Myhoneycomb.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says happily.
When his hands drop, he offers me his arm instead, and I reluctantly thread my hand through it. He knows where we’re going after all, and this feels marginally less intimate than handholding.
When we’re away from the line and weaving through the tables, Zach leans in and says, “Although, we both know what actually helps you sleep.”
“Zach,” I say sharply.
His eyes widen. “What? I’m talking about melatonin. It’s a very effective sleep aid, and whenever you used it, it always had you out like a light.”
Despite everything, my lips twitch. “You're impossible.”
“And you're beautiful. I believe I already mentioned that, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t think I was just complimenting the dress.”
I look up at him, narrowing my eyes.
“You know, there was a version of tonight where I quietly ate fries alone and avoided this entire conversation.”
He nods thoughtfully.
“Sounds terrible. I’m glad this happened instead.”
As we approach a curved booth near the windows, I spot two people sliding out of the other side. I recognize the tall guy immediately. Drew McCallister. The quarterback for the Santa Monica Rattlesnakes. Zach’s talked about him a lot. A gorgeous blonde takes his hand as we head toward them.
“You guys heading out?” Zach asks them.
“Yeah, man.” Drew clasps Zach's hand briefly. “Early excursion tomorrow. Bella wants to do the snorkeling thing at sunrise.”
“I want to see the reef before it gets crowded,” the woman with him—who I assume is Bella—says, leaning her head against Drew’s shoulder. She smiles at Zach, then turns to me. “So, you’re Honey.”
I freeze.
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Uh,” I say.
“He undersold you.”
It's a compliment, technically, but the way she says it makes me wonder what Zach has been saying about me.
“Enjoy your dinner,” she says. That’s it. No more explanation, and I’m supposed to just be okay with it.
Drew nods, looking between us. “Have a good night.”
“Night,” Zach says easily. “Hopefully see you around.”
The second they are out of earshot, I ask, “What exactly have you been telling people about me?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs.
“Zach.” I don’t stop looking at him.
“They asked why I was alone on the cruise. Not wanting to make it awkward, I may havevery casuallymentioned that I was here with my girlfriend, and she was feeling a little sick after we left.”
I stare at him. “I am not your girlfriend.”
“Noted.”
