“I was excited.”
“You were spiraling.”
I open my mouth to argue. He kisses me instead.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“You made me drive for five hours.”
“You could have flown.”
“I wanted to see the country.”
“In the dark?”
“I wanted to seeyou.”
I pull him inside.
We end up in the kitchen because it’s the warmest room in the house. My mother left a note on the counter that saysThere’s soup in the fridge and I like himwith a little smiley face that makes me want to die.
Zane reads it over my shoulder.
“She likes me.”
“She hasn’t met you yet.”
“She likes me.”
I shove his shoulder and he laughs.
“Are you going to stand in your mother’s kitchen all night,” he says, “or are you going to show me your room?”
“It’s my childhood bedroom.”
“I know.”
“It has posters of horses on the wall.”
His eyebrows go up. “Horses?”
“I was twelve.”
“Leonora Shaw, I didn’t think you’d be a horse girl.”
“I will end you.”
He grins. “Show me.”
The room is exactly as I left it - which is to say embarrassingly teenage. The horse posters. The bed with the quilt my grandmother made. It’s too small for two people but we’re going to make it work anyway.
Zane closes the door behind him and takes it all in.
“Youreallyliked horses.”
