“So,” Zack said after a moment, setting down the menu. “Are we doing the whole ‘pretend we’re sophisticated and pick something we can’t pronounce’ thing, or just order the good stuff?”
“The good stuff,” I said immediately. “Always the good stuff.”
He grinned, and that spark of shared humor made something in my chest loosen.
We ended up ordering two pastas to share.
Carbonara, the other a simple but perfect tomato and basil. And because Zack’s eyes lingered a moment too long on the dessert list, I added a tiramisu.
Over dinner, conversation flowed as easily as the wine.
We talked about music and movies, the ridiculous things that had happened during the audition, and how small towns like Pecan Pines seemed to attract more drama than anywhere else.
Zack told me more about his earlier days with his first band, careful not to mention Theo.
I told him about growing up in a noisy, chaotic household, where trying to get five brothers to share a bathroom was basically a blood sport.
He laughed so hard he nearly choked on his pasta.
“I’m serious,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “You think pack dominance fights are bad? Try morning showers.”
“Okay, okay, I’m picturing it,” Zack said between laughs.
The warmth in his eyes when he looked at me after that did something strange to my heartbeat. He looked happy and relaxed.
That, more than anything, made the whole night feel like a win. When the waiter brought the tiramisu, Zack leaned forward, eyes bright.
“Okay, I’ve been waiting all night for this,” he said.
“You could’ve just ordered it first,” I said, teasing.
“Please. Dessert is the grand finale.” He scooped up a bit and offered me a spoonful. “C’mon. Tell me this isn’t the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”
I leaned in, lips brushing the edge of the spoon as I took a bite. Sweet, creamy, laced with espresso.
“Damn,” I said quietly. “You might be right.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment too long before he looked down again, faint color rising in his cheeks. “Told you.”
The air between us shifted after that. It became charged. Every time our hands brushed reaching for the same dish, I felt it.
Every smile seemed to hang in the air a second longer than it should.
By the time the plates were cleared, I didn’t want the night to end. I offered to cover the bill before Zack could even reach for his wallet.
“You sure?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Positive,” I said. “You can get the next one.”
He raised a brow, clearly catching the implication that there’d be a next one. Instead of arguing, he just smiled. “Deal.”
Outside, the air was crisp and cold, tinged with the faint smell of woodsmoke. Zack walked beside me, our hands brushing occasionally as we made our way to the car.
He didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to drift closer.
The drive back was quiet, but not in a bad way. It was the kind of silence that felt comfortable, like we didn’t need to fill it.
Zack hummed softly to whatever song played on the radio. I found myself watching him out of the corner of my eye.
