Zayn has to field a fair few calls while we’re out, but he doesn’t seem like he’s desperate to get back to work. He hangs up from a longer phonecall while we’re walking to our next location.
“That sounded important,” I muse as I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck with one hand. He hasn’t let go of the other all day. “Do you have a big client?”
“Have you heard of Clint Branch?”
“The mining magnate? Of course.”
“He’s getting divorced.”
I drop my chin and cover my mouth with mock surprise. “No! His wife is only thirty-five years younger than him. Ineversaw that coming!”
Zayn rubs the amusement from his lips with his thumb.
“You and him both, apparently. He refused to sign a prenup.”
“Now that actually is shocking. He must be worth billions! What lawyers were on his payroll that allowed that to happen?”
“Not me, that’s for sure,” Zayn says, pulling me into his side as we wait for a tram to pass. A flicker of a thought pops into my mind, surely because of the conversation in Zayn’s kitchen last night.If we ever got married, would Zayn make me sign a prenup?
“I’ll be working overtime on his case this week. Probably a few late nights.”
“Oh.” I’m thrown out of my thoughts as disappointment crashes into me. “Okay.” I’m not sure how else to respond. We’re in this weird territory where we’ve rekindled but haven’t discussed what is actually between us. Are we a couple? Are we testing the waters? How much time will we be spending together? The last few days can’t set the precedent because we haven’t been apart once, but that’s not how it can continue going ahead. We’ve been in a lust-filled bubble for the last few days, but all bubbles have to burst.
“Where are we heading to now?”
“You’ll see,” I smile, excitement creeping back in for this next stop. When the huge neoclassical style building comes into view a few minutes later, it’s grandeur and double-storey columns an imposing figure before us, Zayn turns to me in amusement.
“Of course you would take me to a library.”
I’ve walked past and admired this beautiful building countless times over the years, but I’ve never been inside. Itcouldn’t be more fitting that the first time I come here is with Zayn. We walk up the stairs, and when we step inside, I’m left speechless by the beauty of the centuries-old building. Zayn takes over and leads me toward the white-haired librarian manning the information desk.
“We’re looking for the poetry section,” he says smoothly, giving the librarian a winning smile. She does a double take when she looks up from her screen and sees Zayn standing there. Heislooking more handsome than what should be legal in a pair of chinos and a black coat, even though he’s young enough to be her son.
“Of course,” she says, fumbling with the buttons on her cardigan as she stands. “Let me show you the way.”
As the librarian leads us past the quiet workstations and into a row of shelves, I know that Zayn and I are both thinking of memories past. A different library, in a different time. Two kids who were falling in love for the first time.
Perhaps the only time. Maybe that love never ended.
“Here’s your Emily Dickinson’s and your Walt Whitman’s,” the librarian lifts her hand and presents the books to us like they’re pieces of fine artwork. Which they are. “Can I assist you further?”
“No, we’re good now. Thank you.”
We wait until the librarian has disappeared from our aisle and we’re alone amongst the books until we turn to face each other.
“This is romantic.” I grin up at Zayn. He steps toward me so our chests are touching and I have to tilt my head back to see him. His hand cups my cheek, the other wraps around my waist.
“Those words are still true now, you know.”
I know what he’s talking about but I still ask, “What words?”
“If I know what love is, it is because of you.”
He bends down to kiss me, and between the moment he first spoke those words to me and now, no time has passed at all. I let myself get lost in his kiss, in the rampant fluttering of my heart, the erratic pump of my blood through my veins as my hands fist his hair, not letting myself wonder what his words could mean for us beyond this perfect moment.
Later,when we’re walking to the bar, I fish my phone out of my pocket and screen another call from Anna. I’m about to text her to say I’ll call her back soon when Zayn interrupts.
“Invite her to drinks if you like,” he says, glancing down at the screen. “I’d like to see her again.”
