Page 33 of Not Until I Found You

And there, silhouetted against the light, is Zane. And there’s that tug again, the one that’s been growing stronger lately. I’ve felt it when he’s made me laugh when I least expected it and during our conversations that somehow leave me feeling lighter than before.

It’s unsettling...and comforting all at once. I hesitate because it’d be easier to stay here and read alone. Yet the thought of another lonely evening presses heavily against my ribs.

I let out a sigh and turn back inside, grabbing the container of leftover soup, deciding to at least give it to him. Sven spots me before Zane does. The golden retriever runs across the grass, his fur gleaming like molten copper in the firelight.

“Hey, boy.” I crouch down to scratch behind his ears. He leans into my touch with a happy whine, his tail thumping against my leg.

When I straighten, Zane turns toward me in his chair. The fire’s glow highlights the edges of his face, softening his lines a bit but not quite hiding the weariness I see there. He isn’t perfect from a technical standpoint, but he still has a rugged handsomeness to him.

The bridge of his nose isn’t straight with a small hump in the middle. There’s a scar on his forehead, right above his left eyebrow, and another that sits on the left of his cupid’s bow on his lips. He’s wearing a plain gray t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and worn jeans faded at the knees. A black ball cap shadows his golden-brown hair, but I can still see the way it curls faintly at the edges.

Hazel eyes meet mine as his brows draw together, an expression halfway between surprise and something heavier. I swallow, clutching the container of soup a little tighter.

“I thought you might be hungry,” I say, stepping closer toward him. “Ashton mentioned it’s been a rough week.”

Zane’s jaw tightens, and he shakes his head. “I already ate at my mom’s tonight, but…thanks.”

He reaches out and takes the container, his fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second, making my skin tingle unexpectedly. He studies the clear container for a moment before carefully setting it in his lap. I glance down and notice a book resting against his thigh.

A golden cross gleams on the spine and front cover. “It’s a good night for reading,” I say softly, trying not to seem intrusive, and hold up the book I’m still clutching onto. “I was going to do the same.”

He stiffens for a heartbeat then exhales.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll…let you get back to it. I’m sorry for intruding.”

He pauses, those dark brows of his furrowing again, as he lifts his eyes to mine. “You can stay, Max.”

I’m not sure why, but hearing him say my name, only Max, elicits a shiver from me. I settle into the chair beside him, the fire casting shadows across both of our faces.

“Thank you for the soup.”

“You’re welcome. It’s tomato basil. I made it from scratch, out of my dad’s garden.”

He perks up a bit, seeming impressed. “So, not only do you have a green thumb, but you cook too?” He grins, and it must be contagious because I do the same. “I can’t wait to try it.”

“I’ve been trying to have dinner ready for Ashton when he gets to Dad’s after work. I can tell these summer hours have been hard on him, and I want to help in any way that I can.”

His smirk transforms into something genuine. “He needs that. I know he’s grateful to have you around. If you keep cooking him delicious meals, he might not let you leave at the end of summer.”

I chuckle, already knowing it’s going to be hard to leave Ashton in a few months, so I try to push those uncomfortable thoughts away and shift the focus onto Zane.

“How has it been for you this week? We’ve both been leaving early and coming home late and have hardly bumped into each other.”

He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Work is the same for me as it’s been for Ash. Today’s just an extra-heavy day because it’s the anniversary of my grandfather’s passing.” He traces the edge of the Bible with his thumb. “I came out here, hoping to find some comfort in The Word, but grief doesn’t just leave, you know?”

I nod, hearing the ache in his voice, and a twinge of guilt hits me because I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone. Luckily, my mom’s parents are still alive and well in a retirement home in Florida. Dad’s parents passed away before I was born, so I never had the opportunity to know them.

“That’s understandable,” I add. “Did it help, in some way?”

He looks at the fire as his jaw twitches. “Yeah, in a way. I was reminded of God’s faithfulness. It lifts some of the weight, but grief is always lurking around.”

I hesitate before offering, “Do you read the Bible often?”

Zane looks at me thoughtfully. “I try my best to read it every day. What about you?”

I pause, fingers brushing at the spine of the book in my hand. It’s about plants that are native to Kentucky. Nothing like the one he’s holding in his hands.