I smile, but it lands somewhere halfway.
I’ve thought about it. A lot.
But every time I come up with an idea, my mind jumps to the next one before I can hold onto it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to pin a story down long enough to write it.
As predicted, the last customer finally leaves.
I turn to grab my things when the bell above the door rings.
“Why?” I mutter under my breath.
I wait for Tess to make some sarcastic remark, but when I glance at her, she’s… staring.
Wide-eyed.
“Hi,” she says to whoever just walked in.
That’s enough to make me turn around.
And then I see him.
Zane.
Immediately, I’m aware of everything: the strand of hair stuck to my cheek, the faint smudge of mascara under my eyes, the flour that somehow managed to get everywhere despite the apron.
“Hey,” Zane says, his voice softer than I remember, his gaze flicking from Tess to me and back again. “How’s your knee?”
He’s wearing a sweatshirt.
Which should not be doing what it’s doing.
His jeans are worn in a way that looks intentional. His hair is slightly messy. And his eyes…
His eyes are unfair.
“It’s you,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “You’re not wearing skates,” I add quickly, like that explains anything.
“He asked about your knee,” Tess murmurs beside me.
Oh my God.
“I need to check on inventory,” she adds, already backing away.
We did inventory this morning.
Traitor.
“My knee’s fine,” I say, turning back to Zane, who’s still standing at the register like this is a normal interaction, and I am absolutely not internally combusting. “I fall recreationally now.”
“Good,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Leo said you were fine. I just… wanted to make sure.”
Leo texted me that Zane asked about me, but I didn’t believe him. So he did ask about me? That lands somewhere warm and inconvenient.
“What can I get you?” I ask, glancing at our nearly empty display case, mostly to give myself something to do.
“Whatever you recommend,” Zane says.
He smiles.
