“Consider it an apology for ambushing you on a cruise ship.”
“An apology would be getting off the cruise ship,” I say, although now that he's here, I'm not sure I want him to go.
“Let's not get crazy.” He stands, offering me his hand to help me out of the booth. This time, I take it. Just because the booth is deep and I’ve had a glass of wine.
His fingers close around mine, and he doesn't let go right away when I'm standing. He just holds on for a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing across my knuckles before he releases me.
We walk through the restaurant side by side, close enough that our arms brush with the gentle sway of the ship. The hallway outside is quieter, most passengers have already settled into evening shows or the casino.
At my cabin door, I fish out my key card, hyperaware of him standing behind me. The space between us feels electric, charged with all the things we said and all the things we didn't.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say quietly.
He leans against the wall, giving me a little space. “You’re welcome.”
I fidget with my room key, not quite meeting his eyes. “I should probably—”
“Honey, wait.” He runs a hand through his hair, and something in his expression shifts. “I’m sorry.”
The apology catches me off guard.
“I should've given you space,” he continues. “But I couldn't. I've spent over a year giving you space and it hasn't changed anything. We're still—” He trails off, like he's not sure how to finish.
“Still what?” I ask, and my voice comes out softer than I want it to.
“Still not us.”
I swallow hard.
Stop dangling yourself.
Olivia’s words are the ones playing in my mind now.
“Zach—”
“I know.” He steps closer, just enough that I can smell his cologne. It’s woody and warm and so painfully familiar that my heart aches. “I know this isn't what you planned but I'm here now, and I'm asking you to give me—giveus—these two weeks. That's all. Just let me remind you why we work. If it doesn't change how you feel, then at least I'll know I tried everything.”
When I look up at him and find nothing but sincerity in his expression, all I can think about is the boy I fell in love with in high school.
He’s always seen me in a way no one else has even tried to.
Before I can think better of it, I step into him.
My arms slide around his waist, and I press my face into his chest. His arms wrap around me instantly, pulling me closer until he can rest his chin on top of my head.
My hands fist in the back of his shirt, and I listen to his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek. He holds me in place like he never wants to let me go.
I let myself have this for just a second. Just long enough to remember what it feels like to be held by the only person who’s never once made me doubt that he wants me here.
When I tilt my head back to look at him, his eyes are already on me.
His face is close.
So close.
And his hands are on my waist. His lips are right there, and he's looking at me like I'm everything, and I—
I lean up.
