Page 9 of Her Ohio Old Flame

Zane’s jaw tightened, and he ran a hand over his short, dark hair. “And you? Did you get checked by a doctor?”

The question caught her off guard. It almost sounded like he still cared. “I was. Nothing wrong with me. I don’t know why Dad was so affected by the smoke, and Mom and I weren’t.”

“Ah, well,” Zane said, his tone softening, “your mother was on the floor, and smoke billows upward. Why was she on the floor, anyway?”

Asha rolled her eyes, a hint of exasperation creeping to the fore. “She was getting something from the fridge, turned too fast, and fell. She isn’t sure, but she thinks she might have bumped the frying pan, and the oil caught fire on the stove.”

Zane let out a low whistle. “That’s one hell of a way to start the day.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

For a moment, the room felt smaller, the space between them charged with something unspoken. Asha let her gaze linger on him longer than she intended, tracing the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his broad shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“Thanks.”

Zane tilted his head. “For what?”

“For helping. For being there.” Her words wavered, betraying the vulnerability she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see.

He shrugged. “It’s my job.”

Asha nodded, but her chest tightened. She didn’t want to be his job, but she had no right to ask for more.

As the silence stretched, her thoughts shifted, and the barriers she had so carefully erected began to reassert themselves.

A tear slipped down her check, and she sniffled.

This wasn’t how she wanted Zane to see her—frazzled, helpless, and emotional. She’d built a life away from Peaceful,a life of rationale, success, and control. Being here, in this hospital, watching Zane step back into her world, made her feel as though all the years in between had melted away, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

“Do you ever regret staying?” she asked suddenly, the question surprising even herself.

Zane blinked and narrowed his eyes, making them almost look brown. “Regret?”

“Peaceful,” she clarified, sharper than she intended. “Do you ever wish you’d left?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady as he studied her. “No,” he said after a long pause. “This is where I belong.”

The words hit her harder than she’d anticipated. She forced a tight smile and glanced away, settling her gaze on the heart monitor beeping steadily beside her father’s bed.

“Must be nice,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Belonging somewhere.”

She didn’t look at him again, afraid of what she might see—or what she might show.

Sitting stiffly in the chair, she focused on her father’s sleeping face. The soft beep of the heart monitor and the steady rise and fall of his chest should have comforted her, but her mind refused to quiet. She twisted her hands in her lap, weaving and unweaving her fingers as worry gnawed at her.

How long had it been since the doctor had left for her mother’s surgery? Why was it taking so long? Rationally, she knew these things weren’t quick, but the waiting was unbearable. Her mom had always been the strong one, the anchor holding their family together. What if this time she couldn’t pull through? The thought twisted her stomach.

She cast a sidelong glance at Zane, standing near the wall with his arms crossed, watching her. His presence should havebeen a balm, and in some ways, it was. He was steady, solid. Almost palpable, his quiet strength acted as a buffer against her fraying nerves. But it also reminded her of everything she had left behind—and everything she couldn’t let herself want again.

He didn’t have to be here. He’d done more than enough. The fire, the hospital, calming her dad when he’d been on the verge of panic. But he hadn’t left, and that confused her as much as it comforted.

Asha momentarily stilled her fingers, digging her nails into her palms as she clenched her hands. What must Zane think of her? She didn’t have to guess. He must hate her. How could he not? She could still picture him as a boy, his crooked grin and the way his eyes lit up whenever he looked at her. And she’d thrown it all away—crushed him with no explanation, no goodbye, and no chance to make things right.

The memory was a dagger, twisting in her chest. She winced inwardly, her breath hitching as the weight of her guilt threatened to drag her under. If she had even an ounce of courage, she’d tell him. Tell him why she’d left, why she’d stayed away, and why she could never come back for more than this fleeting moment.

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