"I also came to tell you something."
"What is it?"
He sighs, shoulders dipping a little. "I can't join you for dinner tonight."
"Oh." It slips out before I can stop it. Disappointment hits, but I cover it quickly.
He gives me that small, apologetic smile that makes it really hard to stay annoyed.
We've been eating together almost every day for the past couple of weeks—sometimes breakfast, sometimes lunch, but always dinner. It's becomeour thing.And apparently, I've gotten way too used to it.
Zach must notice, because his hand comes up, thumb brushing gently against my cheek. "Sorry, sugarplum," he murmurs. "I've just got somewhere to be tonight and I won't be back until morning workout."
My throat tightens, a question right there—where? with who?—but it doesn't make it past my lips.
Because what if it sounds clingy? Or like I'm creeping dangerously close to girlfriend territory? Which... I technically can't, since we haven't even definewhat we are.
I don't really know what the rules are. This whole thing—him, us—it's new to me.
Okay, mental note:first topic on Thursday's date—labels. We're fixing this. Immediately.
I manage a smile and roll my eyes, still trying (and failing) to hide the disappointment in my voice.
"It's alright, Zach. We don't have to eat together all the time."
"Don't say that," he counters instantly, grinning that stupidly sweet grin that turns my heart into a gymnastics arena.
"You know it's my favorite part of the day—because I get to spend time with you."
That does it. My lips twitch, and I can't help the small smile that escapes.
"Yeah, me too."
Right then, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He sighs, pulling it out, eyes flicking over the screen.
"Oh, shoot," he mutters, groaning softly before slipping it back into his pocket.
Then he looks at me, guilt and fondness blending in that way that always makes my stomach flip.
"I really gotta go," he says, reaching out to gently tug me closer by the back of my head before pressing a kiss to my forehead—warm, soft, and far too short.
"I'll text you later, okay?"
I nod, still feeling the warmth where his lips were. "Okay."
He grins, walking backward toward the door like he's reluctant to turn away.
"Don't miss me too much."
I laugh. "Don't worry, I won't!"
"Liar!" he calls out, flashing that grin again before finally turning the corner.
*****
Later that night, I somehow find myself at La Playa, the beachside bar that smells like coconut oil, sea salt, and bad decisions.
To be clear, this wasnotmy idea.
