His answer shuts me down. I try to concentrate on cutting my pancakes, but it’s impossible to ignore the zing up my arm each time I brush his. I also refuse to move away and reveal how his proximity affects me.
“So what are we up to today?” he asks, turning toward me.
We. I shouldn’t like the sound of that as much as I do.
I reach into the pocket of my sweatpants for the list I scribbled last night while watching TV. I wrestled with this strange pact we made once I was alone, wondering if I should tell Zach I don’t have time. It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the real reason I’d choose to back out.
He’s put me at ease since the moment I met him. I’m a mouse, inching toward a block of cheese, sure it’s a trap, but wanting, so desperately, to be wrong. If anyone else had found me duringthe wedding reception, I wouldn’t have talked longer than thirty seconds. I had been perfectly content sitting alone in the dark. Until Zach Briggs barged into the closet, rambling and nervously laughing while he couldn’t tear his gaze from me.
“You made a list?” Zach snatches it from my fingers while I’m distracted by memories.
“It’s not—” I say before the paper is ripped from my grip. “Hey—give it back!”
My hand darts toward him, but he deftly avoids my reach, holding the note away from me on the other side of his body. He reads the list, mouthing words for an excruciatingly long time.
His prolonged silence means judgment. Embarrassment creeps into my cheeks, no doubt coloring my skin flaming red.
I wrote the list after remembering Zach has been the most comfortable presence since my diagnosis. I’m not sure how I know he’ll accept what I can give without pushing for more or thinking I’m not enough because I hold back. It’s the reason I stayed with him the night we met. I needed to bask in the flicker of emotion sparking inside me. I agreed to this silly arrangement with Zach for the same reason. I want to hang onto these feelings a little longer.
“This list is perfect,” Zach says as he slams the paper on the counter between us. He flashes a quick grin at me before hopping off his stool and jogging to the desk for a pen. “Just one thing to add.”
He hastily writes something in a messy scrawl at the bottom.
I blink at him. “You want to know what college is like?”
He shrugs and nods at the same time, sending his shoulders to his ears.
“Why?”
“American movies always make college look like the best time of your life.”
I cock an eyebrow. “American movies, huh? There’s no other reason you’d want to be on a college campus?” He stares blankly, so I add, “It’s not an excuse to meet cute college girls?”
“No, no—that’s not…” Zach sputters, shaking his head. “It’s the movies.”
I huff out a laugh, then lean toward Zach and pitch my voice low. “Let me tell you a secret.” I’m hit with a wave of his damn heady cologne again and retreat to the safety of my seat. In my normal voice, I say, “Movies lie.”
“Not always.”
My gaze stays locked on his. “Is that so?”
He nods, his hair shifting enough to catch a glimpse of his pink-tinged ear. A Zach Briggs tell. “Your life can change after a chance magical encounter with a stranger.”
My stomach fills with the same fizz as when I’m airbound, flipping and twisting through space. I crave the exhilaration of defying the laws of science, but it unnerves me to experience it while safely on the ground.
I clear my throat, turning back to my cooling pancakes. “Oh, what would it be like to go through life with your optimism?”
“Well,” Zach says, tapping a finger on my list, “you’re about to find out.” He picks his pen up and flips over my note. “Let’s make this all official, channel my inner Finley Harris.”
I slip off my stool and head to the drawer next to the fridge. While Zach writes his fun list, I take my first lithium pill of the day. Matt insists on keeping the pills beside the fridge in one of those days-of-the-week medication dispensers. I need the lithium to moderate my moods, so I’m not going to skip a dose or chuck the medication. But Matt’s an overbearing mother hen, and he periodically checks the security system to make sure I'm not doing something irresponsible.
“I have veto power,” I tell Zach, spinning on the balls of my feet one hundred eighty degrees until I face him.
Zach spears me with a grin. “It’s like you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t,” I fire back, drifting to my seat. “We don’t—” I stop myself from finishing the statement.We don’t know each other well. He’d tell me we know each other better than I’m implying. I don’t need the reminder.
Finally, I say, “Trust is earned, Zachary.”
