Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Sun Tower #3)

44. Zinneerah

44

Zinneerah

“ T hat’s a wrap!”

Professor Daniels and his symphony break into applause, patting themselves on the back.

Our little trio soaks it up, too, with Alex leading the charge. She’s hugging everyone, throwing out cheek kisses, and promising Studio 365 after-party plans like she’s campaigning for mayor.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary babes,” Alex begins, sweeping her arm theatrically, “it has been an honor for Ophelia, Zinneerah, and me to be part of your team. I was five when I discovered the xylophone, and since then . . .”

She’s about to launch into a 30-minute Ted Talk, and I don’t have the attention span to focus.

Ophelia’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She catches my eye and gives me a quick smile. “Be right back.”

She tugs Alex by the sleeve mid-monologue, cutting her off. Alex looks betrayed for all of two seconds, then decides she has bigger fish to fry.

From where I’m standing, I can see the pair whispering behind the curtain, heads close together. There’s a lot of giggling.

Suspicious .

Because I don’t like being left out, I march toward them, arms crossed. Ophelia is quick to hang up the phone when she sees me coming. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Alex squeaks. Then she clears her throat and tries again, this time doing her best sultry alto. “Nothing, babe. Just chilling.”

I narrow my eyes at her, then flick my attention to Ophelia. “You sure?”

“Of course,” she says with the calm confidence of someone who’s absolutely lying. “It was Juliette. She was just calling about, you know . . . the—”

“Crush!” Alex jumps in. “Yeah, the crush. She’s got this crush on one of her friends and loves to give us updates. It’s adorable, really.”

“Juliette doesn’t have a phone.”

“School office phone.”

“She’s using a school office phone to tell you about some crush when she should be in third period right now?”

“Yes,” Alex squeaks.

I tongue the inside of my cheek. “Uh-huh. And why wasn’t I involved?”

“Because . . .” Her face scrunches, trying to invent a decent lie on the spot. It’s painful to watch. “Because she doesn’t talk to married people?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ophelia mutters, running a hand through her hair. “Why don’t we just discuss this over Studio coffee, yeah? It’s been a long day.”

I decide not to push it. For now.

“Fine. I’ll pack my guitar. Let’s go after.” I walk back to my case, pulling out my phone to check messages from Raees.

Nothing yet.

The thought of him sends a hurricane through my stomach. Not butterflies—a full-blown storm of tingles. My cheeks are sore from smiling, thinking of all my mornings waking up tangled in him, his adorable habit of measuring our hands, then deciding at the last possible minute that we’re having sex instead of getting out of bed.

He wasn’t lying when he boldly declared there wasn’t a single inch of the house where he wouldn’t have me.

We’ve done it everywhere.

Last night, it was the piano. My hands on the keys, his hands on me, and a symphony of wrong notes marking every thrust. The day before, it was the kitchen island. He made this ridiculous sound while eating my molasses cookies, and I lunged at him like a starving animal. The day before that, the pool. The day before before that, the theater room, where we tried to finish his whale documentary. We didn’t, but he definitely did.

I didn’t know my happiness could reach such a pinnacle. I’m grateful for my siblings, my best friends, and my husband. I am alive because of them. I live for them. And, I’ve started living for myself, too.

I snap my guitar case shut and run my hand over the golden sparrow engraved into the wood. Baba, I miss you. I wish you could see me now.

The girls and I take the winding path down to Studio 365, talking about the concert this weekend, songwriting at my place, and a road trip to California we’ll probably take in two years. Still, we like making the plans.

“Ah, shit!” Ophelia hisses as we reach the café. She’s been glued to her phone since we left the music building. “It’s my insurance company calling.”

“Oh, shit. Mine too!” Alex dives for her bag.

I squint at both of them. “Okay, that’s it. What’s going—”

“See you inside!” She grabs my shoulders, spins me around, and shoves me through the café doors.

I stand there for a second, watching them sprint toward the parking lot like they’ve just remembered they left their stoves on. Something’s going on and I hate that I’m not a part of it.

The café is dead. Not calm or quiet. Dead. No customers, no baristas in sight. Maybe they’re hiding in the back. Maybe they gave up on the whole thing and walked out. Business hasn’t exactly been booming for Studio 365 lately.

I cross my arms, surveying the empty tables. “Well,” I say to no one in particular. “This isn’t suspicious at all.”

I walk up to the counter and tap the little silver bell. Once, twice, three times. I’m not even hungry. I’m just terrified of missing out. Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?

“You’re here!” Raees bursts out of the kitchen doors, holding a chocolate milkshake in one hand and a plate of oatmeal cookies in the other. He plops them on the counter in front of me. “For you, my love.”

I gasp. “Raees, what—?”

“This is yours, too.” Then he’s nudging me toward the center of the café. “And those tables. And the chairs. The windows, the counters. Empty cups, plates, utensils—all yours.”

I blink. “Huh?” Am I hallucinating?

Now we’re in the back kitchen, surrounded by grinning employees who are all staring at me like I’m the guest of honor. “Meet your new team!” Raees announces, motioning at the staff.

I stare at him. “ What ?”

He dangles a key in front of my face. There’s a black guitar keychain attached to it. Before I can take it out of his hand, he takes my palm, places it there himself, and curls my fingers over the cold metal.

“Raees,” I whisper. My head is spinning. My husband, this handsome, geeky lunatic, just handed me a key. To what, exactly? Studio 365? Did he— did he just buy it out?

“Oh no!” Penelope, one of the waitresses, says, sounding horrified. “She’s crying! Someone grab the napkins!”

I am crying, but I don’t need napkins. I need Raees’ sweater to soak up the mess. Which is why I dive into his chest and let it all out, smothering my face in the soft fabric while he holds me.

“Do you mind giving us a minute?” Raees says, laughing lightly. There’s some scuffling, some excited whispers, and then the sound of the kitchen doors swinging shut. “I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you—”

I cut him off by yanking him down for a kiss. He melts into it, his hands already at my waist. Then, in classic Raees fashion, he lifts me, and sets me on one of the counters, his smile glowing against my lips.

I hold his face in my hands. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Exist.”

I groan. He’s so sweet, I could devour him right here and now.

“ And ,” he continues, grinning, “because you’re my wife. Because you deserve everything in this world, and more in the next one. Because I love you, I appreciate you, and I know you’ll thrive running your own place. Somewhere you can bring baking and music together. It’s everything you’ve always wanted.”

I am so in love with him.

I smack a loud smooch on his forehead and wrap him up in my arms, burying my face in his neck. He presses a kiss under my ear, his hand smoothing over the back of my head. “I don’t know how to run a coffee shop,” I mumble into his shoulder.

His laugh rumbles through me. “That’s why you have your staff. You’ve already got the most important parts down—you make the best coffee I’ve ever had, and your teas can solve world peace. You’re a great cook. You can win every season of Bake Off . And you already know how these coffee nights work. Bring in other artists and help them grow. There’s so much you could do with it now that it’s yours. You can even rename it if you want.”

Oh, my god. He’s insane.

I almost believe him. No, scratch that—I do believe him.

Maybe I can make this place work. It’s the only spot on campus where I ever felt comfortable instead of some impostor version trying too hard to blend in. “I’d like to keep the name. For nostalgia purposes.”

Raees draws back to kiss my forehead. “As you wish, my darling.”

I brush my lips over his knuckles. “Help me?”

“Always. Whatever you need. I’ve got connections in major magazines. Foodie articles, café reviews—whatever puts us on the map. We’ll figure it out.”

We.

I look up at him and let it sink in; the way he’s already got solutions lined up like chess pieces. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“I love you most-est-est-est—”

“Up and at ‘em, lovebirds!” Alex’s voice interrupts the moment. “It’s picture time! Fifi’s got a red ribbon, and everything. I swear she’s been planning this since Tuesday.”

Raees helps me off the counter, his hand catching mine.

Out front, the staff is gathered in a semi-circle. Ophelia’s holding one end, Alex the other, and someone hands me a shiny pair of scissors that could definitely double as a murder weapon in a pinch. Penelope adjusts the camera that sits on a tripod, playing around with the settings then gives us the cue.

“Do it with me,” I tell Raees, holding up the scissors.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say, grinning. “Don’t act shy now. You’ll ruin your reputation.”

He laughs under his breath, takes my hand, and opens the scissors with me. “Ready?”

“With you?” I glance at him, my grin widening. “Always.”

Snip.