Once in the vehicle, Zayn turned to Azlyn.“What’s the name of the place?”he asked.
Azlyn told him, and the SUV pulled out.Zayn rested his hand on her thigh, giving her knee a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s not so bad, being driven everywhere,” he said.“Usually, I have more freedom.But not when there’s a credible threat.”
“I understand,” she replied, though her eyes hinted she didn’t entirely.
His chest tightened.He’d explain later.
The café was quiet when they arrived—early Saturday mornings tended to be slow, and the bodyguards easily positioned themselves around the space without drawing attention.
In a cozy corner booth, their coffee arrived just as Zayn brought up American politics.Azlyn immediately launched into a spirited critique of the administration’s military decisions.
He disagreed—and loved every second of it.
Their back-and-forth was fast, sharp, and unapologetically passionate.He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had challenged his geopolitical viewsandmade him laugh in the same breath.
When their food arrived, Zayn eyed her plate warily.“Are there any nutrients in that?”he asked, frowning at the pile of biscuits slathered in lumpy white gravy.
“Absolutely none,” she said, grinning.She pointed her knife at his egg-white omelet.“Stick to your sad, flavorless breakfast and leave my glorious comfort food alone.”
She sliced a wedge, dunked it in the gravy, and hummed with delight.“Delicious,” she sighed.“How’s your omelet?”
He inspected it—no cheese, grilled vegetables.Technically fine.But lacking something.“Could use more seasoning.”
He stabbed a bite of her biscuit before she could protest and popped it into his mouth.
His eyes widened.“Damn.That’sgood.”
“Told you!”she crowed.
When he reached for another bite, she blocked him with her fork.He easily caught her wrist, neutralizing her defense.
“No fair!”she laughed.
He raised a hand.A waitress appeared instantly.“Could I get an order ofthat?”he asked, gesturing to Azlyn’s plate.
“Of course,” she said with a smile.
For the next hour, they drank coffee and debated everything—from the purpose of sports to education funding, free college tuition, the upcoming election in Lativa, and regional politics.
He devoured his own plate of biscuits and gravy, then ordered extra for his guards stationed at nearby tables—and even had some delivered to the security team waiting in the SUV.
Azlyn grinned smugly during the ride back to her apartment.
But the second the door closed behind them, Zayn wiped the smugness off her face—replacing it with need and breathless laughter.
And afterward, when she lay wrapped in his arms, his chest rising and falling with hers, Zayn found himself wondering what it meant that—for the first time in his life—hedidn’twant to leave.
Chapter 11
“Come back with me,” Zayn whispered, kissing her neck early Monday morning.
Azlyn rolled over, blinking at him in the darkness.“What did you just say?”
He kissed her shoulder, voice softer this time.“Come back to Lativa with me.”He brushed her hair out of her eyes.“I don’t want this to end.”
“I can’t, Zayn.”She stroked his cheek.“My life is here.”
