☽Ⓛ❈Ⓒ☾

Zane only stays for another hour in the café before leaving. Now that I've read one of his books and know how good they are, I'm curious about the one he is working on.

I wonder if he will let me read a tiny bit of it?

I have dinner alone again, but I don't mind too much because I know I will be at Zane's tomorrow.

After I've eaten and cleaned up, I go up to my room and pick something to wear tomorrow. It's a tough one, because, although it's a date, it's at his house.

Do you still dress up for someone's house?

What if I rock up in heels and a dress and he's in sweats?

Somehow, Zane doesn't strike me as the sweat-pant kind of guy.

Eventually, I choose one of my favourite tops and my most flattering jeans. It's dressy but not too dressy. Shoes can be a whole other drama tomorrow.

Zane texts me when I get into bed, asking me about my day. We message back and forth until late into the night. I fall asleep on him and wake to his reply in the morning.

I'm yawning all morning at work on Friday.

'Someone stay up late talking to lover boy?' Pippa teases me.

'How did you know?'

'Because I swear that's what you always do when you're first talking with someone. You text and call late into the night cause there's so much to learn about one another.'

She's right.

Zane doesn't come in today. I'm a little disappointed, but I tell myself that I'm being silly because I'm going to his house later. On my break, I text him.

He replies whilst I'm still in the break room.

Yes, but will I be ready for you?

Pippa practically shoves me out of the door at 4 o'clock.

'Go and get ready for your date!'

'I have three hours before I need to be there,' I protest on the pavement.

'So? Have a bath, shave, moisturise! Make your body a temple.'

'You're strange.'

'And you're gonna be late.'

I roll my eyes but start walking home. Once I get back, I take Pippa's advice and pamper myself.

At half six, I'm ready. I distract myself until quarter to and then walk over to Zane's house.

The black house looks exactly how I remember it. It stands out against all of the other bright houses on the street. I walk up the pathway and ring the doorbell.

Zane opens the door and smiles. He's wearing a white shirt and a pain of jeans. It's the first time I've seen him in smarter attire and he looks insanely hot.

'Hey! Please, come in.'

'Wow, something smells good,' I tell him when I step inside.

Delicious aromas are floating down the hallway from the kitchen. I slip off my shoes and Zane takes my jacket.

'I hope it's good,' he says as he hangs up my jacket. 'Let's go through to the kitchen.'

Once he's checked on the food, he gives me a quick tour of the house. He skips past one of the doors upstairs, I assume it must have been his mother's bedroom.

He explains that his sister's old bedroom was converted into a library/home office by his mother, but they still have a lot of her things on the shelves in tribute.

He serves up when we come downstairs. We sit at a small table in his kitchen, seated by the glass doors that overlook the garden.

'Do you like gardening?' I ask him, gesturing to the beautifully manicured lawn.

'Yeah, it's relaxing,' he says. 'My mum was always an avid gardener. When she passed, I didn't like to see it becoming wild and unkempt. She would have hated that. So, I did the upkeep for her and it sort of grew on me.'

'I mostly stick to house plants, but I think, if I had a big enough garden, I would make the effort.'

We talk endlessly through the meal, avoiding the subject of family. He offers ice cream for dessert, which we eat on the sofa.

Somewhere along the line, we end up finishing and putting our bowls down. We get closer on the sofa, our legs touching. Zane puts his arm over the back of it and plays with my hair soothingly. I'm not even sure he realises he's doing it at first.

'It was the worst, honestly,' he says, opening up about his mother and sister's deaths. 'Not only was I going through this incredible pain that I'd never felt before, I had everyone in the town staring at me constantly.'

I nod in understanding, but remain quiet.

'People who had never made the effort to talk to me or my family before, came up to me on the street to tell me how sorry they were and how much they'd miss my mother or sister. It was such bullshit. It made me so angry,' he says, looking incensed by just the memory of it. 'That's how I got into kickboxing, it was a release for the anger I was feeling.'

That explains the muscles.

'Now, I train in the basement. I don't have anywhere near as much anger inside of me, but it is still a good release. I think that's why I ended up withdrawing from the town and staying in the house so much, I was avoiding everyone. It's why I turned to writing.'

'You were looking for an escape.'

'Exactly.'

I let out a shaky breath and decide to share something personal with him, too.

'I haven't told anyone this because, like you, I don't like people pitying me.' I inhale deeply and find my strength. 'My mother died almost two months ago.'

Zane's eyes widen. His expression isn't one of a pity, but it is sad. He's just realised that the person in front of him knows first-hand the experience he has gone through.

'I haven't actually said that out loud yet,' I tell him, laughing humourlessly. 'She had lung cancer. But, I got two years with her when she was only given six months. I'm grateful for the time I got with her. I want you to know that I can understand what you went through, at least a little. I hated the stares, too. The empty sympathies and endless casseroles.'

He smiles at that. 'Casseroles. Why do people think that grief is cured by pies, lasagne and casseroles?'

I shrug. 'I guess because they're warming meals, I don't know. But I never want to eat casserole again for as long as I live.'

Zane chuckles and nods in agreement.

'Amen to that.' He meets my eyes and his expression softens. 'I'm so sorry about your Mum. Life is shit, sometimes.'

'Yeah, it is.'

A comfortable silence settles on us. Zane looks at me with awe in his expression from this newfound knowledge about my past.

I wonder whether to tell him about the name-change, but he brushes his hair back and I catch sight of the tattoo on his wrist, which distracts me.

'What's your tattoo?' I ask him, pointing at it.

He smiles and pulls the sleeve of his shirt higher, letting me see it fully. It's a dragon, outlined a little messily on his skin. It looks oddly unprofessional for a tattoo.

'My sister used to draw all of the time. This was the last thing she drew. I know it's a little...crude, but I wanted something that was meaningful to her.'

Suddenly, it makes perfect sense. It doesn't need to be professional or perfect. It means more than that.

'That's so lovely.'

'I've got plenty more under here,' he says. 'But I don't think that's first-date behaviour, stripping down in the living room.'

I chuckle with him. 'No. Second date, perhaps?'

He grins at me. 'So, a second date is on the cards?'

'You tell me.'

His grin widens. 'I want a second date.'

'So do I.'

'That settles it, then.'

'I guess it does.'

It gets late and Zane insists on walking me home. I try to tell him that he doesn't have to, but he won't drop it.

In the end, I appreciate his persistence. He takes my hand and we walk back to my house together. I tell him about the rental and how I'm still trying to find my place in life.

We stand on the doorstep of my house, reluctant for the evening to end.

'You're moving forwards, which is always better than moving back,' he reassures me. 'It doesn't matter that you haven't got it all figured out yet, you don't need to.'

'You're good with words, Zane Torres,' I tell him coyly.

He smirks at me, going from cute and handsome to sexy and confident in a blink.

'They're not the only thing I'm good with, Lily Wilson.'

I play into his flirting. 'Oh, yeah? What else are you good with?'

He answers my question by leaning in and kissing me.

Lips.

They are what he is good with, too.

His lips are smooth yet firm against mine. He kisses me until I sink into him and grip his jacket. It's the kind of kiss that has your toes curling and your thighs clenching. The kind of kiss that makes you want a whole lot more than just kissing.

When he pulls back, I'm dazed with lust and smiling happily.

'Answer your question?' He murmurs huskily, his lips only a breath apart from mine.

'Yes,' I whisper.

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