Page 79 of The Sweetness of Life

More knocking, which causes me to pause, and then I hear the creak of the front door as it’s opened and closed.

Of course he can’t just leave like a normal guy would when being ignored—he had to dig out his keys and let himself in where he isn’t welcome! I’m fuming over his audacity when he pushes my bedroom door open.

Very cautiously, he steps into the room, and my body jolts with an unwanted natural reaction to him. His hair is sticking up from running his hands through it, and his eyes are wild with worry. His cheeks are flushed from the trip down here, and there’s stubble across his chin that I didn’t notice earlier. I’m bombarded by the outdoor smell of him, and my breath catches at how it has become something I crave.

“What are you doing here?” I ask sharply. He needs to go.

The sound of my voice has his eyes, which had been doing a slow trek down my body, shooting back to mine. I almost wish they hadn’t, because he watches as water drips from my hair over my face and reads every emotion I’m trying to hide. His hands slowly fist at his sides, and his chest moves faster with each breath he takes.

I hate that I’m overly exposed to him right now, physically and emotionally. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t get to see me like this. No one should see me like this.

“Shelby.” He takes a step toward me and pauses as I take one back, gripping the towel tighter. His presence is warming my chilled skin. It’s quite possible if he comes any closer, I will either strip him or punch him. I don’t know which urge would win.

“Get out, Zach.” My tone is calm, but my annoyance is evident.

His eyes narrow as the thoughts in his mind go to war with each other. I spot the shadows under his eyes, letting me know one of his migraines is setting in, and I hate that I care. He needs to go, but his steely determination tells me he won’t—he can’t. For his sake, I hope he took that medicine before he came down here.

“No,” he replies with a small shake of his head. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” Then he walks out of the room.

Why did he come after me? Why can’t he just let me be? The assignment is over, and we are over—not that there ever truly was a ‘we’.

Resigned, I take my time getting dressed, but I can only stall for so long. With a heavy sigh, I put on my big girl panties and make my way to the kitchen to talk to the one person I really don’t want to talk to.

Zach is sitting with his elbows on the kitchen island, his head lowered, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck. As much as I don’t want to feel bad for him, I do, even if he did bring this upon himself.

“What’s that?” I spot a pecan pie next to him.

His head lifts, and he follows my gaze to the pie. He lets out a sigh and then turns to look at me, blue eyes darker than normal. “I called Lexi and had her ship it for you. You said it was your favorite, and I thought you might like it.”

“You thought I might like it . . . or it was part of your plan?”

He flinches. Good.

“I honestly don’t know what to think,” I say, walking to the opposite side of the island so I’m not standing so close to him. “I’m sure you meant well, nice gesture and all . . .” My eyes narrow. “Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe it was all part of your win-her-over plan by calling my friend to have her help you with this little duplicitous charade of yours. Kind of pathetic, don’t you think?” I cross my arms over my chest and briefly look away. He doesn’t need to see how much this thought hurts me.

He lets out another sigh then runs his hand across his face and through his hair before pinning me with an unreadable look. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to say for himself, so I save him the trouble of asking and tell him what he wants to hear.

“If you’re here to make sure I don’t take down your coveted blog post, I won’t. It’s already out there, so what would be the point?”

“I’m not here for that.” He shakes his head, imploring me to understand. Understand what?

“Then why are you here?” I yell at him, and he flinches again.

“I needed to see you. I need you to let me explain.” His hands slide across the island palm down, as if he’s reaching for me.

“There’s nothing to explain.” I take a step back and lean against the oven. “You said it yourself: winning is everything to you. I should have known . . . should have seen it coming from a mile away, and I definitely should have seen straight through your ‘let’s start over’ bullshit. The hatred you had for me at the event and when I first arrived was too strong to be swept under the rug. Why I thought you’d suddenly changed your mind about me, I don’t know. God, I feel so stupid.” I turn away from him and walk toward the French doors.

“Stop. Right there.” His voice is firm, and I slowly spin to face him, anger flaring.

He’s only a few paces away, and before he can open his mouth to say anything, I lay into him. “Even though I still have no idea what I did to make you dislike me so much, the truth is, someone like you was never going to like someone like me, and that’s fine with me. I get it, and I know who I am. I’m smart, I’m beautiful, I’m successful, and I hate that until I met you, no one’s opinion of me mattered but my own.”

I saw the pictures of him and his ex-girlfriend online. Hell, I saw all the photos of him with other girls, and none of them look like me.

“Shelby, you are beautiful, and you are smart.” He gets up and moves around the island, taking a few steps toward me, his hands flexing like he wants to touch me. “And you’re right—no one’s opinion should matter but your own.”

So why did I allow yours to?

The sincerity of his words resonates deep within me, and my heart aches for the moments we had and will never have again. I liked him. I really liked him.