Page 112 of Keepsake
“How did you get here?” I asked, but then didn’t wait for an answer. “You feel amazing.” His hair tickled my cheek, and the strength of his broad body against mine did fizzy things to my stomach.
He set me down in the entrance to my home. “I just couldn’t wait,” he said quietly. When I stepped back, I found serious blue eyes regarding me. “I tried to imagine you coming for dinner—getting out of your car and being dragged into the dining room with a dozen other people. I’d have to sit there for two hours before I had a moment alone with you.” His big hands landed on my shoulders. “So I borrowed May’s car and drove down here, hoping you were free to go out for a cup of coffee with me or something. It wasn’t good planning, but I just couldn’t wait.”
I tugged him further inside, nudged my dinner out of the way and shut the door. “My social calendar is remarkably free at the moment,” I teased. Then I put a hand on his muscular arm, because he was so close to me and I couldn’t resist touching him. “But I always have time for you, Zach. No joke.”
His face softened. “Didn’t know if you’d want to stay friends. This hasn’t been your happiest year.”
“But you’re the happiest thing in it.” I scooped up the noodle bag and took his hand. “Come with me to the kitchen. Want to split some ramen noodles with me?”
“You eat. I already had supper.”
“Okay. Christmas cookies, then?”
“Well, sure.” But our progress was halted in the narrow hallway to my parents’ kitchen, because Zach stopped to look at a bunch of framed pictures on the wall. “This you?” he asked.
Funny, I walked by these photos every day without seeing them. “Oh yeah. It’s the Only Child shrine.”
“Wow.” He was studying a shot of me at age four. I was wearing a tutu and ballet slippers. “Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Good thing they got that picture. I was interested in ballet for about seven seconds. Then never again. I wanted skydiving lessons, and I wanted to go with the scouting troop to explore caves in Kentucky. My parents didn’t get the girly girl they were hoping for.”
He put a hand to my hair and smoothed it down. “You’re perfect, Wild Child. Just like seeing what you looked like before I met you. That’s all.”
In our kitchen, Zach looked around and then whistled.
“I know,” I said. “My mom is really house proud.” Her kitchen spared no expense. There was the trophy range—an Aga—and the SubZero. There was a marble baking counter for rolling out dough and a backsplash made of imported tile that gleamed like jewels under the expensive lighting.
“Pretty impressive.”
“Yeah. At least she cooks. Some of her friends have the same gear and order in every night. Like I just did. Are you sure you won’t have some of this?”
He shook his head, just smiling at me.
“Then sit.”
I took his jacket. Then I made him a little plate of my mother’s Christmas cookies and brewed him an espresso in Dad’s Illy machine.
While I ate my soup, we perched on stools and had the requisite preliminary conversation. He said I was looking healthier, and I agreed. I told him I’d heard about his flu, and he said it was all gone now. Neither of us was really focused on the conversation, though. We were too busy staring into each other’s eyes.
I couldn’t quite get over his presence in my kitchen. His flannel shirt brightened up the house. The curve of his smile was more lively and fascinating than anything I’d seen for weeks.
Everything was better when Zach was in the same room.
At one point I realized a full minute had gone by with nobody saying anything. We were all about the hot gazes and shy grins.
“Can I tell you I’m sorry now?” I blurted out. “Really, really sorry.”
His smile faded. “Don’t be sorry. I’m a big boy. I regret nothing.”
“I regret a few things,” I admitted. “I didn’t walk into your life so much as I sort of splattered into it—a hot mess, ready to blow. You deserved better, even if I was doing the best I could at the time.” That last bit would make my therapist proud.
He shook his head slowly. “You have nothing to apologize for. Like I told you last time I saw you—sometimes we can’t control that stuff.”
“I know. But I still wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all you did for me.” His blue-eyed gaze fell to the crumbs on the plate, and I realized how my use of the past tense might sound to him. Like a dismissal. “If you wouldn’t be opposed, I’d like to make it up to you.”
He swallowed hard, lifting his chin. “You don’t owe me anything.”
I slid off my stool and moved closer, putting my chin on his shoulder. He smelled woodsy, like Vermont, and so familiar it made my eyes sting. “Everything that happened to me almost seems worth it when you’re sitting in my kitchen. Because I love you, Zach.”
