Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
He nods and swings his legs over to the edge of the bed. With his back to me, I let my guard down a bit. I don’t like to see him hurting.
“Zane, I’m sorry.”
He looks over his shoulder and frowns. “I’m not sure I am.”
“Zane . . .” My voice is quiet. “Maybe you need—”
He stands and stretches. “What I need is coffee and one of Alma’s cinnamon rolls. Get dressed, Eve. We’re going to breakfast.”
“Um . . .”
“Don’t argue.” He comes toward me and touches the tip of my nose with his finger. “We’re going and I’m paying. I owe you for saving my ass last night.” Zane walks out of my room, leaving me speechless. I could tell him I’m not going. Except something tells me he won’t take no for an answer.
“Eve, hurry up.”
“I’m . . .” I stop myself before I say something inappropriate, before sighing and replying in a resigned voice, “Give me a second.”
“I’ve already given you a handful of seconds. Let’s go. I need coffee.”
Well, so do I and we’d probably have some if Zane had let me wake up like a normal person instead of crawling into my bed and creating all this unnecessary drama. I scramble to get dressed, throwing on a pair of sweats and an oversized sweatshirt. Alma’s isn’t far and hopefully the line isn’t long. I put my hair up in a bun and slip my earmuff headband over my head.
Zane’s pacing by the stairs. He sees me and stops. His eyes pierce mine for a long moment, and then a smile spreads from ear to ear.
“What?”
“Nice sweatshirt.”
I look at it, expecting to find a massive stain or rip on the front. It looks fine. The only problem is it’s old and faded, and completely worn in. It’s my favorite piece of clothing to wear between fall and spring.
Zane is still looking at me when I meet his eyes and then I stare back down at my sweatshirt, wondering what he sees that I don’t.
“You're going to have to fill me in,” I tell him.
“That’s my sweatshirt from my very first college visit,” he says. “I remember buying it, and you taking it from me maybe a month or two after? You told me sweatshirts were more comfortable after I’ve worn them for a period of time. This is one I didn’t mind giving you because it looked so cute on you.”
“Oh,” I say. “It’s one of my favorites. I wear it often. Do you want it back?” It’s easy to forget the little things, especially when we went to the same college for our undergrad studies.
Zane steps toward me, closing the distance between us. He reaches for the hem of the sweatshirt and runs his thumb and finger over the threadbare material.
“No, I don’t want it back. I would never do that to you, especially if it’s something you love so much. But what I will do is beg you to go to breakfast with me because I’m starving, and I have a slight hangover that requires coffee and a cinnamon roll.”
“Well, we can’t have you start the day like that now, can we?”
I motion for Zane to head down the steps and I follow behind him, locking my door on the way out. Zane takes the lead walking along the outer edge of the sidewalk where the traffic is, potentially saving me from getting soaked by a slush puddle if a car were to drive by too fast.
Thankfully, there isn't a line at Alma’s. We go inside, place our order, and then sit at an available table. In under five minutes, Alma walks toward us holding a tray with two plated cinnamon rolls warmed up with butter and extra frosting, and two cups of coffee. She sets them down in front of us and gives us a knowing smile.
“It’s good to see you guys together.”
Before Zane or I can correct her, she’s on her way back to the counter, chuckling. I shake my head at Zane and cut my first piece of the ooey gooey pastry.
“She’s going to start a rumor.”
“Could be worse things to talk about,” Zane says as he drinks from his mug.
“It’s not something either of us needs right now.”
“Are you going to ask about last night?”
I shake my head. “I am not. That’s between you and Caryn, and we’re not friends.”
“Aren’t we?”
After cutting another piece of the roll, I stab it with my fork and stick it in my mouth. Anything to prevent having an awkward conversation about how Zane and I aren’t friends, how I shouldn’t be here with him right now, and how he should’ve called someone else last night. I chew my bite a little longer than necessary, sighing while doing so, and avoid looking at the man across the small table from me.