Zalea studies me for a long moment. “This doesn’t mean we start trying right away,” she says carefully.
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t mean I suddenly trust that you won’t panic and leave again.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what happened.”
“Zalea, I don’t want you to forget,” I say quietly. “I just want the chance to do better.”
She reaches up and cups my face briefly, thumb brushing my jaw. “This,” she says, nodding at the basket, “is a good start.”
Halfway down the pasta aisle, she nudges me. “You know,” she says thoughtfully, “we could also just adopt a dog. A Sprinkles Jr.”
“After I just committed to fatherhood?” I snort, raising a brow. “We can get a dog and have enough kids to start our own little league.”
She laughs and the sound fills me with hope.
The grocery bagsare cutting into my fingers by the time we turn onto our street, but I don’t say anything because I loaded most of the weight onto myself on purpose. Zalea walks beside me with two reusable bags hooked over her forearm, and a watermelon flavoured gelato in her hand, the late-afternoon sun warming her cheeks pink.
“You realize,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers, “this is the most domestic we’ve ever been.”
I glance down at her. “Speak for yourself. I’m very domesticated.”
She laughs around her spoon. “You panicked in the bulk aisle.”
“That woman was judging me.”
“I’m pretty sure she was asking if you needed a scoop.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she’s already smiling too hard for me to win.
“You also bought six zucchinis,” she says.
“You said you liked zucchini.”
“I said I tolerate zucchini.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll love it the way I make it.”
She laughs under her breath, and everything feels normal in a way we’ve never really allowed ourselves to be. When we round the corner toward our building, Zalea stops so abruptly I nearly crash into her.
“What—”
I follow her line of sight and see a guy leaning against the stone beside the entrance, ankle crossed casually over the other,phone in hand. His hair is a little longer than I remember, broader shoulders, sun-browned skin, and a familiar Saltwater Shredders hoodie, despite the heat.
Zalea gasps, causing him to look up and grin.
“About time,” he says.
“Zale?”
He pushes off the wall just as the grocery bags and gelato slip from her hands to the pavement. She runs to him and he catches her mid-collision, lifting her clean off the ground.
“What are you doing here?” she laughs.
“I told you I had a housewarming gift,” he says. “It’s me. I also figured someone had to make sure you didn’t let this guy decorate.”
