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"Love you too."
Half an hour later, a soft rap on the door sends my heart into overdrive. I don't even have to ask to know it's Zayne. I don't have to guess to know what will happen if I let him in.
The only thing standing between me and him is one door and about fifteen years of family trauma. But not even that sounds so loud in the dead of night. Or maybe talking to Gran helped. I don't know.
All I know for sure is that the only man who has ever made me want to risk it is standing on the other side of the door, waiting for me to decide if I want to let him in…and I don't want to spend the rest of my life afraid to actually live it.
I don't want to wake up fifty years from now, wondering if I let the best thing that ever happened to me slip through my fingers. Maybe I am like my mom, destined to hurt the people I love. Maybe I'm like my dad, destined to spend my life flutily trying to put back together the pieces of a broken heart. Maybe I'll be like Gran, spinning like a top without the man of my dreams to ground me. Or maybe I'm meant to take all of those fears and niggling worries and doubts and forge them into my own destiny. I don't know. I don't have all the answers.
But I do have this one.
I scurry across the room, pulling the door open.
Zayne's gray eyes slide down my body, doing a slow perusal. "Only you could make cat pajamas sexy, lamb."
"Hi," I whisper.
He lifts his gaze to mine. "You okay? I could hear you overthinking from the living room."
"Sorry." I grimace. "I mean, no, you couldn't."
"So you were overthinking."
"Yes. No." I huff, crossing my arms to glare at him. "Stop confusing me."
He chuckles, one side of his mouth quirking up into a sexy smile. "Stop being so fuckin' cute."
"I can't help the way God made me, Zayne."
His smile grows as he glances over my head. "Your room is nice. Doesn't match the rest of the house."
"You mean it doesn't look like we robbed a furniture store?" My room is the only one in the house where everything matches. Every other room is a treasure trove of antiques and flea market finds Gran and Bets just had to have. At least until they find the perfect piece to replace it. Redecorating makes them happy, so I don't complain.
"That's one way to put it."
I laugh quietly. "Gran and Bets like to shop. They're forever swapping out one piece of furniture or another. I put my foot down about changing things in here after I woke up to find a four-foot giraffe standing in the corner."
I nearly fell out of my bed. Gran thought I'd get a kick out of the wooden sculpture. I'm still not entirely sure how they hauled it in here by themselves. It was heavy!
"They're wild, aren't they?"
"You don't know the half of it," I mutter. "My grandpa died six years ago. He was the only thing keeping them in line."
"You've been carin' for them since you were seventeen?"
"For the most part. Gran had a stroke a year after Grandpa died. Her judgment hasn't been the best since then. I'm not sure Bets ever had good judgment. Individually, they're manageable, but together?" I tuck strands of hair behind my ears, shaking my head. "Well, let's just say it's a miracle neither of them has ended up in jail for very long."
"For very long?" His right brow climbs.
"I told you that they're wild." I stare at him with wide eyes. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to convince a judge that your seventy-seven-year-old aunt didn't mean to flee from the police when you're pretty sure she actually did mean to do it?"
"Jesus Christ," he laughs in disbelief.
I'm not making it up, though. With them, I'm never making it up. When Grandpa was still here, he could talk them down or at least mitigate some of the damage. But without him, they don't even try to behave. It's like they've decided they're done playing by the rules and are going to spend their last years living life on their terms. I don't begrudge them that. I love them for it. But that doesn't mean I don't worry.
"They adore you."
"The feeling is mutual. I wouldn't change them," I whisper fiercely. "Not even for a second."
