continued to drive at minimal speed, swiping a palm against the condensation that blurred the glass then looking side to side on the off chance that she'll see another human being and hopefully said person can point her in the right direction or assure her there's a house called Seventh Heaven at the end of this rutted road.

Tim, of course, as always meant well when he casually suggested she take this vacation while he was inspecting the new painting that arrived in his art gallery. Being the friend and boyfriend that he is, and knowing each other for close to nineteen years, he was aware of how she was having difficulty finishing the few remaining chapters of the screenplay for a Hallmark TV movie and more so writing a new story for her literary agent, Keri Parkins, to negotiate with producers, directors and publications. And it didn't help that Keri added to the pressures Gabriella already placed on herself to finish the screenplay of a complicated and drama filled father-daughter relationship with a perfect ending.

She's a writer by profession and a hell of a good one too, with an Emmy to her name and a few other notable literary awards here and there. As a child, her fondest memories of her parents were ones where they read her children story books to put her to sleep which developed her general love for books and reading as she got older. What started out as bedtime stories became a book collection that grew over the years, filling up an entire wall of her bedroom. The genre of interest is diversified. She would read everything and anything that takes up her attention for a certain period.

At one point, she remembered, she had been obsessed with the Nancy Drew series books thinking everything was an exciting mystery to be solved before it went to eighteenth century themed romance novels where she was enamored by the sweeping tales of the women in big dresses and the acceptable behavior in society during those times then from classic romance it transferred to an interest in the supernatural beings—vampires and werewolves, witches and warlocks, ghosts, angels, demons, fairies, mermaids—and then even those simple essays expressing opinions or those practical 'how to' books.

As soon as she opens a book and starts reading, she's enraptured and transported into another world.

A world that was her alternate reality. A world where she can forget the pains of witnessing her parents constant fighting and their eventual divorce. A world where she's considered pretty with guys vying for her attention because they want to get to know her better and not because they're in dire need of a tutor. A world where she isn't the target of ridicule or sometimes senseless bullying from the popular crowd of East High because she was a plump girl with glasses and braces. A world where she's confident not awkward or timid and not always wanting for her mother's comforting presence when she desperately needed a family member for support.

Her teen years weren't exactly traumatic. In fact, it got better over the years—thank God for friends. But it wasn't smooth sailing either. It was probably a given for teens to be gauche . . . maybe except for the few lucky ones who seem to be born with overflowing confidence and beauty . . . and it didn't help that her mother became such a workaholic after the divorce, always gone for weeks at a time leaving her daughter to fend for herself and deal with her problems alone. So when reading and letting her imagination run wild didn't work all that much anymore, writing filled the void.

She became driven to write, initially weaving words into stories where the main female character is beautiful, confident, strong-willed, and gets to experience a loving relationship either from family, many friends or an ardent man. Everything she's not but hopes to be. It became her outlet. All the teenage woes gave her ideas for stories and they were plenty. It was like her fingers had a mind of their own, typing away in her computer like she was rushing to meet a deadline when in fact it was just going into a file in her computer's documents.

Regardless, writing also served as some sort of emotional release for her and a confidence booster. It kept her calm and seemingly unaffected and on certain occasions, sane. Because of writing she learned to ignore the gibes from the obnoxious crowd in school and was able to concentrate more on her classes which she always did excel at and to the few people who are her friends and remained to be her friends up until now.

It was Tim who encouraged her to take journalism classes in the summer of their freshman year in high school after he accidentally read one of her stories and was thoroughly impressed by it. She took to his suggestion, thinking there wasn't anything wrong with it and besides, she reckoned, it would keep her from being forced by her father to bond with his new wife.

With Tim's constant encouragement and his steady belief in her talent, she joined writing competitions and won some of them, making them jump around like crazies and with the prize money, celebrating at an expensive restaurant the first time it happened. In due course, she began submitting articles or literary journals to small presses. Later on as a high school senior, discovering she had a gift for screenwriting which easily opened several doors for her and without realizing it, writing had become her life taking the place of family, a romantic relationship and chances of freeing herself from the insecurity she seem to constantly feel.

Now, at twenty five, for some unknown reason, she entered into a phase where ideas aren't presenting itself freely and along the way had lost her knack for forging a concept into a storyline of dialogue and action which is what screenwriting entails. It was frustrating.

And instead of lessening the frustration, this trip she agreed to embark on was heightening it!

_Damn._

What Ryan failed to mention about Seventh Heaven though is it isn't a travel on _heaven's_ road. There was nothing smooth or nice about her trip so far which is stressing her out even more. And finding this supposed haven was much harder than she was led to believe. Otherwise, she wouldn't have dared finding the place on her own. _Let's hope this Seventh Heaven is worth it, Ryan, or you'll so get it from me big time. _She muttered, speeding up the road a little.

Her eyes were trained to the left, still afraid of the ravine and the dangers it poses if she isn't careful with her driving especially under the rain and the already dim sky that's making it even more difficult for her to see the road. Just as she let her gaze briefly swing to the right, a flash of white caught her eye. _Letters on a wooden sign!_ Braking abruptly, tires grounding on the damp soil, she slowly backed up until she could read the decently painted sign that read Seventh Heaven.

Gabriella expelled a breath and relaxed her tense body, thankful for finding the place before any more tragedies happen to her. She turned off the engine, checked her watch that registered she had been slow driving for an hour since the stop earlier and then with an acquiescent sigh, she tried to dig through one of her suitcase for something to cover her head from the nasty rain until she can reach the front door and ask for help from the caretaker Ryan assured would be there upon her arrival to unload her things from the car.

Placing the spare small portfolio bag atop her head, she got out of the jeep, shutting the door, ignoring the rain that trickled like ice on her warm skin and quickly scanned the short driveway that led to the house. A pale glow shone from the inside telling her the caretaker was there as promised.

Needing to get settled in as soon as possible, envisioning herself taking a luxurious bath and afterwards start writing the last pages for the TV movie then hopefully start with a new one—"R_omance, Gabriella, we need romance."_—Keri had said a little pleadingly when she dropped her off at LAX, she took several quick steps forward without looking at the muddy path.

Unfortunately for her with her track of clumsiness, she should have minded her steps as much as the pathway because a bump on the soil from a half embedded rock just a short distance from the first step of the porch, caught her footing; her arms went flying sideways in an effort of regain her balance, but still made her land on the disgusting mud—flat on her face.

It took several minutes to grasp what had happened to her, gather her wits, and pick her filthy self up from the ground, anger and frustration boiling within her at her predicament. But she willed herself to relax, no matter how screwed up things are. _You maybe clumsy by nature but it'll get better soon, Gabriella._ She mentally chided as she reached the low steps of the house, dragging her muddy self further up to the door and seeing no doorbell to press, she tapped the screen hard to be heard by the caretaker. _Breathe. Just breathe. You'll be clean and comfy once you get in._

To Gabriella's relief, it opened a few minutes later to reveal another living and breathing human being, silhouetted in the mellow orange light. "Thanfft goofftnessft." She gushed while continually wiping the mud that formed on her lids, nose and lips with her also muddy hands. "I need…pffft… help with…pffft… my things."

"You have the wrong house." The man spoke a little wary at first probably because of her appearance then with curtness before promptly slamming the door to her face.

"What the—" She muttered, dumbfounded by the sudden bang of the door but she recovered quickly to knock again. This time much harder and repeatedly.

As soon as the door swung open, Gabriella was ready to deliver a string of words as harsh as the rain pounding on and around the house and demand to the rude caretaker that he let her in as she's a n expected guest and to get her things at once. She had every right to be incensed. But when she looked up to the irate face of the tall, well built man in a V-neck grey shirt and dark track pants, the tirade died in her throat and her brain shrieked in utter incredulity.

_Oh my God! _She wanted to discredit her vision because of the mud around her eyes but several furious blinks later didn't change the face she was seeing and neither did he disappear altogether like she wanted. _Troy fucking Bolton!_

"What are you doing here?!" Gabriella demanded indignantly, ignoring the taste of mud on her lips as she pushed past to shove him out of the door's way with as much force she could muster while he seems to be juggling between disgust for her muddy appearance, annoyance for her obduracy to enter the house, and trying to search his memory if he knew her or not.

"Who the hell are you?!" He demanded in return as he took purposeful steps straight for her standing under the stairs that led to the second floor rooms, noting her hands placed firmly on her waist in an aggressive posture.

Gabriella could see the determined intention to drag her out of the house if she dissents any further. "Don't touch me!" She fired at him, stepping away from his grasp as he reached for her. Her eyes shooting daggers at him. "Stay away from me!"

"Oh don't worry, Miss." He drawled, irritated and Gabriella recognized the strained patience on his face and tone of voice like one he'd show for a pesky saleswoman who suddenly appeared at his door while he was taking a nap and he wasn't interested in buying whatever it is she was selling. "I'll drag you out by the back of your shirt. In case you haven't noticed, you are covered in mud. I have no plans of laying my hands on your filthy self."

And to Gabriella's shock, he did just that. Her weight and strength and the tension from the travel she went thru proving her efforts at wriggling free of his rough hold futile. He grabbed the back of her shirt tight making the shirt's collar push close to her neck, almost choking her. He practically pushed her out the door and toward the steps with very little effort on his part until she was out under the rain again, water flowing like rivulets from her scalp down to her face.

He pointed a warning finger at her and firmly ordered, "Leave. Whoever you are, you have the wrong house."

"Montez." She huffed glaring at him as the heavy rain began to gradually wash away the muck from her face, the front of her previously pristine white and expensive designer shirt and from her arms and legs exposed by her shorts.

"What?" Troy yelled to be heard above the rain then quickly dismissed the question as inconsequential with a flick of the hand and he turned his back on her to go head inside the house.

"This is a set-up!" She shouted to the heavens but it was meant for Tim and Ryan. She thought the travel was bad and the weather terrible but finding Troy Bolton in the house where she's supposed to spend weeks in is absolute tragedy for her.

The man, regardless of the fact that he's her boyfriend's brother, is an unqualified toad and since high school Troy had made it quite clear to her in ways both cruel and unusual that he doesn't like her and he takes pleasure in tormenting her. Where Tim was sweet, kind and a great friend, Troy was rude and a swaggering jerk. They were opposites. One is Gabriella's friend and the other her nemesis. Never mind that before high school, they were almost inseparable.

The fact that they haven't seen each other for more than five years didn't diminish her hate for him. It was not easy to forget him—as much as she wants to—or the pranks he pulled on her. She didn't want to admit it to any of their common friends or even to herself that up until now after years of not seeing and not communicating with him at all, she's only managed to set him aside in her mind. Not a prevalent thought but nevertheless, still there.

Before this, she was so sure if time comes for them to meet again, she'd have enough self control to ignore him. Be apathetic. Show him she isn't the same shy, tame Gabriella he used to enjoy tormenting and who let him torment her. She swore she wouldn't be affected in the least bit but as of this moment seeing him unexpectedly under circumstances not exactly in her favor, the hate immediately surged through with renewed force along with a whole lot of other things crossing her mind.

She blames him for this awful weather too and she doesn't care how illogical that is.

Troy swung around at the sudden yell thinking she was accusing him of trespassing in the house. He was about to give her a piece of his mind for her imprudent gall to blame him of anything when he's the one who opened the door for her in the first place, not the other way around. "Look—" But he stopped short shocked by a familiar sight then a second later, he took an uncertain step forward gazing intently to better see her face through the faint illumination and the sheets of rain separating them.

Gabriella contemplated on scooping a handful of mud from the ground and slinging it at him just to release some of her anger before she goes back to the rented jeep and drive to Round Hill Village she passed on the way there. She could find some decent lodging for the night then take the earliest ride back to the city. But as much satisfaction she may derive from mud throwing she curbed the urge to do so, deciding to just leave because knowing him it wouldn't change anything. He'd still have the house—for whatever reason he was there in the first place—and no matter how hungry, exhausted and frustrated she is, there's no way in hell she'll stay there with him.

But before she could move from the spot where her sneakers had already made a deep impression on the wet soil, Troy's face suddenly broke out into a bright smile, surprising her and weirding her out at the same time.

When he didn't speak and just continued to stare at her with a mix of astonishment, disbelief and delight as if he was actually pleased by her sudden arrival, Gabriella spoke angrily through the rain cascading past her lips. "What the hell are you smiling at?"

It even looked like he was amused by her question and in her current grimy state and foul mood, she found the smile not just condescending but malicious too. But when he spoke, "Gabriella" in a smooth voice to imply he now recognized her, she hated to admit was still familiar to her ears only with a deep, more mature resonance to it. She stiffened at his awed tone, her mind choosing to remind her of a time during her sophomore year in gym class where he sneakily dropped a foul smelling bug inside her shirt making her stink like a skunk the entire day in school and the center of unwarranted attention. "And here I am again the victim of your nasty jokes!"

He seemed taken aback by her words but then without warning he marched down the steps, grabbed her by the arm a little roughly, not giving her any chance to protest, and firmly deposited her on the chair out on the porch. "Sit still." He ordered, after flipping his hair from his eyes with a sideways jerk of the head, shocking Gabriella into stunned silence.

He went back inside the house and a few minutes later reemerged with a large dark blue towel. "Here." He tossed the towel over to her which landed on her lap. Staring at it like she's trying to figure out what it was used for, Gabriella found herself taking the towel and wrapping it over her head and shoulders.

She realized she had been shaking from being soaked to the skin by the rain but the unanticipated thoughtful gesture from Troy, the last person she expected to extend some sort of kindness to her, she loathe to admit, was comforting if not life saving at the moment.

"You better go inside and shed those clothes." Troy said matter-of-factly. "I came here for some sun and relaxation but this awful weather just ruined that for me. Although as an alternative, I don't plan on spending my time here nursing you back to health in case you catch pneumonia or whatever it is people catch from staying out under the cold rain too long."

Gabriella stood up from the chair on shaky knees but held her ground as she spat, "I'm not staying here with you. I'll dry myself, take a bath and change clothes because I need to then I'll be out of your space." She skimmed her eyes throughout the house. "This place is all yours."

He chuckled and it even looked like he was amused by her little speech.

"What's so funny?" She snapped, wrapping the towel tighter around her slumped shoulders. She was too furious with his stanch coolness and his smirking face that she didn't even consider feeling embarrassed for her clumsiness or how she must look right now. They had been in similar situations all too many times in the past than she would care to recount. She's the victim and he's the tormentor who finds amusement in her sorry state.

He grinned eyeing her from head to toe. "You."

She gritted her teeth to stop the involuntary trembling of her jaw and forced words past her teeth. "Nothing new." Then she turned her back on him going through the screen door and made her way to the stairs. He was still the same inconsiderate jerk she knew him to be. Age didn't change his level of maturity or the way he treated her.

"Rooms are upstairs. Take the one to your left" He called out.

* * * * * *

Troy did his best to keep the sudden smile to himself lest he gets another cut-through-steel glare from Gabriella. Not that he couldn't handle her ire because he could but he felt smiling wouldn't be appropriate reaction to her predicament. He hasn't seen her in years and the last time he did she looked entirely different. The last time he saw her, her brunette locks were shorter and a bit on the unruly side. She also wore glasses and braces. She never utters a word to him and acknowledges his existence only with a glare. And he understands the general dislike of him.

He doesn't have a very pleasant opinion of her either.

But the Gabriella he recognized after that muck on her face got washed off by the rain was a complete surprise to him. She was stunning and that's putting it mildly considering the traces of mud still evident on the sides of her face and her now long hair plastered wet to her head like she's a proverbial drowned rat. Being neighbors, their parents friends, he'd known her since they were kids and although he had never voiced it aloud, showed his appreciation or hinted in the least bit to their respective family or common friends, he had always thought of her as pretty.

Yet in that short, unpleasant exchange, it was startling to discover she's no longer the timorous girl he used to goad in high school, the girl who makes it a point to breeze through East High unnoticed, the girl who chose his brother over him. Even with the mud all over her, she stood confident, unapologetic and ready to put him in his place. Also having seen her up close, he very much doubts if she could still walk anywhere unnoticed.

For a writer, there's no way she can be described as _'literary looking'_. And that added to his revelation.

With a faint grin, he watched her trudge up the stairs with awkward steps, the water and the remnants of mud on her clothes weighing her down a bit, and he deliberated with himself if he should remind her that her things are still in the vehicle she came with which means she has nothing to change into after the bath she's about to do in the bathroom upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, aware that his eyes were on her, she threw him a seething glance over her shoulders before she disappeared in one of the empty rooms with a loud bang of the door which helped Troy decide not to remind her of anything. She will realize it soon enough.

Troy walked over to the screen door, grimacing at the spots of mud that lined the porch from Gabriella's muddy sneakers which she also left there. The caretaker had some extra cleaning to do. He thought; before closing the door then moving to the stone designed fireplace to warm is hands, thinking why she came to the Evans' cabin. He had been here several times over the years when he needs a retreat from the city life, although this time is different because his reason for coming was to give his mind a rest from the rollercoaster he went thru with the recent breakup with his girlfriend Caitlin Harding.

He had called Sharpay Evans, a close friend since high school, to tell her of his plan to retreat at the house, not really for permission since the place is hardly occupied by any of the Evans family but just for courtesy and for Sharpay to tell Ernie, the caretaker, that he was coming.

The arrangement was made. Ernie and his wife, Ruth, who lived a good walking distance from the cabin had been informed according to Sharpay. And like the previous times he had been here, the couple will make sure Troy doesn't starve and will keep the place clean. But just as Ruth left the house after she cooked him dinner, rain poured and he knew his plans will have to change if the weather continues.

Gabriella's arrival though was something he did not expect at all. Sharpay hadn't mentioned it during any of their conversations in the past few days which means she probably doesn't know Gabriella was also coming here. His brother Tim probably would have said something to him if they were still cordial to each other, which they're not, or advised Gabriella against her trip but given that only Sharpay knew of his plans and it wasn't like Tim to offer information to him about Gabriella's whereabouts, their paths finally crossed again.

If his knowledge serves him right, he's sure this is her first time being here. But as for her purpose or reason for choosing this place as a respite on the same day he decided to be here, he'll charge it up to coincidence for now.

With their history, Troy knows to a degree of certainty that Gabriella would not have come if she had a clue he was scheduled to be here. The fire shooting from her liquid brown eyes not only warned him she hasn't forgotten any of his transgressions during their younger years but also to keep his distance.

He thought it was childish of her to be nursing ill will for him after all these times. Given that the hate is mutual, he has more reason to not want anything do with her than she does with him but she's acting like he did her a tremendous disservice and she's an innocent. He finds it laughable and irritating at the same time.

They're mature adults. Way past the awkward teenage years. She's an award winning writer and he's an in-demand architect for a high profile architectural firm so whatever either of them did in the past should be irrelevant at this time in their lives. For his part, though everything that happened between them had hurt him like hell, he had long ago chalked it up to irrational teenage behavior so that he can forget about her and move on with his life. He liked to think he succeeded in doing that.

Apparently though, the wayward smile that broke over his lips while she stood under the deluge that washed away most of the mud covering her face, she considered offensive.

He couldn't blame her for thinking that since he's not exactly without fault but he couldn't stop his smile either or the leap of delight—_unwanted_ delight—he felt when he realized it was her under all that mud. She obviously doesn't share the same glee taking from her speech of leaving the cabin as soon as she's done cleaning herself but as of this time, with the rain pounding like crazy, she doesn't really have much of a choice.

He's not letting her leave the house with this kind of weather raging outside. If he has to fight her for his decision to stand, then so be it.

But first, for her to have to want to listen, he has to take care of her belongings.

Grabbing an umbrella from the coat closet, Troy headed out of the house to get her things inside the jeep. It took three trips to unload all her stuff which included two rather large suitcases and a box that contained a portable printer. He set them by the foot of the stairs wondering why Gabriella would bring a printer on her vacation.

_Unless she didn't come here for a vacation._

Troy frowned a bit. He knew her as someone who has always been dedicated to whatever she set her mind to and determined to stretch her limits even if it meant foregoing sleep or neglecting her health. It's like she's constantly proving herself to others no matter what it entails. He thinks it's a stupid thing for her to do then and after coming to the conclusion that she's most likely here to work on a story, his opinion remains.

* * * * * *

_Unbelievable! I don't believe this!_ Gabriella mumbled for what seemed like the fifteenth time as she stood inside the confines of the bathroom staring at her grimy face in the paneled mirror.

Troy is here. _Why is he here?_ _How can this happen?_ _What the hell happened to the caretaker that was supposed to be around for her arrival?_ She refused to believe Tim or Ryan would set her up like this with the person they know she can't stand. They have always taken her side and have been very protective of her even before. Especially Tim who more often than not defended her against Troy's pranks and does his best to make an older brother realize what an ass he's being to her.

No, they couldn't have planned this encounter. This is purely coincidence. A tragic coincidence.

She sighed heavily, taking control of her emotions and placed the towel beside the marble sink. Deciding to just get on with that bath so she can leave soon, she pulled off her shirt and bra with a grimace and dropped it on the floor then she fumbled with the button of her shorts but halted her actions a second afterward.

A soft rap sounded through the door followed by Troy's voice which caused Gabriella to gasp and instinctively grab the towel to cover herself. "Your suitcases are here." He said then she heard him moving around the room probably setting her bags somewhere.

Gabriella stayed frozen inside the bathroom, trying to make out the sounds coming from the bedroom, groaning softly as she realized Troy just did her a favor by hauling her bags into the room since she neglected to bring up a change of clothes. Was she meant to thank him now?

"Ella, your printer is on the bed." He informed her next.

His reference to her by the same pet name her mother uses did not ring too well in Gabriella's ears. Gritting her teeth at his audacity, she secured the towel around her chest and hastily buttoned her shorts back in place before she yanked the door open and stepped into the room, surprising Troy who was standing directly by the bathroom door.

He took a step back and glanced up, raking his eyes over her with interest.

"I'm leaving after I have my bath." She said firmly but feeling suddenly self conscious under his perusing blue eyes with only a towel covering her upper body. Her arms crossed over her chest, one hand holding the tops of the towel, making sure it won't suddenly come loose. "Thank you for bringing my things but this is a wasted effort."

Troy pursed his lips for a second thinking of a better way to respond to her chilly retort. Then as if to copy her, he crossed his arms over his chest drawing Gabriella's attention to the defined muscles he had acquired over the years. She was quick to snatch her gaze back to his face as he said with finality, "You are not leaving."

The unwanted blush that crept unto her cheeks at the sight of his muscled arms disappeared as quickly as it came and her brown eyes narrowed livid. She didn't trust herself to speak for a moment. "Excuse me?"

"You are not leaving." He repeated calmly but firmly, holding her irate gaze.

Instead of chucking sarcastic words at him and starting an argument she had no energy to see through, she pluckily retorted, "Watch me." Then turned away from him towards the bathroom.

But Troy refused to leave it at that. He was quick to bodily block her entrance to the bathroom and meet her withering glare. "Who do you think you are?!" She spat, no longer able to contain the anger and frustration boiling inside her.

"A friend." He readily responded, unfazed by her ire. But when Gabriella scoffed, he added with a trace of exasperation. "Think what you will of me, Gabriella, but I am not letting you leave this place to drive downhill through the darkness in this nasty rain." It wasn't a plea rather information of what he will do if she decides to be stubborn. "You hate that I'm here. You don't want to be here. But you'll have to suck it up because there's no way in hell I'm letting you out of this house tonight until the weather clears."

For a brief second, Gabriella was ready to counter but when his meaning set in, her brows furrowed. He didn't say he also hated that she's there. He spoke as if the hate isn't mutual when they both know their hate runs on a two way street.

Troy looked like he was prepared to lock her in, tie her to a post or wrestle her if necessary just to get her to stay put and the concern in his tone was equally as evident. Yet another unexpected thing from him. She didn't want to believe it. She wished she could discount his words because it's easier to insult him like she had always planned on doing just to extract some revenge. This display of concern for her well being and gentlemanliness when he brought her things up the room was such a farfetched notion that she was unsure how to take it.

But even with all these thoughts running inside her head, common sense told her it was foolish to navigate her way down to the village for the very reason he stated.

Troy saw the uncertainty, skepticism and the internal debate of what to do in her eyes but he didn't say anymore. She can ponder all she wants, discredit his concern, give motives to his consideration . . . all of which she's entitled to . . . but he will make sure she stays. They may not have the friendliest relationship but despite the history of disputes, disparaging remarks and pranks—mostly initiated by him—he had once considered her a very close friend. And that being so, it was natural for Troy to insist on what he knows is safe for her.

Plus, of course, when she goes, much as he wants to, he can't just sit idly knowing the dangers she'll be exposed to in a place foreign to her and with the weather bogging down on the area like there's no tomorrow. What kind of a man or friend will he be if he just let her go?

"Fine." She muttered after a while. "Now please move so I can have my bath."

Troy did. And as soon as she closed the bathroom door, he released a breath of relief he didn't realize he was holding and slowly made his way out of the room with a frown on his face. It's one of two things . . . this getaway can either be an interesting second shot at friendship or it could take a really bad turn.

He was surprised to find himself hoping it's the first one.

* * * * * *


	2. Sweet Company

Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

_This getaway is a freaking nightmare!_

Gabriella groaned as she leaned her back against the bathroom door after shutting it and lightly knocked her head on the door. Pondering on her options for a moment, she weighed the pros and cons of the two choices as she stripped herself bare of the mud splattered shorts and her knickers and stepped under the warm spray.

If she stays, like it or not, she'll have to deal with Troy. Given this is the first time in five years that they crossed paths again and as grown individuals, she's not sure how Troy will be around her or how, the longer she stays in the house, she'll act around him. It was confusing and yes, shocking to a certain extent, when he showed concern after recognizing her. Whatever possessed him to exhibit that concern and bother himself with her luggage was beyond the scope of her logic at the moment. She has this image of him in her head that she held on to in as far as she could remember and that image is in a bad light.

Her purpose for being here is to be productive. To find her missing muse and write. She could accomplish that and she should but with Troy physically present, will she be able to concentrate on writing? And a romance at that? Murder would probably be easier to conceptualize with or without her muse. She'll just have to think about him and the many satisfying ways she wanted to exact retribution for the hurtful things he did to her in the past for no apparent reason and if there was one, she hasn't been informed of it.

Gabriella grumbled, irritated as she began scrubbing her body clean. She couldn't even properly luxuriate in the warmth of the water because of him. Only Troy Bolton can stir up such gory thoughts in her head and she hated that he has this effect on her.

Well, she could leave. She's not obligated to follow his wishes anyway. To hell with the weather. Maybe she can lead him to believe she's actually staying. She'll just hang around in the room awhile; let him think she's already resting. Then she'll sneak out while Troy is in his room sleeping for the night. Even if he would awaken at the sound of the engine revving, he won't be able to stop her then. She'll be out of the driveway before he even gets to the porch.

It's a good plan. And with the strain she went through to find this place, to come up with that idea is something to be pleased with herself. But deep down, though she loathe to acknowledge it, she knows Troy is right, travelling is not a very feasible option right now. The weather is far from cooperative and she'll be stupid to take nature on, risking her safety because of her abhorrence for the guy.

Her lips curved upside down as she wondered which way she should go. She can't stand the person with her in the house. On the other hand, she needs this vacation and it would be an utter waste of time and energy if she travels back. There are deadlines to meet and contractually speaking, she's obligated to make this screenplay.

And—God! She was seven kinds of stupid! The key of her only means of escape is inside it. Since Troy had already brought her things up, she's sure the key to the jeep is in his possession now.

Her options just became nonexistent._ She's staying._ She thought distraughtly, pressing her forehead against the cool tile.

Life can be such an inconvenience sometimes.

* * * * * *

In the kitchen, Troy stared absently at the plate in front of him filled with grilled chicken, leafy greens and crusty bread Ruth had prepared earlier. It was delicious but he wasn't savoring any of it. His thoughts more on the brunette currently taking a shower upstairs that he accidentally called Ella.

It was an honest slip up. He doesn't know what came over him.

Gabriella Montez. His neighbor in Albuquerque, childhood playmate, schoolmate and once, a close friend too. But this Gabriella . . . his younger brother's claimed girlfriend and who he also shares some of the same friends with . . . seems very foreign to him and that feeling, he knew, had nothing to do with them not having seen each other for years.

Although they have the same seven friends—including his own brother Tim, and most live in L.A. after college, Troy recalled there never was a time when the group hung out with both of them present. It was usually Sharpay, the social butterfly, who plan their get together and in most instances when Troy is able to come, Gabriella would be noticeably absent along with Tim and sometimes Ryan, Sharpay's younger brother, or Taylor Mckessie who were closest to her than the others in the group.

And when its Gabriella present, sometimes he simply couldn't come because of prior commitments in line with his job that require him to travel frequently or Ryan or Taylor would politely ask him a favor not to come for the sake of a peaceful night. It was a favor that effectively killed his desire to even hang out with them.

At first, it irked him that they would assume his presence while Gabriella is also there will ruin their little gathering. They were no longer teenagers. Him, especially, had graduated past the foolishness he often exercised in high school but none, except Sharpay, believed he could _behave_ appropriately where Gabriella was present. They were doing measures to keep him away from Gabriella when, in his opinion, he has more reason to not want to see her and Tim.

It also made him think their friendly get together—that's supposed to be fun—in actuality, is pointless and superficial because not all of them can be, in a sense, _friendly_ with some. There is a faction within their group, whether they acknowledge it or not.

So as a show of displeasure, be Gabriella there or not, he opted pass up joining any of their plans for six months because a part of him resented the fact that the people he considered friends including another closest friend in the group, Chad Danforth, who at some point also took part in teasing Gabriella, would take sides all of a sudden.

Troy would've taken steps to smoothen whatever ties left with Gabriella, be civil with her in unavoidable situations or simply ignore her and his brother for the sake of the group; but Kelsi Nielsen, the quiet, observant, musically gifted one, talked to him after his deliberate distancing from them and explained Gabriella had been going through some problems—problems she didn't tell him—and that her emotions were very fragile. His presence would have made things very difficult for her since, as Kelsi pointed out quietly, _"She doesn't need any antagonism in her life right now, Troy."_

If they were trying to make their ostracizing of him less harsh, it was complete failure because he felt affronted by the insinuation as to what he was to Gabriella. But on hindsight he also realized it was true. He brought it upon himself because of what he chose to do after being emotionally crushed, a decision he made when he was fourteen regardless founded with what he thought was good reason that changed a great many things between him, Gabriella and Tim. So he did not make an issue out of it.

An unspoken rule was set after that. If one is around, the other shouldn't be and everyone seemed fine with it. For the months and years that followed that rule was never broken. Everyone made sure of it. Even Gabriella and especially Troy because it was around that time he forced himself to not think of her the same way anymore. He had lost her and her friendship.

_Out of sight, out of mind_ worked for him just fine. Quickly, he learned to compartmentalize his feelings and moved on.

But it looks like tonight will start a chain of events that will change the definition of their so called _friendship_. Troy wondered how Tim would react once he finds out Gabriella is alone with him. For once, he's thankful that there are no available cell signals in the area of the house because of the remoteness of the place and the surrounding tall trees or Gabriella might've called Tim by now. He's sure his brother will come running to _save_ his girlfriend from him and seeing Tim isn't exactly part of Troy's to do list, immediate or in future.

Hell, a set up or purely coincidence, nothing tonight was anticipated.

Three months ago, he was in New York stressed as hell over the latest building project Floyd & Bass Architects had accepted. The owner of said property liked Troy but he's also an exacting pain in the ass who couldn't decide what he wants and doesn't. He'll agree to Troy's suggestion one minute and call the next minute to disagree and offer one of his own, only to discard the same idea later.

He had been keeping his temper in check and stretching his patience for the guy not just because he's a client but also because Steven Mettle is a filthy rich old bastard who's a loyal client of the firm even before Troy became part of the company. The rule was not to contradict Mettle, a valued client, the senior partners reminded him often. He was told to let Mettle have free reign on the decisions even with the technical aspects Troy was certain the old rouge hasn't the slightest inkling about.

The work had been delayed for days because it took Mettle forever to decide which tile he liked best for his granddaughter's bathroom and that's after Troy gave him a lengthy lesson on tiles and its composition. The workers though not complaining openly were already as annoyed as him.

Because it was also in the same time that Troy was having problems with Caitlin or rather problems related to his ex girlfriend.

He sighed as if out of weariness at the thought while jabbing a lettuce into his mouth and slowly chewing it. Him and Caitlin . . . theirs was an ordinary meeting. Over a year ago, at a party for one of Hollywood's bigwig who had contracted Troy's expertise for one of his properties, he had been invited and Caitlin, the up and coming actress, was also in attendance. They were introduced by common acquaintances that night and after discovering that Caitlin is not one of those vapid, ditzy celebrity obsessed with her looks and nothing else but actually has depth, smarts and a great sense of humor, they easily clicked from there on.

Before Caitlin, he stayed away from formal relationships, sticking instead to having a lady du jour which was not only practical but also hassle free. So it was perfectly normal that they started off as friends who were seeing each other on a regular basis until one night, a little over a month after they first met, they mutually decided to be more than just friends. They became exclusive.

The first few months were fun, comfortable and exciting to an extent—a typical budding relationship you call it except for the fact that many fans of Caitlin and celebrity media outlets decided early on they are going to be part of Caitlin Harding's romance with whomever she dates.

It was a little bothersome for Troy at first but he was able to push it aside thinking it was ridiculous for others to be entertained with what he and Caitlin had. He was sure the interest on what they dubbed "the pretty couple" would die a natural death. What he didn't realize then was that part of the fascination to their relationship was because they come from two different worlds and their spectators were all on tenterhooks when the relationship would end or how long it will last before it ends. It's like they were keeping a time record to hand out awards at the end of the year to the couple who could stand the pressure.

Individually, when they started the romantic relationship, they were less busy then so the constant prying he was able to brush off letting Caitlin do all the talking when she decides to even acknowledge personal questions during interviews and she very rarely does. Declining to answer most of the time in that sweet, smiling way of hers. But the luxury of having a lot of free time to spend with each other disappeared quickly as their respective careers took off.

And that's when it began. The end everyone was waiting to hear about.

It was gradual but it's one of those problems you'd expect from a typical celebrity and non celebrity couple—their schedules don't match; it also became impossible to reach her even with five different numbers to call; they were seeing less and less of each other as the relationship lengthened and in the rare and few times they do they found it difficult to have something to talk about or they'd be too tired to do anything but sleep. He tried his best to make it work because Caitlin was a great person overall and there probably isn't a mean bone in her body. She's labeled the Hollywood sweetheart with good reason. And Troy personally believes, she deserves the success she's getting.

But try as they may, other factors were in play and it was making things difficult for both of them. Eventually, they drifted apart not just physically but emotionally as well. It just couldn't be helped. So they had to end the relationship, amicable yet it was one of those decisions you'd take any chance to avoid but sadly, it had to be done quickly.

They remained good friends though, but because she's famous and he's become quite a known figure as well and with the fascination of people to their relationship, the tabloids fabricated such a frenzy of the break up, concocting ridiculous stories, the who's who and nobody's giving their two cents in about what they think happened to the once pretty pair.

Several possible reasons about the break up were thrown in, debated over and concluded, meriting certain facts from supposed reliable sources. Troy ignored it mostly. One of the things he learned from being East High's "Golden Boy" was not to mind the gossip that people tell about you. They were all speculations anyway so keeping your mouth shut and not caring is the best way to deal with it.

That was until pesky photographers started following him almost everywhere in their earnestness to get a reaction and then even more rumors started. This time involving Sharpay because they apparently were photographed three times in a row having coffee together and then the terms _other woman_ and _cheating_ were thrown in. It blew out of proportion causing numerous problems with his work, his social life and also with Sharpay who had a boyfriend at that time. Caitlin, for her part and feeling somehow responsible, did her best to defend him, apologizing for the debacle neither of them thought would happen which he would often brush off since she had nothing to say sorry for. They were being played by people who craved for juicy gossip as a form of entertainment.

The intrusion into his life grated on his nerves in the long run. And he found his patience for other people ran short. He got fed up. The day Steven Mettle chose to be difficult, Troy had been dodging photographers the entire morning like he was a fugitive being chased by cops with blinding flashes instead of wailing sirens. So when it looked like Mettle wanted to take his time again deciding what type of wood a door should be made of, Troy put his foot down and insisted on his choice.

Surprisingly, the old guy conceded to what he presented and even blamed Troy for tiring him with facts about tiles, cement, glass, doors and the like which he claimed he wasn't interested in knowing. Then after everything was finally settled, Mettle suggested in a fatherly way that he should consider taking a vacation because he could see that Troy was clearly stressed.

Realizing that to be away from the city again was what he needed to give his mind a rest and it had been awhile since he had taken a break, he considered the suggestion, notified Sharpay and gradually began clearing his schedule.

During his travel and until he arrived earlier in the house, he knew he will be staying alone which was really favorable to him because after the riot he had been experiencing in L.A. what he wanted above anything was peace and a sense of normalcy. But with Gabriella's sudden arrival, he seemed to have quickly forgotten his need to be alone.

In fact, he would go so far as to admit he feels okay to have her for company . . . no matter how weird that seems. That is if she ever gets over her obvious annoyance for him.

Well, her negative reaction to finding him here showed much of how she feels about him still and although he knows he can't solely hold her responsible for that, he wished he would be able to remedy their situation so she can set aside her hatred for him if only for the duration of her stay so things will at least be easier for both of them while in the Evan's vacation house.

He's had enough drama and stress in L.A. to want to subject himself for another round of annoying situation.

He wondered if she's still the same Gabriella he knew. Or if her personality changed as much as her looks. He was suddenly curious to find out if the glaring brown eyes she sent his way is any indication of how much change he would see apart from the self assurance he glimpsed earlier. Because—maybe he's wrong and he liked to think he is—even with what seems to be a put together image and a standoffish attitude which in his opinion doesn't suit her at all, Gabriella's eyes hinted of melancholy and something else he couldn't describe.

And for some curious, crazy reason, maybe partly due to their history and her not so flattering opinion of him, he found himself wanting to be the one to help her rid of that sadness.

* * * * * *

After taking a nice long bath, Gabriella, wrapped in the towel Troy had given, stood in the middle of the spacious room noting its interior for the first time. The walls were painted ivory, pale green curtains with tiny flower prints made from light material hung from two large windows and clasped with silver bows to keep them attached to the sides to allow the air and light into the room, a queen sized bed sat invitingly in the middle of the room and across from it are sliding glass doors which led to a balcony. With her legs moving in their own accord to carry her by the glass doors, she glimpsed what appears to be a huge, thickly leafed tree by the left end of the balcony, a sturdy branch stretched itself past the railing, and overlooked the back gardens and from what little she could see through the glass, the faint light and the rain, there is a small lake.

"Oh my god." She murmured, her eyes fixated on the promising view outside if not for the darkness and heavy rain.

Despite her earlier regrets for coming, Gabriella felt slightly comforted by what the place had to offer. The weather will probably clear the next day and just the thought of going outside to find a nice, cozy place where she could sit, let her mind wander and write made her reconsider her earlier decision. Minus the rain, she could feel inspiration would be lurking somewhere. She just needs to find it.

Turning away from the balcony with a slight shiver, she headed for her suitcase and pulled out a set of underwear, a peach colored flowy top and shorts. Without fussing over too much, she dressed herself next to the bed while giving a wary glance at her laptop in its padded case.

On any other day, with her muse around, it wouldn't matter where she is, what time it is, tired or not, she would be able to write. Plots would be playing in her head and she'd be itching to find a corner to get all of the ideas out through her fingers typing on a blank page. There's like an imaginary switch in her brain that blocks out her surroundings once an idea presents itself.

Just not this time.

Gabriella ran a frustrated hand through her damp tresses and sat on the soft bed. Her muse is being ever elusive. It's almost exhausting to try to write and maddening to have to stare at a blank page, fingers poised over the lettered keys but with no idea how to begin a paragraph or even what to write.

As her eyes listlessly continued to scan the room, a sudden stroke of idea to fully utilize the effects the view the balcony provided perked up her silent ruminations, she quickly got up with a tiny burst of energy and moved the unused desk in the room positioning it by the sliding glass doors so that it faced the view outside then she placed her MacBook Air and printer on the desk. She surveyed her arrangement at a distance once finished then sighed after a few moments of telling herself the promise of a beautiful view might help with her missing muse.

With reluctance and even slight fear, she stepped toward the desk and removed the padded covering of her laptop. Next she took the portable printer out of its box, set it on the table and hooked some wires to the laptop with practiced ease. Locating the extension cord in her suitcase, she plugged the printer into it before searching for a power outlet in the room. Just as Gabriella spied the electrical socket on the wall parallel to the sliding doors, something popped loudly and not soon afterwards the lights went out as if cut from its very source.

She yelped and dropped the cord, covering her ears on impulse. And with the fear of possibly hearing another deafening crack, she anxiously groped her way through the pitch darkness until she found the door and ran out with no specific thought where to go.

* * * * * *

Troy had just returned to his seat after lighting some candles when the lights went out and was pouring gravy onto the chicken on his plate when Gabriella stumbled inside the kitchen panting and with a wild look in her eyes.

He looked up surprised by her presence as if he knew she didn't really plan on coming out of the room but when a rumbling outside followed by a white flash of light glowed through the windows in the kitchen and he saw her cringe, Troy remembered she had a fear of thunderstorms.

The recollection had him standing from his seat once more, going over to the windows and quickly drawing the shutters close to block any streaks of light from reflecting through. When he turned to her, intending to let her sit and join him for dinner, the fright he saw had mellowed down a bit, replaced by a dumbstruck expression and her eyes were repeatedly glancing from him to the covered windows.

Troy went back to his seat again, grabbed the fork, cleared his throat and said, "You must be hungry. Have some dinner." He gestured indifferently to the three serving plates in the middle of the kitchen island which showed her what dinner was. "Ruth prepared more than enough."

With her thoughts jumbled in fright and what Troy just did with the windows adding to her frazzled brain, Gabriella felt herself nodding as her feet carried her to the seat adjacent him. Once seated, Troy handed her the plate that was off at one side of the granite island then he shifted in his chair to open the drawer behind him to get a set of silverware for her.

He did it all in silence and in her current state she couldn't decide whether to feel grateful or guilty for snapping at him earlier. But it didn't escape her notice that the plate he'd given her seemed to have been positioned at the island within arm's reach of him on purpose, as if he was hoping she'd change her mind and come down for dinner. Half of her consciousness that wasn't quailing in fear of thunderstorms was trying to make sense of what Troy was doing. She instantly thinks he's playing some sort of game because that's how he's always been before. He'd start out being nice to win her trust or to keep her from suspecting anything then he does a complete turnabout.

But then, the little voice in her head also told her he has no motives behind his niceness because what was there to gain from pulling a prank on her? Other than . . . personal entertainment maybe or a sick desire to see her hurt? But noting Troy right now a grown man with barely any trace of that boyish gaiety she remembers and, from what she knows, an architect at that, which means there has to be a level of maturity in him already, thus making that reason seemed too silly to even consider.

Pushing her doubts aside for the time being, Gabriella helped herself with the salad and chicken while trying to think of a thing, anything, to say to him. "Who's Ruth?" She asked in a soft voice after some thought recalling he'd mentioned the name when he offered the food.

"Ernie's wife." He answered easily, then before she could ask who Ernie is, he clarified, "Ernie is the caretaker here."

"Oh." Gabriella nodded, feeling suddenly awkward since Troy was now leaning back on his chair and looking at her like he was taking in her appearance, noting the physical changes. She downcast her eyes unable to meet his piercing blue ones.

Troy continued to openly look at her with the orange glow from the candles he lighted casting flickering shadows on them. "What brings you here?" He said, in an effort to ease the uncomfortable air between them.

She shrugged offhandedly and a fleeting glance was thrown his way. And just as Troy thought she won't tell him, she revealed. "Hopefully rest and relaxation but . . ." She trailed off with a quick hand gesture to the window to point out the weather outside.

His brows rose quizzically and before he could stop himself he intoned, "With your laptop and printer?"

"I guess so." She paused somewhat self-conscious then sighed. "I'm here to get some work done." She admitted before shoving a manageable portion of chicken into her mouth.

Seeing her shoulders slump and her tone sounding a little forlorn, Troy had to curb his lips from grinning in case she interpreted it the wrong way again. The shoulders slumping, the pout on her lips and the despondent voice—that's how she was back then whenever something was troubling her and he doesn't know why exactly, but he felt a bit of relief seeing that that aspect of her is still the same.

Not that he doesn't like the changes he's seeing—the long wavy brunette mass cascading down her back, defined brows and cheekbones, luscious lips, flawless skin, her startling chocolate eyes no longer hidden behind glasses and a slimmer, shapely figure—because he'd be either crazy or blind not to call her gorgeous.

"Well, we just lost electricity—"

"Thanks for telling me." Gabriella stated with a touch of irony.

"No problem." Troy quipped, unfazed by the sarcasm. "I was—"

"How about you? Why are you here?" Gabriella inquired to cut him off and revert the subject over to him.

"I always come here, Gabi." Troy informed seemingly unaware that he used his nickname for her when they were still friends. "Sometimes the city gets a little tedious for me so I take a break once in a while. Sharpay gave me a free pass here. I can come whenever I like."

Gabriella let the nickname slide as if she didn't hear him say it. "Figures why we're both here. I was beginning to think they set us up."

"What do you mean?"

"Ryan suggested I come here. He probably doesn't know you and Sharpay have this arrangement going on." It was the same as saying if Ryan knew, he wouldn't have thrown her in the same vicinity as Troy.

"Yeah, I bet." He sounded apathetic but Gabriella saw him shake his head a little.

"How did you get here?"

"Ernie picked me up at the airport."

Not knowing what more to say and already assuming Ryan's notification of her arrival got lost along the way or was altogether forgotten, Gabriella concentrated on her food again. She realized she had put a little too much on her plate and she was having a hard time finishing it. She didn't want to linger longer than necessary and it seemed that Troy feels obligated to remain at the table waiting for her to finish eating even if he was already done himself.

She opened her mouth to tell him it was okay to leave but he managed to speak ahead of her. "So, how have you been?"

"I-I'm—I've been good." She was surprised that he wanted to prolong staying and actually have a decent conversation with her. "You?"

"Good."

She nodded. "That's good . . . umm, is there a phone here in the house?"

"There is but it's not working." Her face dropped in dismay and Troy felt obligated to explain. "The Evans very rarely come here and when they do it's just for a few hours so Mrs. Evans, in one of the rare instances, decided to be practical and had the line cut."

"But how did Ernie know you were coming?"

"Sharpay called Ernie's son, Robert. He works as a manager down at Zephyr Cove Resort. When any of the Evans call, he drives by here and informs his parents."

She didn't comment any further, opting to sigh and shake her head instead. It was safe to say Ryan forgot to call the caretaker's son.

Gazing at Gabriella who turned her face away from him and stared fixedly at her salad as though she was counting how many leaves she has to pop into her mouth before she can finish eating, which he's aware is a means of shutting him out and pulling away without physically walking out, Troy realized that if he were ever to be given an opportunity to understand and truly accept what she did, this was it. He had not forgotten her. Quite the contrary actually. He simply learned to stuff his feelings that related to her in a cubbyhole in one corner of his mind so that he can go with his life without that nagging twinge in his heart.

Their mix up here was no one's fault or intentional doing but it niftily provided a chance for him—for them—to mend, even for just the time being, a friendship that was forced to end years ago. She may not see their situation the way he does but that's not about to stop him.

"You don't have to wait for me to finish." Gabriella suddenly piped in. "You can go."

He shifted in his seat as if to leave but didn't. Instead he forked another piece of chicken to his plate and poised himself to eat. "I want to congratulate you." He said between bites starting up an entirely different subject, telling Gabriella he doesn't intend to let her alone. "I know it's kinda late but considering we haven't really seen each other for some time, it's better late than never."

The fork with the leafy greens stuck to its tip halted midway in the air almost to Gabriella's mouth as she frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Your win at the Emmy's."

"Oh. Uh . . . thank you." She responded hesitantly then asked, "How did you know?" But as soon as the question was out, she realized how stupid it was. They have the same friends. She celebrated with them after winning. So of course, directly or indirectly, they must have mentioned it to Troy.

"Sharpay told me. She talked like she's the one who won."

"That's sounds like Sharpay." She grinned faintly, recalling how excited the blonde was that day. Sharpay and she weren't exactly buddy-buddy. In fact, her association with Sharpay was only thru Troy but on that night probably out of excitement, the blonde couldn't stop blabbering about what the future possibly holds for a brilliant, award winning writer like her.

It was a fun night celebrating her win because the feeling of holding the accolade in her hands was so overwhelming it didn't allow for any other thought to push through. "When did she tell you?"

"The same night. I heard you guys in the background."

Gabriella darted him a look, flashes of that night hovering in her eyes. Everyone celebrated with her, congratulated her. Except for him. He was the only one not there and she was caught up in euphoria from winning that she hardly noticed his absence. And, it wasn't like his absence was anything unusual anyway. "Well, thanks." She mumbled and before she could stop herself and her mouth from getting ahead of her, she added, "I doubt I could get another one though let alone write a notable story." Then she instantly regretted saying them.

He seemed as surprised as her although for a different reason. "Why not? You're an excellent writer."

It sounded like a sincere compliment and looking up to his face, while still doubtful, she somehow sensed he really meant it. Then she remembered, he had read one of her stories before. It was a suspense story she had written as an assignment for the advanced writing class she was attending outside of school and because of the cheerleaders who picked on her that day, her books and papers went flying off her arms when she tripped and Troy claimed to have found the pages somewhere in the halls when he returned it to her with a snide comment regarding her _trash_ and of her clumsiness.

Gabriella seethed at the memory, hating that she's remembering the unpleasant scenes of her younger years because of Troy's presence. "I'm nowhere near excellent." She contradicted with a tight grip to her fork and meeting his gaze with a resolute look. "The one story you happened to read before was really just . . . crap, like you said then. So what basis do you have for saying I'm an excellent writer?"

Troy opened his mouth as if to respond to her question or justify his actions before but closed it when it seems in the last second he changed his mind. Instead, his lips curled at the corners not for a smile but to purse into a thin line. He looked more disappointed than sorry. She can't imagine what he'd be disappointed about. A regretful face was what Gabriella was expecting after reminding him of that incident in their once young lives. She wasn't getting it though and she felt foolish to even suppose it.

Feeling annoyed, she returned her attention back at the remaining food on her plate eager to finish it quickly so she can excuse herself.

But he suddenly drawled in a cool but firm voice laced with, Gabriella swore, for a split second, an apologetic note in them. "I may not have read any of your other stories but you won an Emmy. Those people know better than I do. That recognition says a lot of how good you are and you know it."

Irritated that he was persistently engaging her into a conversation of a subject she doesn't like discussed when he could very well walk away and mind his own business, Gabriella placed her fork down and retorted with confusion evident on her features. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Pretending you're actually interested to know what I've been up to."

Troy leaned forward on the table a bit and met her irritated gaze with a frown. "I'm not pretending."

She rolled her eyes to show she doesn't believe him then with a heavy sigh, she decided it won't make any difference if she told him the real reason why she came all the way here just to write. It's what he's curious about. Maybe if he knows and understands her position, he'll be considerate enough to give her the space she needs to gather her thoughts and stop making small talk with her. "I lost my muse, okay? I'm here hoping that a change of ambiance will help me get it back."

"Don't take this the wrong way. It's a suggestion." Troy matter-of-factly after staring at her for a long while that Gabriella felt slightly conscious of herself, his tone becoming a bit serious. "It wouldn't hurt to actually have a vacation while you're here. Your muse is most likely having a vacation too. It isn't a crime to take your mind off of writing for awhile to have some fun."

Her eyebrows drew inward as she slightly tipped her head to one side to study him. Just staring, searching for something she had previously overlooked, trying to analyze his behavior with equal portions of confusion and annoyance. She was surprised that he understood what she means by muse when to her other friends, she had to explain the term. "Thank you . . . for that advice." She stated with a hint of impatience that did not go unnoticed by Troy. "But I didn't come here to have fun. I am here to work so that's what I'm going to do."

Troy saw frustration and fear cross her eyes but she was able to mask it quickly that he almost doubted what he saw. "Gab—"

"Just stop it, Troy!" She exclaimed with a burst of anger at his sudden show of friendliness and concern, unconsciously letting his name roll off her tongue. She wasn't used to that side of him anymore. Steadying her emotions, she paused a moment to temper her tone before she spoke softly, reasonably. "I know you dislike me and I get that. I'm fine with it. It's not something new that I have to deal with. You don't have to be friendly or nice or considerate of me just because we're stuck here. You don't have to make amends or whatever it is you think you're doing. So please don't strain yourself pretending to be friendly because you're seriously freaking me out."

"I am not pretending, Gabriella." There was a hard edge to his tone, his eyes darkening with obvious displeasure as if to imply she should know this bit of fact about him. "And just to set things straight, I _never_ said I dislike you."

Gabriella pushed her chair backwards as she abruptly stood up, her temper had flared with the way he was talking to her like he's done nothing wrong to merit such treatment from her. Unless he suddenly acquired dementia in the years they haven't seen each other, who the hell was he kidding? "You're right! You never voiced your dislike of me but you sure as hell showed it." She said in a carefully controlled voice then she turned away from the island to leave, never mind the unfinished food on her plate, she's no longer able to stand being in the same room as him.

Stopping before completely exiting the kitchen, she half turned to say, "Don't waste time trying to be like Tim . . . because you're not. You can't be him."

At her words, something snapped inside Troy; some long held resentment at himself, at his brother, at this so called fate for making everything so complicated. He stood from his chair as well, the wooden feet scraping the floor as he pushed roughly. Moving closer, he stood right in front of her, not touching, but staring down at her close enough to hear every tense draw of her breath and daunted by his proximity and the harsh look in his eyes, she shrank back one step.

"W-what—are you doing?" She shakily asked and Troy had to silently curse himself when he saw the fear and bewilderment in her face as she warily searched his eyes. "You—you're in my space."

He sighed, taking a grip of his temper and stepped back, running a hand over his face out of frustration and with his cyan eyes boring into hers, he resonated tightly. "I'm Troy, Gabriella. Keep that in mind the next time we talk." Then he dug something out of his pocket, grabbed her hand, dropped the jeep's key there and swiftly turned away leaving Gabriella by the kitchen having completely forgotten about any more thunderstorms brewing outside and instead wondering what the hell he means.

* * * * * *


	3. Sweet Repose

Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

For the next two days, although the supply of electricity was restored, the rain fell unabated. From the harsh downpour at its onset couple days past, it graduated into a moderate but steady rate of rainfall that made the skies gloomy and the air cool, enough to make you want to just curl in bed the entire day.

But not Gabriella.

Having decided she was staying, she had spent the whole night upon her arrival, all day yesterday and now, seated on the cushioned chair by the desk where her laptop was, thinking and trying to write a screenplay. Several moments of thought on what she wants the general plotline of the romantic story to be, she would manage to type in a page or two then an hour later find herself deleting everything she had written feeling it was lacking something important to be considered good or the words didn't seem to flow like she wants it.

Leaning her elbows atop the desk then propping her chin on both hands, Gabriella stared out, past the sliding glass door leading to the balcony, to the jungle of trees surrounding the house off at a distance. The weak daylight peeking from the overcast skies exposed the abundance of trees and some other plants growing in the area. From where she sat, everything looks so bleak which is saying a lot because she's one of those people who likes the rain. The austerity wasn't helping ease her frustration over the total lack of ideas so much so that she hasn't even been able to decide what to type for the page headers.

What was wrong with her that even if she had been wringing her brain of its artistic juices there's nothing coming out? Had she really tapped her talent dry? She couldn't keep giving excuses to herself for the lack of ideas. Her chosen career doesn't work that way.

For two nights, she tried to convince herself that the sounds of croaking bullfrogs, buzzing bugs, ticking lizards, intermingled with the rustling sounds of leaves and creaking tree limbs whenever a strong wind blows and sometimes faint splashes in the lake due to the rain are the reasons why her concentration isn't as it should be.

Other people would have referred to the blending sounds of nature calming and on any other time she would have agreed that Ryan had been right to say there's a serenity about the place that can soothe and inspire her . . . but not right now. The overall tranquility, the cloudy sky and the almost lyrical pitter patter of the rain hitting the wooden balcony flooring was driving her crazy.

She swears she's beginning to have withdrawals from the absence of the big city noise. Why else would she suddenly miss the sounds of rush hour traffic or the smell of smog or the monotonous droning from the television screen reporting market trends, politics, global mayhem and the favorite Hollywood entertainment buzz over the lulling sounds of water and the scent of leaves and flowers?

_You need peace and quiet. Away from the pollution, the sound of traffic. Clear your head. Get inspired. Be with nature. _Taylor had said when her African-American friend had joined her and Keri for lunch last month. The two had played tag team on Gabriella to convince her that constant exposure to L.A.'s smog can damage artistic brains such as the one they said she was born with. But being here, taking up her friends suggestion, far from the hectic lifestyle she was used to in the city, did not stoke nor revive any of her well honed writing edge.

Taylor, Keri, Ryan and Tim are incredibly good friends of hers and usually, it's been proven throughout the years of their friendship, they are right on their suggestions to make some aspects of her life easier, but Gabriella couldn't help thinking this one was hatched on a spur of the moment decision or . . . they just wanted to get rid of her for the time being to have a break from being the recipient of her churlish mood as result of losing her muse.

Sighing, Gabriella dropped her elbows from the desk to let it rest idly on her lap then she curled her legs beneath her and thought back to the conversation she had with Taylor a day before coming here.

"_A little dose of passion will do you good." Taylor told her matter-of-factly while carefully perusing the menu handed by the waiter. _

_Lowering her own menu to cast her friend a disgruntled look, Gabriella retorted, "That's ridiculous. I have a boyfriend, in case you forgot."_

"_Keri said you need to write a romantic story, right? This will be the first time you'll write a romantic plot, so saying that you don't have much background on the subject." Taylor responded at once with traces of exasperation as she swung her eye focus from the main course selection on the menu book to Gabriella. "I may not be a writer, Gab, but I do know romance storylines involves passion, lust and a whole lot of smexiness in them. It's supposed to be steamy not cute and G rated because, hello, you are not writing a screenplay for Mickey Mouse. Your target audience are adults—women, in particular—who have experienced the ups and downs of a relationship and therefore they want you to write a story that will convince them finding a loving relationship despite all of life's crap is not an impossibility."_

"_What are you suggesting exactly?" She couldn't help noticing that Taylor did not comment regarding Tim therefore deftly dismissing him in the scenario she was advising without having to bluntly say so. _

_Taylor spoke to the waiter of her order then handed the menu back without taking her eyes away from Gabriella, waiting patiently for her to finish dictating her own menu preferences. She squared her shoulders as though preparing for a sparring of words in a debate. "Since you say this muse has clearly deserted you, why not do a research on the genre of your screenplay?" She paused to dangle the idea for Gabriella to consider and when she got no outward reaction, continued on. "Firsthand experience is always a good start for writing and it won't hurt to have a little, harmless fling. Tim doesn't have to know."_

"_Taylor, you're pushing me to cheat on my boyfriend . . . who is also your friend!"_

_Taylor expelled a short breath. "I said harmless fling." She repeated as if that clears everything and again choosing to overlook Tim's role in Gabriella's life. "It means it doesn't have to end with you sleeping with the guy, just flirting with him. One date, Gabriella, that's all, then find another guy to flirt with until you get the general idea what to write. I'm sure whoever guy you date will, one way or another, say something you can label as quotable romantic quote."_

"_I can't believe I'm actually hearing this from you, saying it like . . . its normal, acceptable behavior." Gabriella riled and eyed Taylor incredulously but trying to understand where her usually rational friend was coming from with such an outrageous suggestion. "Do you have a problem with Tim? Because I'm not stupid not to sense you're choosing to overlook him in your suggestions."_

_It took a moment for Taylor to respond but when she did Gabriella was even more stunned. "I don't have a problem with Tim as your friend but as a boyfriend—"_

"_What?"_

_Looking like she's weighing two choices, Taylor shifted on her seat and leaned her forearms on the table when she decided on one. "Look, Gabs, I have nothing against Tim personally. He's also my friend—"_

"_Really? I'm beginning to think differently." Gabriella couldn't help the sarcasm in her tone. She's been on edge lately because of her muse and she was actually looking forward to having a relaxing lunch with Taylor but out of the blue her friend was speaking like she got possessed by a ghost with loose morals._

"_Just please hear me out first." Taylor sheepishly implored not wanting to anger her but she just couldn't make herself warm up to the idea—even three years after—of Tim as Gabriella's boyfriend. Her gut tells her Gabriella's feelings for Tim doesn't run deeper than love for a friend but obviously she can't flat out say that so she's trying to skirt her way around it to lessen the blow. Besides, if Tim was really hell bent on being the good boyfriend, he should have seen long ago how Gabriella was driving herself to the ground and told her to relax. But no, Ryan was the one who noticed then proposed of a vacation and that's the only time Tim pursued the suggestion. _

_When Gabriella gave a curt nod, she urged on quickly and to the point. "He's all wrong for you as a boyfriend."_

"_On what reasons?" _

"_Tim is too rigid, too systematic, too predictable. I'm not saying those are bad characteristics but you're the kind of person who needs diversity, needs a lot of impulsive things to do, not just for added information to use in your writing but because it's who you really are." Taylor paused a moment to let it sink in, to let Gabriella realize how much she changed because of Tim. "You need someone who can draw you out of this conventional hole you stuck yourself into and make you go wild every now and then. You can't be with Tim and simply fall into his routines, his dreary schedules of meeting at that coffee shop on Mondays, going to art galleries on Tuesdays, attending a book club on Wednesdays, taking you to dinner and a movie on Fridays! Maybe it's okay for a certain time period but for how long can you tolerate it?"_

"_I'm not tolerating anything, Taylor!" She protested, suddenly uneasy with the discussion. "I like routines. It's easy. It's comfortable and it works for us."_

"_It's boring, Gabriella. And comfortable disintegrates to dull in the long run. Believe me, I know. It's the same sad story for most of the divorce cases I've handled. Like one client said—you don't schedule when to have sex. It fucking kills the excitement." Taylor argued unaware she's employing a tone on Gabriella that she'd normally use in court to sway a judge to rule in her clients favor. She also didn't notice her friend's unease as Taylor had worked herself up to getting her point through. "This kid I interviewed about his parents who were divorcing—he said what happened to his dad is like what happened to Squidward in an episode of Spongebob Squarepants. Out of curiosity, I watched the episode he referred to and he was right! Squidward was annoyed with his neighbors Spongebob and Patrick for always ruining his day, interrupting his schedule so he left to find a place where he couldn't be bothered by those two."_

_Pausing a moment to gauge Gabriella's reaction, seeing nothing untoward except a baffled frown, Taylor continued, " In the new village where everyone looks like him, has the same likes and dislikes as him and does the same things he does day in and day out, at first, Squidward was very happy and thought he was living the 'life' but quickly enough the routine took its toll on him and he realized he was getting bored and lonely, waking to the same thing over and over. Suddenly, he was wishing for Spongebob and Patrick to be there to disrupt his day. He was craving for some fun, some craziness after being stuck in the same stupid routine. So he left the village, but it wasn't a pleasant parting because he ended up hating the place and the people in it who also hated him just as much if not more."_

_Gaping at Taylor, Gabriella didn't know if she should laugh or be annoyed for comparing her relationship with Tim to a surly squid but what was surprising was that she understood what Taylor was trying to relay. Even more disconcerting was, personally, all points considered, she gets Taylor's sentiment and deep inside agrees with her. _

_But she won't end her relationship with Tim simply because he's methodical. Apart from being a good friend for so long, Tim has other wonderful qualities that more than make up for the supposed flaws Taylor picked out. She also loves him dearly and she won't be the one to end what they have over such a trivial reason._

_When Gabriella didn't say anything but sensed she wasn't angry, Taylor repeated, "Like I said, it's a harmless fling. Just to have an idea on the romanticism of your story since romance is clearly not your forte . . . you're the squid who needs to find a sponge."_

"_I may not be an expert in romantic plots but I've written stories that I have no personal experience of yet turned out great. No, Tay." She negated with a soft chuckle at Taylor's unattractive analogy but her next words were firm. "This failure . . . this inability of mine to come up with an idea, this lack of words is just a phase. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow I'll be right back it again. I don't need to do irrational things—such as finding my very own 'sponge'—to inspire myself to write."_

_Taylor had the impression that Gabriella was convincing herself rather than another person but she opted not to comment. What she said was more than enough to ponder on already. The dark shadow under Gabriella's eyes is a sure sign of worry and Taylor would not be the person to add to that by pointing it out. "You're right." She shrugged somewhat dismissively, leaning back on the seat. "It was just a suggestion anyway."_

"_I know . . . I'm just getting stressed thinking so negatively. This is the first time I have to deal with writer's block."_

"_Gab, I'm sorry you feel I overstepped a little with that suggestion." Taylor amended. "We're just concerned, you know. Keri and I, we're your friends and friends worry when the other isn't okay. Me personally, I just want you to have some fun. You need it. Creative juices do get tapped out too. You can write but please promise me you'll leave time to enjoy what that place has to offer."_

_Because Gabriella couldn't find a better argument, she settled with, "Okay . . ."_

She didn't actually promise anything specific but being stuck in the room for two days staring at a blank page made Taylor's suggestion to have fun seem really appealing at the moment. The question though is how? How can she have fun or enjoy what this place had to offer?

Sure there's a complete home entertainment system in the living room which she spied when she first came here and she sees it every time she goes down to go to the kitchen at certain hours to rummage through the refrigerator to fill her plate of the delicious foods Ruth prepares for the day. But much as the idea of lounging in the soft sofa cushions while watching a movie on a wide television screen is tempting, joining Troy who seems to have settled himself in the living room rather than the designated bedrooms on the second floor made the lure of the TV less enticing.

Yeah, Troy was another matter.

They haven't spoken since that awkward dinner. One reason was because she had stayed in her room for the most part and the other was that she sensed Troy was purposely staying out of her way. He did not utter a word to her when he entered the kitchen yesterday and found her already there pouring herself a glass of water. In fact, upon seeing her, he quickly averted his eyes to look anywhere but her. Then, he moved about at an unhurried pace, opening drawers, taking out items he needed for his meal as if she wasn't even there.

She was quite surprised by his aloofness but after a mental shake of the head, she hurriedly carried her plate and water out of the kitchen to her room. Once inside, she tried to rid her mind of how Troy had acted but found it wasn't that easy. Even when she was back at the desk ready to begin a page, Troy's blank face was all she could think about.

He added to her growing list of distractions. It annoyed her to no end that even when Troy isn't doing anything untoward and was in fact staying out of her way, ignoring her and not striking up any conversation like she wanted, he still has this bothersome effect on her.

Well, it's not entirely his presence alone or that, apart from the hate, she couldn't quite name the other feelings surfacing when it comes to him. If she has to be honest, everything and anything is bothering her since loosing that darn muse. But while she could shake off the noise of the new surroundings, Troy's image lingered. His impassive face kept flashing in between conceptualizing her characters for the screenplay.

It was irritating to have to block off something abstract but how can one suppress a persistent thought? Especially a thought of someone who had hurt her in the past and someone she was still wary of.

Her shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, hopelessness evident in them. What's a writer to do with writer's block? No, scrap that. It's not really her primary concern because she already has this writer's malady. What troubles her more is how long she'll have this block. Some of the writers she knows say there are instances where it takes years to get back the writing groove. What would she do if that is the case with her too? She cannot imagine herself not writing another story.

Writing is her life.

_You need a break!_ Taylor's voice echoed in her head. Maybe she's right. Okay, she knows she's right. She's just been too stubborn to acknowledge the fact. She's been thinking too hard for several days now. Stressing herself out even more, thus the chances of finding that muse becoming slimmer by the day.

Finally giving up on trying to spew out ideas and give herself not just a splitting headache but a hollow feeling of ill accomplishment, Gabriella stood from her seat, stretched her numb muscles and after a brief deliberation, went out to the balcony to give her mind the break it needed.

As she walked further out, her hands found the balcony's railing and curled around the cool surface then she stood under the drizzle for awhile, motionless, her head tilted heavenward, eyes closed and the tiniest hint of a smile beginning to form on her lips as she felt the chilly droplets very slowly soaking her skin and clothes.

Minutes later, wet and feeling suddenly invigorated, she was no longer standing by the railing but was lithely balancing herself on the tree branch that had extended over the balcony. And a few minutes after that, hands and arms keeping her upright and secure, her feet in flipflops were alternately finding steps among the many branches to make her descent from the tree onto the damp soil below her balcony.

She jumped, grinned when she landed steady on the ground and looked up the height she came down from. It was a miracle she didn't fall.

An unexplained thrill had hit her once she was out of the house. She feels like she's been caged and was experiencing freedom for the first time in a long while and she wasted no time exploring the outside of the Evans property while mentally berating her self for not doing this as soon as the rain mellowed down.

Casting a quick look to the lake, she spied a makeshift dock extending a little ways off the water but instead of walking in that direction, Gabriella opted to check out the front lawn first. The rain was no longer a nuisance to her as she skirted the property to see where she had parked the rented jeep three days ago. It was dark when she first arrived and her main concern then was to get inside the house and settle herself, so she was curious to glimpse what was out front.

Spotting the tail end of the rented jeep that was parked, no doubt by Troy, a little off to the right side of the porch, she skipped a few mud puddles until she was standing next to the vehicle and had a good view of the front of the property.

Ryan had described it as charming and despite the rain, Gabriella saw he was right.

The painted sign in bold elegant lettering that stated the name of the place stood next to a steel wrought archway with intricate details of craftsmanship and had charming vines with tiny purple and white flowers crawling sensuously around the metal. The welcoming archway led to a short, albeit muddy, driveway lined with the greenest bushes pruned to perfection, stretching wide to showcase a variety of flower beds all planted to the ground in their designated area, according to color, obviously well tended.

There was no wonder why they had called the place Seventh Heaven. It was like a little patch of surprise after travelling through a steep incline and a scary forest. The place was secluded, surrounded by huge trees which she could hardly name the kind, but overall the area in itself including the lake and the house has this inviting air, warm and wonderful regardless of the rain, the kind that can bring a smile to the lips and inhaling the fresh scent of nature gives a sense of well being Gabriella was certain can't be felt anywhere in the city.

She stopped mid thought realizing that just minutes ago cloistered in her room, she found fault in everything she saw or heard in and around the house. Chuckling to herself and at her inability to make up her mind, she moved forward walking between the flower beds, letting her wet fingertips graze the velvet petals of some of the blooms on a strange whim to touch something soft, to touch something other than her laptop's keys, until she reached the archway and stood under it.

Looking up at the structure above her, a smile on her lips, she turned facing the house and saw in full view of what she missed when she first came here. "Wow." She breathed absently. It's like a perfect setting for a romance movie . . . the female lead standing on the porch looking to the male lead running towards her ready to take her in his loving embrace, sweep her off her feet and ki—

"Make sure you don't get sick."

Gabriella whirled sharply to the voice behind her, the frown giving way to shock seeing Troy standing so close that she almost collided with his chest. "What?" She was slightly confused by his sudden presence, wet from the rain just like her but bare-chested and panting as if he just came from a run.

He threaded a hand through his matted hair keeping it away from his eyes. "I know you like the rain but don't stay out too long or you'll get sick. It'll be a waste of our vacation if you end up getting sick because we'll both be stuck inside the house for sure."

Frowning, she leaned away a bit to get a better look at his face. "If I get sick, I'll get stuck in the house. Not you. Nothing to do with you."

"Wrong." He shook his head, making a lock of wet hair fall over his eyes which he easily tucked back with his hand. "I'll have to look after the sick so I will be stuck there with you. Not really an appealing way to spend a vacation for either of us, don't you think?"

Taken aback by his tone which she couldn't place if it had a hard edge to it or a teasing note, since the piercing blue eyes boring down on her looked somewhat amused and finding that she's suddenly flustered as her own eyes noted the way his honed body rippled with the simple movement of his arm, Gabriella hastily backed up one step to allow more space between them before she snaps him with an indignant retort. But the ground they were standing on was wet, slippery and her clumsiness seems to surface whenever he's there . . . so it wasn't surprising when she lost her footing and fell backwards.

Gasping, her arms flailed on impulse and her wide eyes looked to Troy as if asking for help.

Troy reacted quickly and managed to grab hold of her wrist. "I got you." He assured, exerting a counter force to pull her upright but Gabriella's other foot slipped next and the unexpected tug made his sneakered feet slide as well which brought him tumbling down with her. "Shit—"

Gabriella shrieked lowly and shut her eyes anticipating the hard impact with the added weight of Troy falling over her. She felt his arms snake around her frame but just before they hit the ground he shifted their bodies so that he was the one to drop first and break her fall by using his body as cushion for her.

A shiver shook her frame as they lay motionless on the ground after impact, both a little stunned, his arms still wrapped tight around her, one circling her waist and the other cradling the back of her head almost protectively. She told herself this was no time to notice, but she was sprawled out on top of him; her hands gripped his shoulders; and her face practically pressed to his warm, naked chest like she was kissing it.

"Are you all right?" His concerned voice broke off her thoughts, making her look to his face with a guilty blush that she prayed he won't notice.

She stared owlishly at him like he had asked a complicated question. It was disconcerting to realize that this close a contact with him could awaken her usually disciplined senses and impede her brain from functioning well.

"You're laughing at me?" She narrowed her eyes almost a minute later when she felt his chest shaking from under her and he was smirking.

"No. Smiling." He corrected, his smile broadening to highlight his claim. "I'm smiling."

Annoyed and embarrassed, she promptly pushed off of him dislodging his embrace and tried to stand, but her flipflops unbalanced her as it slipped against the muddy earth again. So did his hands that slid to her hips causing her to drop down right at his abs on a sitting position with her legs on either side of him.

He was a bit winded by the sudden force of her fall but his smile grew even wider. "This isn't funny!" She shouted, scrambling to get off and away from him as another round of blush appeared on her cheeks, all too aware that she was basically straddling him.

"Of course it isn't." He sat up with a grimace at the mud on his body and hair before looking back at her with that ever present smirk on his lips. "It's just . . . with your history of clumsiness, I should have expected this."

"You are such—God!" She railed, attempting to stand up, yet, again slipping and falling on her butt beside him, much to her dismay, and Troy had burst out laughing this time unable to stop himself.

Groaning, Gabriella drew her legs close to her chest and buried her face between her knees in mortification while she listened to the nice familiar sound of his laugh go on and on. After a second or so, she found the humor in their situation and she couldn't help but laughed silently along with him.

"Taylor hates the rain because she thinks it's depressing and Sharpay doesn't like it because she can't stroll the streets without getting her shoes wet. But you . . . you love the rain." Troy stated as his mirth passed into a chuckle some minutes later. "You like the rain because you're happy for the frogs and the plants you said enjoys it more than anyone."

Gabriella lifted her head, surprised by the randomness by what he brought forth and the fondness in the way he said it. "I told you that on your—"

"Thirteenth birthday. It was raining then and I was pissed." The smile on his lips reached his eyes, obviously liking the memory.

"Because the rain ruined the barbecue, the games you were about to play with the guys and everyone had no choice but to stay indoors."

He nodded, idly resting both arms on his bent legs as he watched the embarrassment slowly ebb from her face and seem to brighten at the memory. "Yeah . . . and after telling me I should be happy for the frogs, you saved the mood of the party with all those indoor games you invented. Playing musical chairs blindfolded was actually more fun than what I had planned outdoors."

Gabriella smiled back at him remembering the scenes where Chad had ended up tumbling over the toilet bowl; Taylor smacking herself on a wall; Sharpay and Tim wrestling for a chair. They had played hide and seek; charades too with her and Troy as the winning team . . . fun memories which had significance to them both.

For a few minutes they just sat there on the muddy ground under the archway, blue staring into brown and vise versa, amused by the memory during their happier, friendlier days. There was no awkwardness. It was nice to share a common memory and for a brief moment it felt like they were friends again.

But Gabriella broke eye contact first after recalling where they were and why she came out of the house in the first place.

Carefully, she pulled herself up as uneasiness began to set in.

Seeing her demeanor change from relaxed to guarded, Troy followed suit also standing although hesitantly, before he heard her ask, "Why were you outside?"

"I run."

"It's raining." She flatly stated the obvious as though she was speaking to an ill informed person.

He shrugged causing another flexing of muscles on his upper arms and shoulders that drew Gabriella's eyes but she was able to check herself and quickly trained her vision to his face. "Just a sprinkle. It's actually refreshing." He replied offhandedly. "What about you? I'm surprised you decided to go out of your room."

"It was starting to bother me. I needed to get away from the four walls." She grudgingly admitted then with a lopsided smile she turned away from him without waiting for a comment, clearly ending their conversation as she headed off towards the back of the house to have a closer look at the lake.

* * * * * *

Troy watched her go. He watched the sensuous sway of her hips as she walked away from him. The grey shorts molded her lower frame so perfectly that a man like him cannot simply ignore it and the fitted flesh colored top she wore hid little to the imagination as it was sticking to the contours of her body making it seem like second skin.

He had seen the changes since she arrived but out in broad daylight, regardless gloomy, he was amazed by the full effect of the allure she had acquired with time and just as equally amazing and startling was how much she's physically affecting him.

It tore at his conscience having these thoughts especially because his main goal at this time is to tame her hatred of him while they're both here and not start something that will send her scurrying back to L.A. angrier at him and permanently douse any hope there might be for a peaceful and stress-free vacation.

When Gabriella disappeared from his sight, he resisted the urge to follow her. Instead he trudged back to the house with a shake of the head to get his mind back on a nonsexual path. He went directly to his room when he came in and took a long bath, washing away the grime but all the while his thoughts kept drifting back to Gabriella like it had been since she arrived. Although he was relieved to know she no longer planned to leave, after handing her back the jeep's key, like she initially declared, a small part of him had also been glad that she kept to her room the past two days because he doubts if he would've been able to stay out of her space.

He can't explain why but it had taken a lot of willpower to ignore her presence whenever they crossed paths in the kitchen or on the stairs and even harder still not to get caught staring at her shapely legs and perfect butt every time she walks away. Somehow he knew then that she would grow out her baby fat to develop a slimmer, nicer figure appropriate of her maturity as a woman but the exquisiteness he's seen so far is nothing like what he imagined. Those legs alone are impossible not to notice.

What's perplexing and all at once amusing to him though was that Gabriella seems completely unaware of how much she had changed in the looks department.

But aside from the physical aspect, he also noticed how vulnerable she seems to be when he steals glances at her. She has an anxious, preoccupied look in her eyes which as much as he refuses to admit concerns him enough to make him a little bit worried. Since his intention above anything is to keep things civil between them, he knew she wouldn't take it too well if he covered their distance and offered advise regarding her writing.

Although he resolved to be impersonal after that dinner the night she arrived, seeing her and unavoidably interacting with her made his resolve ineffective. He could not stop himself from feeling pleased that she at least went out to get some fresh air which, as he initially advised, is what she needs and she even interacted with him without her annoyance blowing over.

After much thinking in the two days that passed where they kept to themselves with no words exchanged, Troy decided that the only way for them to survive together is to temporarily forget their issues and start on a clean slate while they're in the same living space. No one needs to bring up the ugly past because it won't do them any good.

She's wary of him, that much he can see in her eyes. But although wary is better than her hating him, he just hopes that this unexpected time spent in the same roof won't further damage their already damaged "friendship". He's not hoping to mend anything between them but it would be nice to have something unanticipated turn out good for once.

The low growl of his stomach after he finished his shower and got dressed led him to the kitchen in search of breakfast. Ruth smiled warmly as he sat himself by the small dining table and she began laying out plates of waffles, bacon and a bowl of fresh fruits tossed in honey, making Troy rub his hands in eagerness.

"What will it take to lure you to cook for me in L.A., Ruth?" He asked as he helped himself with the food, assembling two waffles on his plate with sliced bananas, almonds, whipped cream and syrup.

Ruth chuckled, pouring Troy a glass of orange juice to accompany the breakfast items. "You just find yourself a good woman who knows how to cook. No need to lure me into anything."

Troy shook his head at the petite woman in her early fifties as he chewed on the mouthful of waffle stuffed to his mouth then after swallowing and taking a drink, he said, "Nah. I'll starve before I can find someone like that."

"Didn't you say there's quite a number of women in L.A?"

"Yup." Troy nodded with a grin as he polished off two strips of bacon. "But none who can cook . . . at least the ones I've met."

Ruth had her back turned on Troy as she began making another batch of waffles noting the ones on the table quickly being consumed. "Don't you mean, none who meet your requirements?" She half turned to give him a knowing look to which he merely shrugged off. They developed a friendly relationship overtime what with Troy's frequent visits so it wasn't unseemly for Ruth and even Ernie to have easy rapport with him. "What about Miss Evans? You two have been friends ever since. There must be something special about her that binds you two."

Troy choked on a balled up piece of honeydew. He quickly grabbed the glass of juice and downed its content in one swig to help aid with swallowing the fruit. "Ruth!" He gasped, lightly jabbing his chest with a fisted hand. "Ruth, what will it take to convince you Sharpay and I are just friends? Yeah maybe, years ago, we thought the closeness was romantic and certain events happened . . . so we sort of tried being in a girlfriend-boyfriend relationship but it felt wrong. It really is just platonic between us. We're like siblings almost. Anything more than friendship will feel like incest! Besides, she can't cook."

"Okay, okay." Ruth appeased while still busy with waffle making. "How about Gabriella? She can cook." She turned once more wagging a spatula at Troy as some sort of warning not to contradict her. "And I know this because she told me so the other day, after much prying of course. That girl is quite reserved."

The objection Ruth was expecting from Troy at the mention of Gabriella took some time in coming, causing her eyebrows to rise in thought. And when Troy began rubbing his nape—she knows is a sign that he's uncomfortable—Ruth was even more intrigued.

Just like her husband, Ruth saw the gap between Troy and Gabriella over the two days. It wasn't hard to see or feel the disquieting distance because they really weren't trying to be subtle about it. And even though both had mentioned to her on different occasions that they knew each other from way back, they cleverly avoided talking about the other whenever she would ask, leading her to assume despite Ernie's heed not to stick her nose in their guests business that Troy and Gabriella had a past they couldn't let go of.

"She's . . ." Troy paused thinking of how to phrase his words without giving away too much about himself and Gabriella. Ruth waited, curiosity evident in her pleasant face. "She's not interested."

"Not interested?" Ruth echoed, not seeing that the light of the waffle maker had gone off to signal it was already done. "She told you?"

"Well, I didn't exactly ask her . . . I just know."

"An assumption then. Which means you could be wrong."

Troy looked up to Ruth amused by her uninformed analysis. If only it were true. If only things between him and Gabriella were that simple. "I don't think so, Ruth. She actually hates me."

Realizing the waffle was done, Ruth quickly plated it and poured the right amount of batter again in the maker then she returned her attention back at Troy with a frown marring her forehead. "I know I'm being nosy again, Troy, but kindly humor me just this once because I find it hard to believe someone as sweet and nice as Gabriella would feel so strongly against you. Why? What did you do?"

He took his time chewing the waffle in his mouth before answering with a brooding frown. "A lot of things . . . but whatever it was, it didn't work out the way I thought it should. Ours is a complicated past and not a pleasant end either."

Baffled by the answer, Ruth decided to just let it go and not pry any more. It was obvious Troy doesn't like to share more than the short, uninformative replies he was giving. She nodded, smiled, turned back to the counter to refill the waffle maker and worked in silence while Troy continued with his breakfast uninterrupted.

A few more serving of waffles and bacon and an empty plate later, Troy was chugging down his juice as Ruth placed a fresh batch of waffles on the table. She smiled, pleased that her cooking was fully appreciated by Troy who always works up quite an appetite every meal.

"Thanks, Ruth." He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up afterwards smiling as he grabbed his plate to take it to the sink. "You're the best."

Returning his smile with one of her own, Ruth took the empty plate and glass from him insisting she doesn't need help with the dishes. "Just go get Gabriella, will you?" She implored instead. "The waffles will get cold."

At this, Troy's eyes grew wide and shot toward the clock hanging off the kitchen wall. An hour and a half had passed since he went in the house and left Gabriella outside and the rain had been steadily falling. "Damn. She never listens." He grumbled before bolting out of the kitchen.

Ruth stared open mouthed as Troy abruptly exited before she could speak further and next she heard the screen door slam in its frame. She can't be sure but was that worry she saw in Troy's face?

* * * * * *


	4. Sweet Surprise

Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

The distinct scent of waffles and bacon met Gabriella's nostrils as she descended the stairs. It was warm, promisingly delicious and definitely, after that spur of the moment exploring she did outside, belly rumbling too. Following the smell which of course led her to the kitchen, she greeted Ruth a jovial good morning, much to the surprise of the older woman since she was used to the meek greetings coming from her, and then she sauntered toward the table where a plate of waffles and bacon were waiting.

Bathed, dressed and feeling inexplicably relaxed, Gabriella settled herself quickly just as her stomach growled as if to announce its hunger, making her grin with a bit of embarrassment at Ruth who chuckled and urged her to dig in.

She did so. Taking the first taste of the waffle she topped with slivered almonds, strawberries, whipped cream and syrup, Gabriella closed her eyes savoring the delicious taste and made mewling sounds of satisfaction. "Oh God . . ." She started, her mouth full. "This . . . hmm, sooo good . . . Ruth . . . I luff ya."

"I've never felt so appreciated. Thank you." Ruth replied with a laugh noting that she built up her plate similar to Troy just minutes ago. Amused, she poured her a glass of juice like what she did for Troy too, earning a sassy smile from Gabriella who still had her mouth stuffed with waffles, cheeks puffed as she chewed. It should've looked unladylike and maybe to others disgusting but Ruth could only describe her as cute and childish and in her opinion is way more her than the detached attitude she's been displaying.

"No, no, I should thank you for these! If I could make waffles as tasty as these, I'll die happy." Gabriella's voice was muffled as she continued to eat. "How do you make it so delicious, Ruth? I love waffles but yours is the best one I've tasted."

"It's a secret." Ruth grinned, noting Gabriella's easy going behavior gradually showing as their talk flowed.

"I guess I'll have to come here more often for a taste of these."

Washing some of the kitchen utensils she used earlier, Ruth laughed as she regarded Gabriella with a merry expression. "That's the same line Troy told me a year ago. He loves waffles too." Then her grey eyes lit up as if she recalled something important. "Wait, you're that friend he talked about who likes waffles as much as he does!"

Gabriella stopped chewing. "I don't think so." She was quick to deny. Troy wouldn't talk about her to other people. No, he has no reason to mention her after all these years. Besides, he probably has other friends who enjoy waffles like they do.

Ruth persisted, unaware that Gabriella's buoyant mood gradually ebbed to unease at her reference of Troy. "No? But . . . he calls you Gabi, doesn't he?"

That made her gape and swallow a huge piece of un-chewed waffle. _Troy really talked about her?_ Then she looked to Ruth with a pensive gaze as if seeking to affirm her suspicion, wondering what the woman knew and how much Troy had told her regarding their past.

Was it in a bad light or was it good? Not that she cared because she shouldn't but it was surprising to know this bit of info.

Of course, she wasn't blind to not see the amity Troy had with both Ruth and Ernie. Several times over the last two days, she heard or has walked in on them having a lively conversation of matters and people she hardly knows of. And while Troy would look at her with an unreadable expression or avoid looking at her altogether, his face perks up with the couple. So as she thinks about it, it's probably not a farfetched notion for Troy to open up to these people of things in his life, past or present.

She felt like an outsider to them which she acknowledges is her own fault because she confined herself to her room and offered no more than a smile or a quiet greeting or short phrased answers when pried by Ruth, than really strike a conversation like what she initiated minutes ago. She would've have chatted with them too if she weren't so freaked out over her writer's block but even with her aloof behavior, the couple treated her warmly especially Ruth who was like mother goose always making sure she and Troy had their meals on schedule.

Now she couldn't help assuming that maybe the hospitality being shown on her could be a result of what Troy told the couple about her . . . hence answers her question, he must've said positive things about her.

"Yeah," She nodded vaguely as if to show Ruth that what she said was of no consequence to her, before continuing to slowly chew the food in her mouth. "We both like waffles."

Ruth gestured a hand to her plate. "He did the same arrangement to his waffles too. Waffles, fruit . . . his were bananas . . . almonds, cream and syrup. In that order."

Gabriella forced herself to make of sound akin to a laugh since Ruth seems to be expecting she'd find it humorous when in fact she was bowled over by the blatant mention of her and Troy's similarity on this particular breakfast item. She had forgotten. Well, no, not forgotten. How could she forget their silly contest on who will be the fastest to assemble a plate of waffle before they get to actually eat their breakfast?

_Her clear brown eyes swept over a number of ceramic bowls filled with a selection of fruits, two kinds of nuts, chocolate chips, a can of whipped cream, a squeezable bottle of syrup and a stack of freshly made waffles. She looked up to meet his azure orbs, excited and prepared to steal a win from him to even the score to 2 on 2._

"_Ready, Gabi?" Troy asked a little smugly, eyebrows wiggling, hands restless on his side and slowly lifting as he poised for the contest about to commence._

_Except for the eyebrows which she knows is a ploy of his to get into her nerves and therefore distract her, she did the same, not wanting to be out paced like what happened the week prior when she was caught by surprise by his sneakiness. "Ready."_

"_Okay, on three . . . 1, 2 . . . 3!"_

_The Troy-and-Gabriella game began._

_And just like that, pandemonium broke over the breakfast table as two sets of arms began frantically reaching across the table from opposite directions, every now and then jeering at each other and swatting the other to keep from grabbing any of the items first, thereby causing some of the bowls to tip, its contents adding to the mess that's being created on the table._

_But neither cared, they were in a contest and both were determined to win. The nine year old Troy was dead set in maintaining his lead. The eight year old Gabriella was single-minded in coming out victorious._

_In the end, Gabriella's neat assembly of the waffles with the complete set of toppings was declared winner by her father who played the reluctant judge that morning._

"_It should be a tie!" Troy protested like he always does when he loses but everybody knows he'd never forego playing one of the many games he plays with Gabriella because he greatly enjoys it. "My waffles have all the toppings on it too."_

_Gabriella stuck her tongue out at him but she was smiling so widely both from the thrill of the game and from besting him. "I win. Judge says so."_

_He rolled his eyes at her. "He's your dad . . . I say he's biased."_

"_Daddy's always fair!"_

_Mr. Montez chuckled, playfully ruffled Troy's already unruly hair and gently reminded him. "Troy, you're the one who picked me to be the judge."_

"_Well, why can't I win too?" He challenged, his competitive nature asserting even if they both know he doesn't really care if he wins or not. His motto, as he announced over the Bolton's and Montez's get together dinner a few summers ago, was that the joy of a game is in the game itself, not whether you win or lose. _

_Gabriella answered on behalf of her father, pointing at his plate and grimacing. "Because, Troy, that doesn't look very edible."_

_His face scrunched up as he looked at his plate. "You're right, I think . . . I might get a belly ache if I eat this." _

_The three of them shared a good laugh over the gross looking assembly of waffle toppings._

She just hasn't thought about their similar likes and dislikes in a long time. There's no reason to be thinking about him but the memory brought a genuine smile to her lips which she couldn't hide from Ruth. "I'm surprised he hasn't swooped in here yet. These smell wonderful."

"Oh, he had breakfast already. A large serving. I had to make another batch for you."

"He did?"

"Yes. Didn't he tell you? He rushed out after he finished. I asked him to call you in for breakfast." Ruth explained, hands stilling in the sink full of soapy water as she watched Gabriella's face change from confused to stunned. "You were outside, right?"

"Um, yeah, but I came in, I think, ten minutes after he did."

"We didn't hear you come in."

Gabriella blushed, laying down her fork and knife on the plate then sheepishly said, "I climbed up the tree by my room's balcony. I went out the same way earlier."

"Oh." Ruth paused and wiped her gloved hand with the thick kitchen towel near the sink. "But Troy went . . . well, more like rushed outside to get you. He's probably still outside looking for you. I think he was worried you've been out there too long. The weather has been unpredictable lately. Did you have an umbrella with you when you came out?"

Unsure how to take in that detail, Gabriella could only shake her head in response.

"Ohh, that's why he ran out to get you. I'm sure he doesn't want you getting sick from being under the rain too long." Ruth hastened to remove the gloves from her hands. "I'll better tell Ernie to get him back in or he'll be the one ending up sick."

Gabriella was about to stop Ruth and offer to do it herself but the loud bang of the screen door closing followed by heavy footsteps caused them both to swing their heads to the kitchen entry where Troy appeared seconds later, dripping wet and breathing heavily. "Where's Ernie?" He puffed through his wet and pale lips, somewhat agitated. His gaze directed at Ruth, not noticing the person he was searching for outside is a few paces off to his left watching him in a daze. "I can't find her—"

Astonished, Ruth lifted one of her still gloved hand and pointed a finger in the direction of the dining table. As soon as Troy jerked his piercing gaze to her and briefly to the half eaten food on her plate, Gabriella felt frozen in her seat, unable to rack her brain for anything to say as she was met by the worried look in Troy's face.

She doesn't know what to make of him and his unprecedented concern for her well being; a part of her was amazed that his body language indeed spoke of that worry.

But seconds later his eyes suddenly narrowed on her and she saw his body tense as if just now it registered on his brain that she was there in the kitchen, dry, comfortable and enjoying a delicious morning sustenance therefore his effort of searching for her outside was for naught.

Still, Gabriella didn't know what to say. Nothing casual or smart or even dumb is coming to her and the sight of Troy looking worried, tired, angry, soggy, and cold kept coherent thought close to impossible.

The hush that settled between them stretched uncomfortably. Surprisingly, Ruth also remained silent watching the two staring at each other. The brown eyes bewildered and at a loss for words, the blue ones looking annoyed and had a whole lot to say but was doing his best to keep it in check. More than that though, Ruth had a feeling Troy's rigid posture, his scowling expression wasn't because he hated being troubled over nothing but more on that Gabriella saw how worried he was for her.

It was interesting to watch. Ruth alternately looked at them looking at each other while Ernie, who just came in the house through the back door, watched his wife watching the two. They all waited what will happen next.

But Troy broke the silence when he shut his eyes for a brief moment as if to collect himself and harshly expelled a breath while he ran a hand through his damp and disheveled hair. He gave Gabriella one last long look then with his lips pursed tight, he turned away without a word.

* * * * * *

Picking a commercially prepared cannelloni shell from the open container while she waited for the water to boil, Ruth turned it over in her hand for careful inspection. "I've never done this pasta before."

Next to her, Gabriella was busy putting the ricotta through a strainer and into a bowl then seasoning it with a good pinch of salt, grated Parmesan cheese and beaten egg. "It's a popular Italian dish but here it's also called manicotti." She provided as she began mixing the ingredients while still keeping an eye on the sausages that were browning in the pan on the stove.

"How did you learn to make this?"

"My mother taught me just as my grandmother taught her. This is somewhat my family's signature dish." She looked up as Ruth began dropping the cannelloni into the boiling water. "People come over to our house for this—Ruth, just boil those for a minute or two."

"Yes . . . so this is a special occasion dish."

Gabriella went over to the pan of sausages checking if it's browned enough to suit her requirement. Unsatisfied, she let it cook for a little bit longer, turning each of them to brown evenly. "Not really." Then she adjusted the flame of the stove. "It's quick enough to make and there are many variations to the filling, depending on your preference."

Ruth nodded casting a quick sideways glance at Gabriella who went back to mixing the ricotta, amused by the ease with which she moved in the kitchen preparing for the pasta recipe. "And this one we're making is Troy's preference?"

She paused the mixing, turned to look back at Ruth's inquiring eyes and smiled uneasily. But she replied anyway. "It's his favorite pasta dish, from what I can recall." Gabriella shrugged to pass it off as casual, uncertain knowledge about Troy but Ruth threw her one of those unnerving grins, like she knows something Gabriella doesn't. "What?"

"Nothing." Ruth intoned, preparing the paper towels for the pasta. "I just think this is a great idea and a very nice gesture of thanks—"

"And maybe apology."

"Apology?"

Unconsciously biting her lower lip, Gabriella turned off the stove and removed the sausages from the pan unto a cooling plate lined with paper towels. "For worrying him."

Earlier, after Troy left the kitchen without a word, Gabriella did her best to finish the food on her plate which suddenly didn't seem so appetizing anymore. As soon as she was done, she made a hasty excuse to Ruth who she's aware was quietly observing her from the sink. She stayed inside her room sprawled in bed for the better part of the day while her mind wandered.

She felt guilty. She doesn't want to feel the guilt and there really is no real reason to be guilty because she doesn't owe Troy anything. Neither did she tell him whether directly or subtly, to come looking for her or worry about her. But try as she might, talking herself into losing this uncomfortable feeling, it was useless.

She asked herself why she feels the guilt. Was it wrong for her to feel it?

_You hate him. Remember that. _

Does she really?

Yes, she has good reason to hate him and hate him she did but 'hate' seems like too strong a word to use now. Doesn't hate have a tolerable period that after such time it cools down to wariness? She acknowledges that the rush of anger she felt toward him the day she arrived had been the result of hours of stress which undoubtedly clouded her rationality.

Permissible perhaps but now that she's had time to think, she admits she overreacted, met all of a sudden after so many years by his arresting persona under harsh weather conditions which she had to go through, that blaming him like she often did before, was a force of habit. It was easier to do than trying to control her emotions to allow for levelheaded thought.

Is she being immature about their situation? Arguably letting her long ago hate, though founded, overrule her reason? If so, why didn't she leave? He did return the key to the jeep the same night she arrived.

If she has to be logical about it, so far, Troy hasn't displayed any untoward behavior that could really warrant her hate of him to be renewed. She couldn't deny that the genuine concern she heard in his voice earlier when he couldn't find her outside, tugged at her heart even if at first she found it unbelievable. Also, she realized, she has this negative mind set of Troy caused by their ruined friendship years ago, that she somehow chose to ignore he's in truth a good person under it all.

So, okay, maybe she's acting like a juvenile and maybe he had changed back to the old Troy . . . the Troy she knew to be thoughtful, caring and a great guy overall. The Troy she liked, the Troy she trusted, the Troy who was her very first friend in Albuquerque.

Maybe something about this display of concern chipped away some of her annoyance for him and her natural soft spot for people who show kindness kicked in when she came to fully grasp the import of what he did . . . that's why there's the guilt.

The thing is though she couldn't possibly afford to add any unwelcome feelings to her current writer's block problem. That alone had been weighing down on her since she still hasn't written anything and any more considerations about other people or things would only prolong her muse from coming to her. She needs to get rid of the nagging feeling fast and focus on her real problems.

After much contemplation, she decided that the only way to quickly eliminate the unsettling mental strain was to talk to Troy and let him know she appreciated the concern because, hate him or not, for her to give him this much of a thought only means she's not entirely immune to him.

When she went down the stairs to seek him out, having decided she'll simply walk up to him to say thank you and have it over with, she saw him in the living room couch browsing through the few channels available on the television then when he couldn't find anything interesting, switched to video to watch The Hangover movie. He seemed so concentrated on the screen that he didn't hear her presence or maybe he did but opted to ignore her. Either way, she was again unsure what to do.

The earlier determination fell away and she suddenly felt scared of approaching him, disrupting his viewing pleasure especially after glimpsing the hard frown that marred his forehead despite the movie being a comedy.

So without a second thought, she walked back up the stairs, angry for letting herself be affected by Troy's frowning expression while watching a comedy and by Troy in general and for being anxious of the possibility that her effort to express thanks could be ignored and she'd look like a desperate soul waiting to be forgiven when really there's no tangible offense done.

Why is she getting herself so worked up over how he'll react? The only reason she's going to say thank you is to soothe her persistent yet misguided anxiousness over his sudden show of concern but alas, Troy Bolton still has that crazy, scatterbrain effect on her except now it's more disturbing than the giddy kind she used to feel when she was younger.

Damn it! What is wrong with her?

In an effort to dismiss thoughts of Troy until she finds her courage again, she opened her laptop and tried to channel her feelings into writing but as expected she couldn't even think of a word to type. And when she did manage to write a few words on the page, she ended up unable to complete the opening sentence because she couldn't decide if the adjective 'unsullied' sounds better than 'fresh'.

It's stupid, she knew, but still she debated with her own mind for nearly an hour before she gave up on writing.

It was midday when Ernie knocked on her door telling her that he and Ruth will be going to the village to buy some food supplies as it was running low and if she wanted anything in particular to be bought. An idea struck her when she was about to say no to Ernie. She told him she was coming to the village with them instead, surprising the caretaker but he simply nodded to her request.

While at the small but well stocked grocery store in the village, she took the items she needed and informed Ruth that she wanted to make dinner for Troy and of course, them too. Ruth was immediately enveloped in excitement. Whether it was because for once she'll get a break from cooking or that it was being done with a purpose, Gabriella didn't dwell on it much and neither did she take time to explore the change of scenery and amenity the village offered. In fact, if she allowed herself to be honest enough, she felt just as excited as Ruth although with a bit of trepidation.

"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Peeling off the sausages' casing, crumbling them and tossing it into the ricotta mixture, Gabriella laughed lightly and said, "This is just for gratitude, Ruth. I'm not aiming for his heart."

The older woman casually shrugged, seemingly unconvinced but didn't make an issue of it, as she slid the half cooked cannelloni's ready to be filled across the counter next to Gabriella then carried on to brush butter on the glass baking dish. They worked in companionable silence after that. Ruth busied herself as she made an accompanying salad and dessert for the pasta while Gabriella finished with filling the cannelloni shells, laying them on the glass dish, pouring sauce over it then popping it in the oven.

While waiting for the pasta to be done, Gabriella chilled a bottle of Chianti d'annata, the light zesty red wine that goes well with the dish; then she started cleaning up her work area and washing the kitchen items she used despite Ruth's insistence that she leave them alone.

"Where are you going?" Ruth called when she saw Gabriella leaving a few minutes later. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes."

She shook her head and offered a smile. "I'll eat later." She doesn't want to hang around to witness Troy's reaction when he sees the dish. He'll know she made it so she's going to let the cannelloni speak for her and hopefully, he gets her meaning. "I need to get some writing done. Thanks for the help, Ruth."

* * * * * *

The rain finally stopped but it left the night air chilly and alive with mosquitoes and various bugs natural to the surroundings. After lighting four citronella buckets that were conveniently placed there in the balcony to keep the insects at bay, Gabriella leaned back against the plush sofa cushions on the wicker chair, curled her legs beneath her and sighed. Contrary to what she had told Ruth, she wasn't able to get anything done with her writing.

There was just . . . nothing. She couldn't. Not when she's thinking about what's going on in the kitchen at that moment.

Staring ahead into the pitch blackness, she tried to clear her mind . . . well, that's what she's been doing since she came here but so far, to her frustration, no sign of clearing has happened. _God, what's a writer to do to be rid of this block!_ It was maddening not to be able to come up with a solid idea for a story that will not only be interesting in paper but also on screen.

If she were in L.A. right now, she's certain she'll be with Tim. Probably having coffee at their favorite coffee shop, Kaffa, down the street from his art gallery or he'd take her to go see a movie with a senseless plot then they'd end up laughing about it or he'd drag her to the park for a picnic . . . and he'd know just what to say to make her feel better.

But she isn't in the city. With all the trees surrounding the house, it'll also be a miracle if her phone picks up a signal. Why she didn't think to bring her phone to the village is beyond her. So, the option of calling Tim or Taylor or even Keri is out. She's left with her own resources to calm her rioting brain and she has Troy for company . . . how sad is that?

As her mind drifted out into the darkness, she wondered what her life would be like if Troy didn't change into the jerk she learned to hate. Would they have remained close friends? Where would Tim be in that friendship, if it were the case? This vacation probably would've been really different if Troy and her are—

"Mind if I join you for dinner?"

Gabriella jumped at the sudden intrusion to her thoughts and when she followed the voice to its owner, she was shocked to see Troy standing by the sliding doors holding a tray of food, she smelled was the cannelloni.

"I—I . . . don't have . . ." She struggled to stand up but in her haste, her leg tripped over the other and she fell on her side next to the citronella bucket.

She heard him smother a laugh before a shuffle of sound and movement followed as Troy placed the tray down inside the room and came back out, holding her by the upper arms to assist her up on her feet. "Are you hurt?" He asked looking at her still startled eyes, apprehension in his tone despite the small smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips because of her stunt.

"Other than my pride . . . I'm fine." Gabriella quipped as she regained her bearings. He didn't let up on his hold and she didn't think to move away either even with the embarrassment she was still feeling for being a klutz again. "I'm just sitting out here. I didn't bring my dinner—"

"I did." He interrupted, tipping his head to the tray he laid on the desk where her laptop was. "For two."

Following his head, she saw that the tray indeed was for two people and to her surprise, she also saw Ernie waiting by the open bedroom door holding another tray with the chilled wine and two glasses. "W-Why?" She looked back at Troy with confused eyes.

Troy saw she was trying to gauge him and maybe find an explanation for his uninvited appearance in her room. He considered what he was about to say, eyeing her intently to help him decide if it was wise or not to be forthright. "I always eat manicotti with you." He said, going for the former.

She was taken aback by the frank way he answered. It's as if she should know this particular tradition of his. Well, she does and she also knows he always refers to the dish as manicotti instead of cannelloni, but things aren't the same as before. "It's been years."

"I know." The weight of her words brought a veiled sadness in his tone. "I haven't had manicotti in years." He carefully let go of her arms once she was steady on her own legs and she stepped back to put some distance between them. "It's still my favorite pasta dish though. And I really missed it . . . thank you for making it."

Like him, as far as Gabriella can remember, she hasn't eaten the pasta in a long time. "No . . . I should thank you." She insisted, puzzling him a little before she clarified. "Thank you for what you did this morning. For worrying about me, for going out to get me, you didn't have to but I appreciate the concern . . . that," She gestured to the manicotti on the tray. " . . . it's for you."

A small grin broke out from his face. "Let's have dinner here then . . . that is, if you don't mind we do it here. I'm sorry I barged in like this. I knocked but you probably didn't hear me and the door was open so—we can dine in the kitchen if you pref—"

She was in a trance, only barely aware that she said, "Here is good."

As if that was the go signal he was waiting for, Troy moved to get the tray on the desk then told Ernie to set up the folding table they apparently brought with them and place the contents of the tray on it. Gabriella stood to the side completely speechless while they arranged the wine, the glasses, the food and everything else on the table. She knows what they're doing but as her eyes followed Troy's movements, she was mentally asking herself what in the world was going on.

The Troy she knew is never nervous. He's cool, calm and collected as can be. He's rarely flustered and he's always so sure of himself. Not at all like what she's seeing . . . the contradiction of all that she knows because this Troy looks almost jittery. Or she could be reading him wrong.

All the same, she's basically baffled, irresolute on how to deal with what she's seeing.

It was when Troy softly cleared his throat that Gabriella snapped out of her haze and realized that everything was set up and Ernie had already left them alone.

"What?" She asked dumbly when she heard Troy say something she didn't quite get because . . . she's really, really confused and trying to make sense of it was keeping her mind all over the place. She didn't think that cooking the cannelloni would bring him at her balcony with food and wine and having tonight's dinner seem like a romantic date straight out of a romance novel.

Gabriella shook her head to straighten the direction of her thoughts. _A date? What the hell? She's over analyzing again! _For all she knows, he probably just feels obligated to extend some courtesy to her for making the cannelloni.

"You don't like the wine?" Troy inquired, sounding surprised as she shook her head. He paused in the act of pouring some wine for her.

"What? No! I do . . . I like the wine."

"You were shaking your head."

"I was just thinking of something." She quickly covered, adding an uneasy smile. "I like the wine."

He was hesitant. "If you're sure . . ."

"I'm sure. Just pour it . . ." She retorted then realized that her tone was probably a bit harsh so she softly added, "Please."

He conceded, pouring the wine then handing the glass to her. She thanked him quietly and took a sip while she continued to subtly observe him through the rim of her glass as he sampled his own drink.

In the days prior she never fully allowed herself to really see the physical changes that Troy acquired over the years. Sure, she saw the buff built—it was hard to miss his physical attributes actually—but other than occasional glances, she kept her eyes focused on his face whenever she had to look at him. But staring at him now as he stands against the railing, an arm crossed over his chest while the other held the wine glass, she couldn't help but be in awe of the wide shoulders, muscled torso defined by the faded green shirt he was wearing, the hard lines of his jaw shadowed with faint stubble and his chiseled lips.

He still has that hint of boyishness in his look specially when he smiles and when he seemed anxious earlier but he couldn't be called a boy now. He's all man.

_And my God is he handsome._ Undeniably so. Even more now than when they were teenagers. If before the girls at East High fawned over him like flies to raw meat, she wondered what they'd do now when faced with Troy's arresting good looks. She thinks he could pass himself off as a celebrity and get away with it too. He exudes casual perfection, a bit of smugness skimming the surface like he knows something others don't but his eyes are still the same striking blue she remembers them to be and at the moment, those blue pools are thoroughly amused as it gazes back into hers.

Gabriella panicked, quickly averting her eyes from him and she tried her best to temper the blush forming on her cheeks into an offhand expression when what she wanted to do was scurry off in embarrassment for being caught openly checking him out.

Making sure to keep her eyes away from him, she briefly scuffed her feet where she stood then moved back to sit on the wicker chair she occupied before he came. She didn't hear a word from him, not even a snort or a chuckle to tell her he wanted to rub it in her face and for that at least, she was thankful.

But a minute later a plate filled with pasta and salad was handed in front of her, making her look up questioningly.

"Dinner." He simply said.

Gabriella impulsively refused it with a shake of her head as she studied his face, not knowing where to attribute his actions toward her. Maybe she was being overly suspicious but she couldn't help it. She thought making the cannelloni for him, then have him eat it would be the end of this.

What does he expect her to do? Pretend this is normal?

How long ago was it when they had a friendly conversation? Or even been in the same place together for longer than an hour without her hate for him growing every ten minutes? Too long ago that she'd forgotten how it was like to actually hang out with him.

"Come on, it's just dinner." He sounded like he was assuring her of something.

Gabriella shot him a long, uncertain glance before she reluctantly accepted the plate. She did agree to have dinner here, after all. Then she waited for him to fill his own plate and sit on the wicker next to hers before saying, "Thank you."

He accepted it with a slight tipping of the head. The line of his mouth relaxed into a lazy smile then conversationally he mentioned, "Ruth said you climbed that tree to get in."

"I don't know what came over me." She cast a glance at the tree and absently bit at her lower lip.

"Felt great?"

"Yeah . . . felt like I achieved something."

A short silence passed between them, allowing him to cut a portion of his pasta and put in his mouth to eat while Gabriella had a sudden flash of memory of Troy teaching her how to climb up and go down the tree in his backyard in Albuquerque. He had a tree house there which was off limits to everyone except her and Tim until . . .

She frowned, annoyed with these brief flashes in her head. She really doesn't want to reminisce any of that past because it did nothing good to the current situation and the more she remembers, the more the long ago hurt she tried so hard to bury keeps breaking free of its confine. Expelling a breath as if to clear her thoughts and toying with the food on her plate, she quietly remarked, "I don't want to seem ungrateful. I appreciate you being here for . . . dinner but things won't be the same, you know."

He tensed then sighed after awhile in agreement to her belief; the soft clink of his fork on the plate seems to be amplified by their silence. Troy didn't sense any anger in her tone which he was glad for but at the same time the resigned way she spoke hit him with a sudden sinking feeling.

"Being here with you is weird for me." Gabriella added with a soft laugh, halting Troy from doing anything but listen to her. She was staring ahead, her plate forgotten on her lap, speaking slowly. "You changed so abruptly in high school that it took me two years to believe and really accept you were no longer the person I knew. I learned to live with that change and eventually became fine with it . . . until now. I don't know what you think you're doing but since I arrived you've been acting strangely toward me. I'm not used to this kind of treatment from you." She turned her head to gaze at him, finally braving to meet his eyes. "I'm not used to you being . . . nice," She offered him a smile that seems to carry great weight. "But it's kinda' nice to be treated nicely by you for a change."

Troy nodded and even managed to laugh a little with her repeated use of _nice_. "Where you're concerned, this isn't usual for me either . . . I understand the skepticism but we're not teenagers anymore, Gabriella. Let's give each other a chance to be sensible adults."

She couldn't believe she managed to open their past to him like that. It surprised her and, if Troy's initial taken aback reaction is any indication, he was surprised too because this is the very first time that the matter is brought up for discussion.

"Are you trying to rekindle our lost friendship?"

* * * * * *


	5. Sweet Amity

Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

_

* * *

_It is a well known fact that for the duration of a person's life, he experiences the firsts of certain things in this world that help define him as the person he becomes later on. Like a growing baby who has a first time opening its eyes, a first smile, a first cooing sound, first crawl, first step and so on.

The list is endless, going into his childhood, adolescent years then eventually into adulthood. The list of firsts simply varies. And while in one's younger years most firsts have to do with the physicality, mostly after puberty these firsts become less of the physical but more of the abstract matters involving emotions. Yet it's as disturbing and definitely more difficult to handle than discovering hairs growing in certain places of your body or certain body parts becoming bigger.

Like for Troy . . . he was a normal baby. Born a few days ahead the expected date—a common thing, the doctor said to his hyperventilating mother. He cried on time, had his milestones right on schedule which was both a great joy and relief to his parents to have their eldest child on track with everything.

During his days as a floppy haired kid, he was active, always bursting with energy, easily made friends and almost always went home smelling like a sweaty dog much to his mother's consternation. He was the typical hyper youngster so unlike his brother who preferred the less brusque activities to occupy his time.

But apart from the usual rowdiness and the knowledge that he'd eventually grow hairs in _those_ places, Troy also loves sports. He tried every sport he could get his hands on or get someone to teach him how. He enjoyed every time spent on a game, whether it be baseball, football, skateboarding, street hockey or whatever else, but basketball was what he loved most.

He was good at it, maybe partly due in fact to his father who breathed the sport like it was his oxygen and ever since Troy could hold a ball, gave him pointers on how to excel at it or that maybe he was naturally gifted with talent for the sport.

Whatever it may be, he was glad he's able to play these games, achieve some form of discipline, be active and healthy and be good at it even if it's just a hobby. An extra curricular activity that was a big part of his growing up years while he experienced other firsts not related to sports.

Like when he was six, he met the new neighbor's daughter Gabriella Montez and for some reason, fate or otherwise, became instant friends with her. He also had his first crush around that time which he and his friends thought they were being superior by referring to it as "favoring a girl" who was the cute blonde named Amy.

It was a short lived liking. His liking transferred to many other pretty girls after that.

At seven years old, he got into his first accident—bike riding accident—with Gabriella. Nothing major. Mostly cuts and bruises on his arms and legs because he tried to save Gabriella from crashing into a fence while he was teaching her to ride a bike because she wanted to surprise her father. His protective instincts toward Gabriella first presented that day. He sustained shallow wounds, though it still hurt like hell. Yet he toughened up, not wanting Gabriella to see him cry or make her feel guilty for saving her.

A year after that he first learned the value of money when in his desire to give Gabriella a gift for her birthday, he convinced Chad and Tim to help him into some enterprising endeavors to sell lemonades and cupcakes in their neighborhood. And with his mother's help, he was able to buy her two books, _The Secret Garden_ and _Second Thoughts_, and a bookmark with his picture on it. Both, his mother assured him, Gabriella would like.

His mother was right because the delight he felt when Gabriella tore up the covering of his gift and her eyes looked up to his with so much gratitude and elation while she held the books close to her chest was unbelievable. At his young age, he couldn't describe it in so many words except it felt wonderful and he'd do anything to have her look at him like that again.

By nine years old, he experienced the thrill of winning a competitive basketball game and that same day felt how it was like to have his lips pressed against Gabriella's lips. It was an accident, not a kiss. Just a smack that he intended to plant on her cheeks when she congratulated him but she was jumping in excitement for him so as she moved her head their lips met. It lasted a mere second or two, quickly pushing the other away in shock, wiping their lips with the back of their hands then declaring it was gross and would never happen again.

It didn't. Things remained as usual between them.

The next year, upon Gabriella's inference, he realized he was being flirted on by a number of girls in school and with that awareness, he learned to flirt back, realizing his appeal on the opposite sex, enjoying the increasing attention he was getting even if at the end of the day he and Gabriella would share laughs about the girls who were trying to be subtle and hopelessly failing, those who were brazenly throwing themselves at him and those who went too far with their overtures as to scare him.

He was eleven years old when he first spent the night with Gabriella, in her house, on her living room couch because she was so scared of thunderstorms and, with the absence of her parents who couldn't make it back to the house due to the heavy rains, she desperately needed someone to cling to . . . to assure her it was all right, to lessen her fears. He was more than willing to volunteer himself for the role, regardless it was probably pure coincidence that he'd been stranded in the house because of the raging weather. He had felt like a brave and responsible adult that night, calling home to tell his parents of Gabriella's situation and making sure the girl in his arms felt safe and less frightened.

The very first time he saw a girl cry was when he was twelve. He crossed the short distance between their houses like he usually did and found Gabriella sobbing on the porch steps. Initially, he was uncertain how best to approach her, then when she won't stop crying and could barely get any intelligible word past her lips, he became alarmed and angry thinking of possible causes that made her cry like it's the end of the world.

Without her saying anything, out of a strong feeling of protectiveness he didn't recognize at that time, he promised to get back at whoever hurt her and remedy the situation to make her smile again. But he learned later on not everything in life is as easy as they think. He couldn't set to right the reason for her remorse because on that day Mr. Montez left his family for another and not long after came the divorce.

Gabriella wasn't the same after that. She became somewhat withdrawn and quiet and less gregarious. And for some reason, he had changed too. Tim changed as well. Something shifted in their lives and with the way they related to each other.

While the distance between him and Tim grew, Troy suddenly saw Gabriella differently, wanting to be around her more than ever as a new kind of feeling he didn't know how to handle at that time stirred within him.

Young as he was, the thought scared more than it excited him but he still kept as close to her as possible and without being aware of it, apparently so did Tim who was in most of her classes since they were in the same year level. In fact, separately, both of them spend an almost equal amount of time with Gabriella throughout the day.

It was probably too late—freshman year in high school—when Troy realized he and his younger brother weren't all that close . . . notwithstanding the one year age difference but mainly because they don't share the same interests and the times he exerted an effort to reach out to Tim, include him in his planned activity, was met with very little enthusiasm that eventually he gave up trying. He's always been the outgoing, sporty, all around people pleaser kind of guy while Tim is the more serious, introverted, lover of the finer arts kind.

They are just too different.

Where Troy was into the more diversified types of music, Tim preferred the classical. While Troy wishes for tigers as pets, Tim asked their parents for a _Cavia porcellus_ which they initially thought was a fancy term for a type of dinosaur but later on learned it was simply a guinea pig. Where Troy crams to study for an exam, Tim diligently follows a study schedule, like all the other routines in his life. Whereas Troy was the friend climbing through Gabriella's balcony to spend time with her, Tim opted for the conventional way, the front door.

They were brothers who, except for some physical likeness expected of two people from the same parents, were extreme opposites of the other.

But if there was another common ground between them besides having the same last name, it's Gabriella. She was the one who could relate to both their personalities, their individual interests. She kept the balance and the peace.

They share the same friendship with her.

And it became a problem in the years that followed because Troy discovered, he wasn't too good with the sharing.

Now as he stares at Gabriella from the window in the back of the house, she was sitting on the wooden swing that hung from the tree by the lake, he wished he'd made a better decision back then even when all circumstances were against him.

He's not trying to justify anything specially this late in their lives but he felt so betrayed, so angry then that the hurt consumed his young mind, pushing him to want to hurt her back and see her suffer just as much as he was hurting.

Did he regret lashing out his petty revenge? He feels awful seeing the hurt and disappointment in her eyes every time she looks at him but he didn't really regret the pranks he did because he thought circumstances called for it and before things changed, he believed that the signs, the gestures, the words were real and were all pointing in his favor. He believed she wanted the same thing he does. He believed she felt the same thing he was feeling. He believed they were meant to be more than just best friends.

Obviously, he was wrong. Very wrong, in fact. Because he forgot about his brother who is as close to her as he was. He had been too confident that he knew what she felt and he was right too, only it turned out whatever she felt wasn't for him but for Tim.

However, it's no use lamenting over this reality. It is what it is. It will do no good dwelling on their past and he was clear on that last night.

"_Are you trying to rekindle our lost friendship?" She posed the query with a half grin tugging on her lips. To him, she sounded a little dubious; like she knows it's an absurd question but was forced to ask it since she couldn't find a better explanation for what he did and said._

"_No." He negated. A few years back, maybe it would've been a possibility but not now and trying would just be plain stupid. They can't go back to where they left off. They stand a better chance with starting anew. "Do you think there's anything to rekindle?"_

"_None. A lot has happened and so much time passed already. I'm sure you'll agree we're like strangers almost."_

"_I agree. But tell me, why did you cook this . . . for me?"_

_She slanted him a look. Troy couldn't decide if it was sheepish or polite. "Honestly?"_

"_Yeah. Let's try that."_

_Eyes narrowing at the insinuation of his remark, she did her best to set aside the sudden irritation from bubbling over. "To lessen my concern. To make sure I don't owe you anything. To apologize for being so horrible to you when I arrived. To stop my mind from analyzing your sudden niceness and focus solely on what I came here for—to write." She enumerated. "It's one or all of those reasons."_

_He was silent for awhile as if reflecting on her avowals, then he took a deep breath to change his approach on their conversation and said, "I wouldn't say you were horrible . . . nasty is what I'd use."_

"_Nasty is the same as horrible." She stated wryly but immediately caught on with his mild joking._

_He merely shrugged off what could have been another awkward scene. "Okay, you're the expert in words . . . I won't argue." Then as if to soften the irony or tell her it's a joke, he grinned._

_At this, Gabriella couldn't help but chuckle and surprisingly her next words had no trace of annoyance or sarcasm in them. She felt it easier on herself to be amiable to him. "You just confirmed I was really horrible to you."_

"_Oh, I didn't realize you were being subtle in asking me to negate it . . . my bad."_

"_I guess I deserved that."_

_He took a sip of the wine and looked to her neither agreeing nor negating if she deserved it or not then he said, "If it helps any with my standing, this manicotti is very, very good."_

_She smiled, inordinately pleased but tried to hide her reaction by looking down on her plate. She didn't realize until he spoke the compliment how much she actually wants to hear him say it. "Thanks."_

_Another uneasy silence passed between them before he pulled on a serious face and added, "And you don't owe me anything."_

"_Maybe. But like I said, it's been years and I'm not used to you being nice. Just out of curiosity though . . . why concern yourself if I get sick?" She held up a hand to stall him from replying and to throw in a bit of warning, " If you're inclined to tell me, please don't sell me that lame line about not wanting to waste your vacation taking care of the sick. I'm not a child in need of a nanny. I can very well look after myself when need be."_

_A flash of hurt darkened his eyes but it disappeared as quickly as it came and Gabriella doubted what she actually saw in those blue depths. But when he spoke there was no mistaking the curtness in his tone. "Believe it or not, I'm not exactly the monster you paint me out to be, Gabriella. I don't wish ill on people I don't get along with or who hate me."_

_Inwardly, she scolded herself for being so tactless with him and she had to remind herself to be more careful with her words next time since Troy was obviously trying to keep the peace between them. She employed what she hoped was an agreeable tone as she asked. "What's all this about then?"_

"_Letting go. Moving on."_

"_What?"_

_After what seemed like a weary sigh, he said, "Concentrate on enjoying the present."_

_She blinked twice. "You mean . . ."_

"_Temporary harmony." _

_She tipped her head and stared at him a long time noting he no longer looked irritated then asked, "Are you serious?"_

He was actually dead serious. He told her that too. The logic was simple really as he went on to explain to her. With a truce, she'll have one less thing to worry about thus be able to focus on her screenplay. She doesn't have to feel awkward or annoyed when they bump into each other in the house, make small talk or even have meals together—all of which inevitable—because it'll be like a casual thing between acquaintances. The same goes for him plus, verbally sparring with her is not exactly appealing at the moment. He needs to relax, have fun and that's what he'll do.

She must've doubted him though given the soft giggle that escaped her lips and if anything, what he said only managed to amuse her because she nodded ever so slightly with a smirk before taking the first taste of the manicotti then relaxing herself on the chair.

Their conversation, following several pregnant pauses which was mostly about work as it is the safest subject to broach considering their situation, had been a little awkward although it wasn't anything unexpected. At least it was cordial. Meaning, the hostility between them will be tempered and they can stay in the house like peaceful boarders.

And after all this is over, they can go back to their separate lives like this never happened.

Logically, it's that simple.

* * * * * *

When Gabriella woke up that day she was suddenly struck by an idea for her story; her mind began working on the general outline of the plot as she jumped out of bed. After a dash to the bathroom and a quick breakfast where the important details of the story were coming together in her head like an intricate framework, she headed out to the lake with her Macbook and gladly welcomed the first rush of words spilling from her brain. For whatever reason that her muse is suddenly presenting itself strongly, Gabriella didn't allow her mind to dissect it further as she put all her concentration into typing her thoughts.

She lost consciousness of the time. She isn't aware how long she'd been outside and she wasn't counting anyway. With the rain gone, the day was bright and sunny and the surrounding area a breathtaking sight but she hardly paid notice. Her mind was solely into the sudden stroke of inspiration for the screenplay and her heart and mind were practically racing at the same pace in excitement.

Not even the cloying heat that settled after the cool morning air meted out could dampen her enthusiasm or distract her focus. She was into the story. She could picture how the female and male lead looks like, how their rapport will be. She could see it being played out in her head as if she's watching it from a television screen and she wants to get it all out of her head into tangible form as quickly as she can before another writing lapse occurs.

She's not completely convinced yet that her muse is back on track so until such time that she's confident enough, she'll take advantage of the break from her writer's block. Other things can wait, until she has exhausted her thoughts because the first draft stages of a story is always the most fragile one.

It wasn't until two in the afternoon, sixteen fresh pages and seven edited pages later that Gabriella strayed her eyes away from her laptop's screen, stopping her fingers from typing as she sensed as if she was being watched. Slightly bothered, she looked around, making a brief scan of her surroundings but she saw no one. Shrugging and dismissing the feeling, she went back to rereading her work and making minor changes to some words and phrasing.

But before she could completely immerse herself yet again into her written work, a shadow cast right into her causing her to look up with an annoyed little frown then as she recognized the figure, it was replaced by a questioning look.

"It's a little over two and Ruth said you haven't eaten but a piece of toast for breakfast. You may want to take a break and eat inside." Troy kept his voice low and soft as though conscious that he was disturbing her privacy. He could see she was surprised by his presence so he hastily added, "Don't get mad. I didn't want to disturb you but Ruth sent me. She's worried you'll be starving . . ."

Since she was still a little out of touch from her present surroundings because of the plot running through her head, Gabriella couldn't help but ask out of confusion. "Why would I be mad at you?"

He could think of a number of reasons to answer her query, all of which he knows she'd agree upon but like they talked about last night what mattered was the present so Troy gestured at the laptop resting on her crossed legs. "You're working. Aren't writers deep in thought when they work and hate it when distracted?"

"That's . . . true." She looked up to him again, registering surprise for his response, dark eyes seemingly assessing his presence, before she uncrossed her legs and moved the laptop on the vacant space next to her hip on the swing and continued. "But you didn't disturb me. I'm actually done . . . for now at least. I was just editing."

"Oh. You made headway today." Troy learned in their awkward conversation last night about how long she'd had her writer's block. He also sensed, from the way she talked and reinforced by his observations of her since she arrived, how hard it's been affecting her. "Got some writing done."

She couldn't stop the smile that made its way to her lips. She was a tad sweaty, still wearing the clothes she slept in which was a wrinkly white shirt and sweat pants, her hair a shoddy bun atop her head and she's sure her breath faintly smells of coffee but today feels like the best day she's had in weeks. "Finally!" She breathed.

"Congratulations."

She grinned even more, much to Troy's surprise. "A little premature but thanks." She stood up and stretched her arms and legs, allowing Troy to get a glimpse of her toned stomach as the hem of her shirt raised with her movement.

"How about some food then?" Troy suggested trying to seem indifferent and trying his best to avoid looking at her exposed midsection. "Ruth made turkey burgers. Ernie says it's her specialty so it must be good."

Gabriella nodded eagerly, hearing her stomach give off a low rumble at the mention of food. Like usual, having all her focus into the screenplay made her ignore her hunger. She grabbed her laptop, pen, notepad and empty water bottle, clutched them close to her chest then stepped next to Troy.

"It must be good?" She repeated eyeing him with a raised brow when she belatedly realized the import of his words. "You mean you too? You haven't had lunch yet?"

"Nope." Troy dug both his hands into his jeans pocket, looking ahead as they fell instep walking away from the lake in the direction of the back entrance of the house.

"Are you . . . on a diet or something?"

Chuckling at her tone and the odd way she was looking at him from head to foot, Troy did not stop walking alongside her as he replied casually, "No. Just thought we could have lunch together."

"Oh." She paused a moment to adjust the laptop in her arms. "Did Ruth suggest that too?"

Ruth did not suggest it. But Troy surprised himself as he straight out lied, "Yes."

"I see." She felt a bit of mislaid disappointment but covered it with a faint smile.

"If it's okay with you, that is." He quickly retracted, mistaking the disappointment for hesitation. He was merely putting it out for her to consider. He wouldn't want it to seem like he's insisting. If she doesn't feel comfortable, she's free to decline, although he would prefer it if she agreed.

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" She asked pausing to look him in the eye as they reached the back door and Troy opened it for her go in first.

Troy met her gaze, surprised by her question and the innocence in her dark golden orbs because they both know the reason. He was expecting nothing less than a carefully worded refusal via a made up excuse to avoid eating at the same table with him but she seems to have lost qualms being in his company and maybe she's giving the truce a try which is more than encouraging to him. "I don't know what I was thinking." He said instead.

"Perhaps last night's awkward dinner?"

Unable to stop himself, he smirked, liking the talkative mood she's in which he's sure is the result of having some writing done. "So all the awkwardness last night didn't discourage you from eating with me? Or do you have another reason for agreeing to join me for lunch?"

She nodded slowly, a somewhat smug little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I want to see how we'll do it."

"Do what?"

"This _temporary peace_." She retorted then before he could come up with a witty reply, she added, "I don't even get what armistice we're meant to be having. It's not like we're physically warring here."

"I'd say it's a truce—for lack of a better description—from pissing each other off."

"Ah. So we start fresh for the time being." She thought about his proposition last night after he left and she couldn't find anything wrong with it. He had handled their current situation very maturely from the start and even when she gave him every reason to treat her badly, he didn't. So instead of being surprised, instead of bringing up the past, instead of questioning his motives, she resolved to emulate him and extend the same level of maturity for the sake of this vacation.

"That's the general idea since we can both benefit from ridding ourselves the sentimental baggage."

She shot him an assessing look as if she was trying to read what he's really thinking through his eyes. "Are you prepared to do this?"

"I suggested it, Gabriella. You think I can't do it?" There must something about finding a writer's muse that makes her less uptight and more . . . open, Troy assumed.

She bit her lip which caused Troy to drop his gaze from her eyes to the plump lip caught between her teeth and make him suddenly recall the time they kissed—or rather, the time he kissed her. He wondered if those pink lips will feel soft as when they were younger or if it's much softer now. Realizing the direction his thoughts drifted to, he mentally shook himself and kept his attention at hand just in time to hear her response.

"I think you can't keep this up for very long." She stated with a jaunty sideways smile.

Frowning at the various implications of her words other than goading him to loose his temper—if it weren't for that playful smile of hers—and thus prove her point, Troy leaned his weight against the door he was holding open and remained equable. He doesn't know what reason or force is driving her to lay blame on him entirely for their debacle in the past when she isn't totally faultless herself. She was the reason why he acted the way he did or in her words, the reason why he changed. But apparently, she doesn't know that. So he took it as a challenge. "The way I see it, from your questioning of me right now, it's you who's unsure of yourself to handle this truce."

"I can handle it." She averred a little defensively. "How hard can it be to be civil?"

"Or pretend to be friendly . . ." He smirked knowingly and raised a challenging brow at her. "In any case, would you like to bet on that?"

Ridding the annoyance that briefly crossed her face, Gabriella gave him a haughty smile and quipped, "You bet." Then to seal the bet and show him she's determined to show him how friendly she can be, she adjusted her things so that she held them all in one arm and she extended her right hand toward him.

Troy looked to her outstretched hand and reacted to the gesture by lifting his hand, but just before they could touch he pulled back then raised his eyes, pretending to give the offer of a hand shake some thought.

Dropping her hand, she stated half seriously, "My hands are clean, in case you're wondering."

His tone was teasing. "I admire your honesty."

"Thank you." She acknowledged with an exaggerated tip of her pretty head and a widening smile, her shoulders shaking a little from mirth then she offered her hand again.

Their gazes and smiles held then wordlessly agreed and slowly, almost apprehensively, Troy's hand reached out to her.

The brief moment where their fingers met—his slid across her palm then curled firmly to engulf her smaller hand—felt like it's happening in slow motion and with the simple gesture the hate, the annoyance and the years of unpleasant baggage between them began to blur and very gradually fade.

And the longer they didn't let go of each other's hand, the more charged the air became.

Suddenly, it didn't feel like a truce anymore. It was sealing a friendship but unlike the time they shook hands as kids when they first met, this one, their second shot at friendship, has a deeper, more complicated meaning to it than they originally intended or expected.

But Troy didn't want to go thinking of profound matters, even if the moment felt like it because they were also agreeing that this is only for the duration of their stay in the vacation house and he had to remind himself that she has a boyfriend. On the same thought, Gabriella opted to withdraw to a safer distance, a less poignant distance, away from the jolt of electricity she felt when they touched. She carefully extricated her hand from his grasp then quickly stepped back.

In a brief, uneasy silence, she diverted her attention to readjusting her hold of her things and once finished, with a sprightly smile thrown his way, she said, "I'm hungry. Let's go in." Then she strode past him to enter the house.

* * * * * *

"Gabriella." Troy called from the open bedroom door of her room an hour after dinner, his eyes looking around for her when he didn't spot her seated by the desk. "You in here?"

A muffled yes reached his ears prompting him to take a step inside the room, thinking she's outside in the balcony. But discovered she wasn't as soon as he went through the sliding doors. "Gabi?" He called out again, peering at the ground below and when he saw nothing went back into the bedroom to check if she was in the bathroom.

But the bathroom door was ajar and there's no light inside which means she isn't there either. Frowning, he looked at the room again, certain he didn't imagine hearing her voice saying yes. He saw her laptop open on the bed and a document page currently in use. Her notepad was next to the laptop with a few pages flipped over as though she had just been going over her notes. Pillows were also propped up against the headboard and the impression left on the fluffy items meant Gabriella had leaned her back on it.

There was absolutely no reason to suspect she isn't in the room. But where? "Where are you?" He asked aloud, rounding the bed.

That's when he saw her . . . well, her legs, to be specific, sticking out from under the bed almost making him trip. "What are you doing there?" Troy crouched down next to her legs, the shapely, toned backs of it well exposed to his vision then he tried to peek at the limited space between the bed and floorboards to see what she was up to.

"Help." She groaned as their eyes met; her left cheek was pressed on the floor and her body prone underneath. She sounded distressed. She wiggled her upper body as far as the tiny space would allow but none of the desired result. "I can't get out."

Immediately, Troy was up on his feet and lifting the heavy bed to make room for her to move from under it. Gabriella hastily inched her way out from beneath as soon as the heavy mattress lifted and once she was free, Troy let go of the bed with a soft thud when it hit the floorboards.

He squatted next to her as she rested her back on the side of the mattress, legs bent close to her chest. "Thanks." She mumbled on a relieved breath but with an embarrassed, sideways smile.

"You okay?" He asked, unconsciously laying a hand on her bare knee, seeing the blush tainting her cheeks as she avoided looking at him even as she nodded in response.

"I seem to be getting myself in a fix every time you're around." She joked, in an effort to not look flustered. "What do you suppose that means?"

Troy made a face like he was thinking hard of a suitable explanation then sounding so sure of himself, he stated, "That I'm your savior."

Her eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. "Like you'd settle for that and to me no less."

"I don't do it for free, Miss Montez." He warned jokingly.

"Oh no . . . what's the fee?"

"Just an answer to a question . . ." And without waiting for her to think or object, he proceeded to curiously ask, "What were you doing under the bed?"

Giggling, she lifted her left hand that was holding a black, shiny pen with her name engraved on the outside. "Trying to get this." She explained forcing to seem nonchalant and doing her best to ignore the startling friction from the warm hand still on her knee. But her deepening blush gave away her embarrassment. She kept her sights forward clearly not wanting eye contact with him as she continued. "It fell off the bed and somehow in my haste to retrieve it I managed to kick it under . . . so I had to crawl there to get it. I was able to fit myself in but getting out was trickier than I thought. Now I know what it feels like to be trapped."

Removing his hand from her knee, he said, "You could've pushed the bed aside."

"I thought of that," She afforded him a glance but quickly looked away again when she was met by his amused blue orbs as though he knew his touch was making her skin burn in a pleasurable kind of way. "But the material this bed is made of," She tapped the mattress. "_not_ for pushing or lifting. It's for a wrestler or a weightlifter and for well built guys such as yourself, but not for the likes of me."

"Okay, I get it now." Troy shifted from the spot he was sitting on to face her properly. He noticed her cheeks were stained with color and her breath was coming a bit rapidly. He could see that she was embarrassed by how he found her and he certainly did not miss how she tensed up when he touched her knee. "It would've been easier though if you just used another pen."

"I only brought this pen."

"A writer with only one pen . . . interesting." He said as if pondering on the bit of info. He was trying to keep the conversation light and casual to get her out of her restlessness. She was much more warm and relaxed around him during their late lunch and a little bit afterwards. He liked her that way. "That must be one special pen."

Gabriella didn't want to feel uneasy but his touch, though she's aware is innocent and mostly out of concern, seems to have prickled her skin enough to make her suddenly nervous being close to him. "It is. Tim gave it to me."

Troy quickly doused his surprise and the sudden spurt of jealousy and refrained from commenting anything more than, "Ah." _Of course, a cherished item of hers would be from his brother._

In contrast, Gabriella running the risk of being overcome with uneasiness brought on by his touch so much so that she feels tempted to rush out of her own room just to put some distance between them, mentally shook herself and asked in a matter of fact tone to change the subject. "So what brings you here?"

"I'm visiting some friends tomorrow." He said, glad that she didn't tend to discuss his brother at length. "If you maybe want to take a break, meet new people or sight see, I'd be glad if you go with me."

"I . . . I have to finish my writing." She uttered softly however she sounded unsure. She showed him an apologetic smile. "But thank you for asking."

Troy took the note of hesitation as a good sign. It gave him hope that she will change her mind come tomorrow. "The offer stands." He said then pushed off the floor and stood, proffering a hand to help her up as well.

After a moment of faltering while alternately looking from his extended hand to his charming face, remembering what happened earlier during their handshake, Gabriella took it, let him assist her up but she swiftly let go as soon as she was steady on her feet.

Troy dug his hands inside his pockets just as Gabriella crossed her arms over her chest and trained her eyes on the floor. Sensing she was drawing away from him again, he didn't push any further. He doesn't want her to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable around him although looking at her trying to act blasé is delightful to see.

It reminded him of the young Gabriella his younger self was close friends with.

He bid her goodnight instead and turned, heading out of the room. He could feel her eyes following him as he covered the distance from the bed to the door.

"Goodnight, Troy." She said, as he was closing the door.

It was enough to make him smile.

* * * * * *


End file.
