Page 39 of Deeper

In the morning, I was feeling domestic. After washing up in the master bathroom, I put on a new cami Zander purchased for me along with some matching satin shorts. Barefoot, I walked down to the kitchen and went about making Zander breakfast.

His fridge was decently stocked with fresh ingredients and equipped for the task. Zander hadn’t lied; he really did cook for himself. There was no pork bacon or pork sausage, which led me to believe he didn’t eat pork. I decided I could work with that and his apparent preference for almond milk over regular dairy. I got out everything I needed, along with the chicken I was set to bake later that evening to thaw before I commenced to cooking.

By the time I was preparing the pancakes, Zander came into the room. I’d been too engrossed in my prepping I hadn’t noticed him get up.

He was shirtless now in some sweats, his hair disarrayed from his sleep. But because he was the flawless Zander Khalil, he even made messy hair look good.

Zander came over and gave me a little hug before going and sitting at the island. There was a joint tucked behind his ear. “I thought you didn’t really cook.”

“Who can’t make pancakes?” I said.

“You’d be surprised,” Zander said. “This really means a lot. The only person whoever really cooked for me is my mum, or sometimes my dad. So thank you, Bianka.”

I felt special then. “It’s nothing. I just hope you like it all.”

“I’m sure I will.Do you smoke?” Zander asked before he stuck the joint in his mouth.

“None of the above.”

This made him chuckle as he pulled a lighter out of nowhere and lit up. “One of my career highlights was being at some award show in Snoop Dogg’s trailer with him and Rihanna sharing a blunt. Snoop has the best weed.”

I bet if I asked, he would admit to knowing and meeting popular smoker Wiz Khalifa, too. “Whoa, did you try to collab with Rih?”

Zander shrugged. “Was too focused on the weed. Who knows, I could make a call for Z3.”

“Z3? You’ve been recording?”

Zander waved his hand. “Here and there, little by little. I’m still playing with the whole tone, theme, and concept.”

“Iloveconcept albums. There was this trend on Twitter once about naming the seven albums that define you. For me,Good Kid, M.a.a.d City, andTo Pimp a Butterflyhave to be top three.”

Zander took a pull from his joint. “Good choices.”

“I’m really into music so it took me a minute to compile a solid list.”

“Any R&B?”

“Beyoncé: self-titled is forever a mood.”

“Bey is amazing,” Zander agreed. He ashed his joint on a paper towel. “You’re really into music, huh? What do you think of mine?”

Guilt caused me to focus on flipping my pancakes. “I’m not gon’ hold you, I only know ‘The Sound.’ I was never into So What, and with my best friend constantly talking about you, I never cared to give you a try.”

Zander’s face was stoic as he took another drag. “Do you like ‘The Sound’?”

“It’s what made me respect and have faith in you as an artist. I may even go home after this and give you a fair and real listen.”

Zander sat quietly and finished the rest of his joint and I finished my pancakes.

We sat together and I watched as he dug in. The sight of him smiling let me know he liked how everything tasted. He reached out and squeezed my knee, his warm, tattooed hand lingering briefly. What’s more, he leaned over and kissed my temple.

Zander Khalil was very affectionate.

Together we cleaned the dishes in a comfortable silence when we were done. What I liked most about Zander was that I didn’t have to try. There were moments where I would look over and catch my breath, still in shock to be in the midst of a celebrity, withtheZander Khalil, but there was absolutely no pressure to impress him or embellish who I was. Zander wanted me as is.

At least, for the weekend.

In his high-ceilinged living room, Zander sat at his piano and began trying to find a tune. He was freestyling, but those instants where he found a meter, he was good.

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