Page 22 of The Art of Falling in Love with Your Enemy
Zac isn’t half bad at this stuff, I have to say. We spend the better part of the morning getting the first coat up in my living room, only stopping once when I discovered pawprints leading from the painting zone into the kitchen—someone, and I’m not pointing paws, Herc, managed to walk through paint.
Taking a break, I sneak into the kitchen to brew another pot of coffee. A quick glance out the kitchen window into the backyard tells me the rain has stopped, or at least slowed down, the sun now trying her hardest to shine her light through the gray. I find myself fascinated with the shapes of the clouds as the wind blows them across the sky, when Zac clears his throat behind me, causing me to spin around in surprise.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He points to the coffee pot. “Okay to have a cup now?”
“Of course.” I swipe a clean mug from the dish rack, filling it to the brim before sliding it his way. “Help yourself to the creamer.”
“I like it black,” he says as he toasts me with his mug and takes a sip. Pulling the cup away, he grins again. That same lopsided, sexy smile that he seems to throw out there like he’s throwing candy from a parade float. “You make a good cup of coffee.”
“Thanks.” Filling my cup, I splash a little creamer in it and head out to the living room to survey our work. Feeling the need for music to fill the air, I grab my remote and pull up my playlists, flicking through until I find one from the nineties. I hit play, settling on an old Beastie Boys album.
Tossing the remote back on the couch, I start inspecting the walls as Zac traipses back in, sipping his coffee.
“I would never have pegged you for a Beastie Boys fan.”
“Really?” Turning around, I place a hand on my hip and tilt my head to one side. “And what, pray tell, do you think one of their fans looks like?”
“Well, me.” He puts his mug down and walks closer to me. “My brother and I used to fight over their albums. We were only allowed to have one album in the family.”
Chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning, I size him up. “What do you mean you were only allowed one?”
“Exactly what I’m saying…we could only have one album. I had to share it with my brother and my sister.”
“Ohhh, that’s just horrible,” I manage with a wink as Zac feigns wiping a tear from his eye and grabs his heart.
“I know. Wretched, right?” He hoists a shoulder in the air, letting it drop. “It was smart of my parents to do really, made us take better care of things and we learned to share.”
I’m liking this side of Zac. “Smart parenting.”
“I guess so,” he starts but is interrupted when his phone chimes from across the room. In a few strides, he reaches it and picks up, reading a text. He taps something back, then places the phone back down and looks at me, his face flushing bright red as he does.
I smell something fishy. “What was that?”
“Well, you’re nosy.” He shakes his head. “Just cause I feel bad and I’m in your house doesn’t mean I’m going to reveal all of my secrets to you.”
“Zac.” I let the corners of my mouth be pulled up into a flirty smile. “I just watched your face go crimson after you sent that text. You can’t come in here and get all embarrassed, then refuse to share what’s going on. You saw me in a jail cell yesterday. I think we’re past these simplicities.”
Zac looks at me, his mouth twitching as he does. “That was my old police department in Beaufort. One of my old friends is retiring, so they asked me to…quilt a blanket for him.”
“They—you quilt?” My ears? Can I believe thee? I feel a smile I cannot stop coming; it rises up with laughter, propelling it forward, coming from way down deep within me. Both of my hands fly to my mouth, as if I’m trying to push back in the laugh that escapes. But once I start, I can’t stop.
Ever the patient gentleman, as I’m coming to find out, Zac stands and stares at the ceiling, waiting me out. “Okay, yes. Ha ha. Zac quilts. Is it all out of your system now?”
“Okay, wait.” I blow out a giant breath, willing myself to be steady as she goes. “Yep, I’m better. But now I want to hear how this happened.”
“My grandmother showed me how to do it when I was younger. I was a busy kid, and when my grandfather was governor…”
There’s a feeling of cold water being doused on my insides as I realize just what Wright family Zac is from. “Your grandfather was Governor Wright?”
“Yep, the very one.” Zac pulls out a chair at the table and sits. “I’d go visit the mansion and get into everything, including meetings I shouldn’t be anywhere near. To keep me busy, my grandmother sat me down and taught me to quilt. Every time I came to visit, she made sure to have a project for me. We made small blankets at first, teeny tiny ones. I found out years later we were making them so she could donate them to NICU units all around the state.”
My jaw hits the floor with such force, one would think it had broken. Seriously, I’m in such shock that Zac leans over and uses his forefinger to tip my mouth closed again. “I know it’s crazy to think you know a man who quilts, but you do.”
Shaking my head, I pull a chair out and sit across from him. “I’m a little surprised you’re a man who knows his way around some needles, but it’s cool. Especially the part where you helped donate what you made for the babies. That’s really sweet.”
“Eh.” Zac shrugs a shoulder, that shade of crimson beginning to drift back onto his features. “I like it. These days, I like making quilts for retirees from public service, which is what the text was about. I get a bag full of fabric and old T-shirts that mean something to the person, usually gathered by a loved one, then they give it to me and I go away and make a quilt for them.”
“That’s sweet.”
