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“You want to grab a drink?” he suggests.
I’m almost swayed to say yes because I’d like to spend more time with him, but my exhaustion wins out instead. “It’s tempting, but I’m so tired. I don’t think I’m up for a crowd tonight.”
“I get that,” he says. “What if I order some food to go and we eat at my house?”
Zane’s place is close to here. I study him for a second, wondering if this is really just dinner or code for something more. And I’m no longer sure that I don’t want it to be something more.I’m a weak, weak woman.But he looks innocent enough. And Iamhungry.
“That would actually be amazing,” I finally say.
He stands and pushes his arms through the sleeves of his coat one at a time. “Does Italian sound okay?”
“That sounds perfect,” I admit.
“I’ll head out now, grab the food, and meet you at my place when you’re done.”
I nod.
Zane leaves, and I sit at my computer to type in the details of his visit. It takes me about thirty minutes to tie up loose ends. Before I know it, I’m in my warm SUV, heading up the mountainto Zane’s place. I haven’t been here since the last time I spent the night with him. Something stirs inside my chest with the memory. This is the first time we will be alone at his place since I officially moved to Sullivan’s Way.
I park my SUV and amble along his heated walkway. There isn’t a speck of white on the concrete even though we had fresh snow earlier today, but the surface is damp.
I ring the bell, and the front door swings open a minute later. Zane is standing there in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt with an athletic symbol on the front.
“Hey.” He smiles. “Perfect timing.”
I step across the threshold and into his hallway. My nose is hit with the smell of cheese and garlic as I walk into his kitchen and over to the table, where three large bags sit. Zane stops at the cabinet to remove a couple of plates while I discard my coat. I wash my hands at the sink and then grab silverware. We move around the kitchen as a unit, and it’s strange how normal this all feels. Comfortable. Me, in his space. It’s like I never left.
“What do you want to drink?” he asks.
“I think I’ll just stick with water for now,” I say.
“You sure?” he asks, grabbing an IPA for himself and tempting me by waving it in the air.
“I’m sure.” I nod. “I’m afraid if I drink alcohol right now, it’ll put me to sleep.”
“We can’t have that.”
Zane sets his beer down and fills a glass of water for me. I thank him and take a sip when he hands it over. I start unpacking the bags.
“Did you buy one of everything?” I joke when I see the amount of food.
“Never order food when you’re starving,” he warns. “But there’s nothing wrong with leftovers. Just eat what you want.”
Zane bought fried calamari and mozzarella sticks, Caesar salads, and chicken Parmesan on a bed of spaghetti with marinara sauce. When I unload the last bag, I see a piece of cheesecake with berries on the side, crème brûlée, and a three-tier piece of chocolate cake.
I raise an eyebrow and glance over at him.
He smirks. “I didn’t know which dessert you would want. So, I got a few choices.”
I laugh. “I just so happen to like all three. I don’t discriminate when it comes to my sweet tooth.”
“Me neither.” He winks.
After we settle into our seats at the table, Zane raises his beer. I grab my glass of water, then hesitate.
“Isn’t it a curse of bad sex or something to toast with water?” I ask.
My question is innocent enough, but Zane’s blue eyes smolder anyway.
