"You're not going to lose everything you've worked for over one cup of this. You've come so far, and it shows. I mean it, babe—I'm proud of you. You've got discipline most people only wish they had... and I'm honestly in awe of you."
His gaze lingers on me—steady, unflinching. There's a warmth in it that steals the air from my lungs, the kind that doesn't need words to sayI see you.
The faintest smile tugs at his mouth, not playful this time, but full of quiet pride—like he's looking at something precious he's afraid to break.
"But you're still allowed to live. You shouldn't have to punish yourself for wanting something you used to love. One small treat won't erase your progress—it just reminds you that you're human. You deserve a little sweetness now and then."
His words land gently, like a hand on my shoulder. And God, part of me wants to believe him.
"I know," I whisper. "I know I shouldn't. But lately, every time I eventhinkabout eating something like this, my brain goes into overdrive. It's like solving a math problem I never asked for—how many spoonfuls I can have, how many calories that is, how many hours I'll need to spend running to make up for it. And by the time I finish overthinking, I just... don't eat at all."
I let out a shaky breath. "I miss it. I miss being able to enjoy things without guilt—Giuseppe's, whipped cream straight fromthe can, all of it. It feels like torture to want something so simple and then talk myself out of it."
"Then don't talk yourself out of it this time."
My gaze flicks to him.
He smiles—small, warm, and so damn patient. "Just one bite," he says, holding the cup out again. "That's all I'm asking. One bite to remind yourself that you're allowed to have things that make you happy. You can share it with me if that helps."
I stare at the cup. My mouth's already watering, traitorous. The scent of pistachio, the faint chill of it against the air—it's like the universe is testing me.
When I don't move, Zach shrugs and scoops a spoonful for himself. He closes his eyes and makes an exaggerated groan.
"Oh, my God. So good."
My eyes narrow. "Don't think for a second I don't know what you're doing right now, Westbrook."
He blinks, feigning innocence. "What? It really is so good."
"You'reoversellingit."
"Maybe," he says around another spoonful, "or maybe I just forgot how amazing this is." His eyes flutter dramatically. "Mmm. Perfection."
I roll my eyes, but it's useless. The more I watch him, the stronger the craving gets.
"Okay, fine!" I snatch the cup out of his hand. "I'll have some. But you'd better be ready to wake up early tomorrow—you're helping me burn every single calorie I'm about to eat."
His grin is instant, wicked. "If that's what it takes, I'm in. Though, for the record, you don't need to burn anything off." He leans in a little, voice dipping low. "Still, if it'll make you feel better—consider me your workout buddy from now on."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Probably," he says, flashing a mischievous smile. "But can you blame me?"
I stab the plastic spoon into the soft green ice. The texture yields instantly—smooth, creamy, melting almost as soon as it hits my tongue. The cold spreads through my mouth, sharp and sweet, the flavor pure nostalgia.
My eyes flutter shut, a sigh slipping out before I can stop it. "God... I forgot how good this is."
When I open them, Zach's watching me with quiet awe—like he knows how big this moment is. Pride glints in his eyes, not smugness but something warmer, gentler.
"From now on, I'm going to remind you what that feels like, okay? To eat without guilt, without the overthinking, without the math. I want to help you find the joy in it again—the way it's supposed to be."
That look hits me right in the chest, melting the last of my hesitation.
So I take another spoonful. And this time, I don't think. I just enjoy it.
The pistachio's almost gone before I even realize how close we've gotten—our knees brushing, his shoulder pressed against mine. It's easy, the kind of closeness that sneaks up without either of us noticing until it's already there.
We trade the spoon back and forth like kids, laughing between bites. Somehow, the topic drifts to his serenade, and that's when the real chaos starts.
