“Now I only want to throw things at you maybe twice a day. Significant progress.”
His foot finds mine under the table, a gentle press that feels more intimate than a kiss would. Outside the window, seagulls wheel and cry, occasionally diving toward the water. Their calls blend with the clatter of silverware and the low murmur of conversation surrounding us. This is what happiness feels like, I realize with sudden clarity. This exact moment, right here.
“So,” Zayn says, pulling me back to the present. “I’ve got that property dispute case starting tomorrow. The infamous fence that’s been relocated three times.”
I make a sympathetic noise. “The Henderson-Mackley saga?”
“You know about it?”
“Mrs. Mackley brings her poodle for grooming monthly and discusses that fence the entire appointment. Apparently Mr. Henderson moved it six inches onto their property in 1997 and she’s still harboring a grudge.”
Zayn shakes his head, sipping his black coffee. “Try twenty-six years of property deeds, hand-drawn maps, and grainy photographs of fence posts. I’ve got literal boxes of ‘evidence’ to go through.”
I steal a piece of his bacon. “Poor baby lawyer,” I tease. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a ferret tomorrow who bites anything that moves and a cat who’s pulling out his own fur because he’s ‘anxious about politics.’”
“The cat told you that himself?” Zayn raises an eyebrow.
“His owner insists Mr. Whiskers is deeply invested in politics.” I fight a smile. “She plays CNN every evening and claims he meows differently when certain senators speak.”
We laugh together, and it feels effortless. That’s what’s changed. We laugh without forcing it. We can sit in comfortable silence without it feeling weighted. We simply fit better now.
“How’s the partnership paperwork progressing?” Zayn asks, signaling the waitress for more coffee.
My heart does a little leap thinking about it—me, Sophie Whitmore, about to co-own Bellrose Veterinary Clinic. “I signed everything Friday. Dr. Martinez is filing it all tomorrow.” I can’t suppress my grin. “It still feels completely unreal.”
“It’s very real.” Zayn takes my hand across the table, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my palm that send pleasant shivers up my arm. “You earned this, Soph. All of it.”
The waitress refills our coffee, and we continue discussing our upcoming week. Zayn gets excited talking about his cases, particularly when he mentions helping locals navigate complex legal issues. I describe the three-legged rescue pug coming in for his final checkup before officially joining his new family. We laugh about Harper’s awful date last weekend and wonder if Sara’s weird haircut was on purpose or just a big mistake.
After we finish eating, Zayn pays the bill despite my offer to split it. He takes my hand as we stroll toward the harbor, our fingers interlacing naturally. Wind whips my hair across my face, and Zayn tucks it behind my ear before I can react.
“I was going to do that,” I protest, butterflies erupting in my stomach.
“Too slow,” he says, grinning.
We pass shops opening for the day, joggers, people walking their dogs. Boats bob gently in the harbor, their lines creaking in the breeze. Small pink roses blooms along the waterfront path. I inhale salt air and coffee from the cup in my hand, feeling strangely content just existing here, right now, with him.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it while Zayn stops to greet a golden retriever and its owner. The text message makes my stomach plummet.
REMINDER: Apartment lease renewal due by Friday. Need your decision ASAP. - Tom
I shove my phone back in my pocket quickly, hoping Zayn can’t read the anxiety that just flooded my system. I’ve been avoiding this decision for weeks now.
“Everything okay?” Zayn asks, returning to my side. He always notices when something shifts.
“Yeah, fine.” I respond too quickly, too brightly. I sip my now-lukewarm coffee to hide my expression. “Just Sara asking about dinner plans tonight.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I can tell he doesn’t buy it. But he doesn’t push. He simply takes my hand as we continue walking.
My thoughts spiral. The lease deadline has been looming over me for weeks, but I’ve been avoiding discussing it with Harper and Sara. And especially with Zayn. I already sleep at his place most nights. Mia has her own bed in his living room now. Half my wardrobe has migrated to his closet. But making it official feels so big. Like I’m surrendering the last shred of independence I’ve been clinging to.
I stop walking abruptly, paralyzed by sudden panic. What if I give up my apartment, move in completely, and then?—
I can’t complete the thought. Can’t articulate the fear gnawing at my chest. It’s irrational anyway. Zayn isn’t leaving. He refused New York. His law practice is thriving here. He loves me.
So why can’t I shake this anxiety coiling in my gut? What if he gets bored with small-town life? What if I’m not enough to keep him engaged long-term? What if history repeats itself?
Not again. I can’t survive that again.
