"I just wanted to help..." I mumble, smiling to myself.
From the desk, he glances at me over his shoulder, smirking. "Can't I just spoil my woman?"
"Well, if you put it like that, then who am I to argue?"
I try to keep a straight face, but my lips twitch into a smile I can't hide. My heart's doing this ridiculous fluttery thing in my chest, and I swear I can feel heat crawling up my neck.
"Exactly," he says simply, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Seriously, who bails on his friends, drives an hour back, brings me dinner, and still insists on cleaning?
The man's setting an unrealistic standard for every other human being on earth.
While Zach tosses the empty containers into the trash, he glances over his shoulder. "So, how was rehearsal today?"
I groan softly, leaning forward to massage my calves. "Long. My legs hate me, my back hates me, and I think my brain quit like, two hours in."
He chuckles. "That bad, huh?"
I shrug. "Not bad, just... a lot. We did scene blocking for half the day, and Callahan's being... you know, Callahan—terrifying but effective. It's just exhausting. But hey, part of the job."
"Yeah, but knowing you, you're secretly thriving in all that chaos."
I raise an eyebrow. "Thriving?"
He grins. "Come on, I've seen this pattern before—you'll complain about how drained you are, then five minutes lateryou'll talk about how it's all 'so fulfilling' or whatever. You love the grind. You're basically powered by stress and applause."
"Yeah, whatever." I laugh, tossing a crumpled napkin at him. "You're so annoying."
He's right, though.
I'm kind of a masochist like that—I complain nonstop about the pain and exhaustion, but deep down, I live for it. There's something weirdly satisfying about feeling like you've poured every ounce of yourself into something you love.
It hurts like hell, but it's the kind of pain that reminds you you're doing something right.
"And yet, you still love me."
I scoff, exasperated. "In your dreams, Westbrook."
He just laughs, heading toward the bathroom. A moment later, I hear the faucet running.
"Oh, tomorrow's kind of exciting, by the way," I call out.
"Why?"
"Tomorrow's costume fitting day!" My tone perks up immediately.
Zach reappears, carrying a small basin of water, chuckling as he shakes his head. "See? Exhausted five seconds ago, now you're glowing."
I squint at the basin. "What's that?"
He smirks, crouching in front of me as he sets it down.
It's filled with water and ice cubes—I didn't even notice him open the freezer. My brows knit together. "Why does that look like something from a torture scene?"
He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, grabs my ankle gently, and dips my foot into the icy water.
"Ahh! Zach!" I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut. The shock of cold bites up my leg, and I jerk like I've been electrocuted. "That's freezing!"
