Page 103 of All the way home

And he’s so . . .

God.

Zach reaches for his wrist under the table and gives himself a sharp pinch, hard enough to bruise.

Not a dream.

Somehow.

He drains the rest of his glass.

“Do you regret it, then?” Kieran asks. “The relationship?”

Zach blinks.

Nobody’s ever asked him that before.

Carefully, he says, “No.”

“Good.” Kieran nods, almost approving. “Regrets are useless anyway.”

Then, abruptly, he stands up.

Startled, Zach moves to follow, but Kieran holds up a hand.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to take care of the bill—no, I am, no objections, okay? Hang tight.” He taps the top of the table with both hands and walks off.

Zach gives a tiny, helpless sigh, watching him go, watching how easy it looks as he chats with Billie.

Then, on his way back, Kieran stops. He pulls out his phone, and whatever he sees there must delight him, because he smiles, raw and genuine, which makes Zach’s stomach lurch. Who’s messaging Kieran to make him smile like that?

Kieran taps out a message, still smiling, then pockets his phone and returns, receipt in hand. Across the back of it, someone—Billie, presumably—has scribbled a number with a smiley face. It’s as though the universe is conspiring to remind him exactly how desirable Kieran is, and exactly how unequipped Zach is to offer any real competition.

Of course, Kieran doesn’t even seem to notice the number as he tucks the receipt into his wallet. “What do you think?” he asks, with that wide, brilliant smile. “More delays, or is it time to board for real?”

“No idea.” With a strange jolt, Zach realizes he doesn’t really care.

Actually, there’s a part of him that would be fine with the flight being pushed further and further back if it means this can keep happening. Kieran’s attention—mostly—on him.

“I suppose we’d better find out,” Kieran says, and gestures for Zach to follow.

And because he’s starting to think he’d follow Kieran anywhere, Zach does.

Hour Nine-7:41 P.M. Chapter Thirty-Three

Rena

Rena looks up to find Lucas watching her carefully. “What?”

“Are you still upset about this morning?”

Slowly, crossing her arms over her chest, she says, “I’m not upset about this morning.”

“So . . . you’re upset about something else.”

Wearily, Rena tells him, “I don’t know.”

“If I’ve done something, tell me.”