Chapter 20 #3
“Did you know that your name is also the name of a flower?” Daphne asks Zoey, snapping me out of my dangerous spiraling thoughts. She’s been firing off questions the whole evening, and Zoey’s answered every single one without showing an ounce of irritation.
“I did not,” she says, leaning forward. “Which one?”
My sister’s face lights up at the question. “Camano Zoe. They’re one of the forty-nine species of the genus Dahlia. More specifically, part of the sixth group of dahlias called ball dahlias.”
“Are they pretty?”
Daph nods vigorously. “Very. They could easily be confused with mini balls of clouds. And they’re groundbreaking for diabetes research because of the high concentration of inulin in their tubers.”
“That’s fascinating,” Zoey says, padding to the sink with her empty glass. “I’m impressed by how much you know about flowers.” She smirks at me. “You’re putting your brother to shame. You should be the one running his store.”
Daphne breaks into a wide smile. “Maybe when he’s too old, I can take over.”
“Okay, okay.” I snort. “Don’t bury me yet.”
“Is that why you’re called Zoey, then?” Daphne asks, ignoring me completely. “Because of the flower?”
Zoey pauses to think. It’s adorably cute. The way she so easily humors Daphne with her endless questions warms up a little abandoned corner of my chest. “Hmm, I don’t think so, but that would’ve been fun. My mom is francophone. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes, of course.” My sister straightens in her seat. “That she speaks French.”
Zoey fills her glass with water. “Exactly. She’s from Quebec. She grew up in the francophone part of Montreal. I was born in BC, so I went to English school, but my mom made sure I learned French. She gave me my name so I never forget my roots.”
Zoey speaks French. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool . Nothing super sexy about that new tidbit of information. I tuck it away. Later. This is a thought for later.
“Zoey doesn’t sound very French.” Daphne wrinkles her nose.
I hold back a laugh. She can be so blunt sometimes.
“You’re right again,” Zoey says as she returns to her seat. “That’s because the true way of pronouncing my name is Zoé .”
I snap my attention to her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Why don’t you pronounce it Zoé, then?” My sister frowns.
She’s not the only one confused as fuck.
“Can we focus for a minute on the fact that I’ve been calling you by the wrong name this entire time?”
“Calm down.” Zoey—or Zoé? Who knows now —pats my arm.
“It’s not a huge deal. Only my mom calls me Zoé.
It’s not easy to pronounce for English-speaking folks because of the sound that doesn’t exist in this language.
” She shrugs. “I tried to spell it Z-O-E, without an accent, but I ended up being called Zo most of the time. Zoey is easier for everybody.”
I stare at her. “I can’t believe I didn’t know your real name.”
She flips her hair off her shoulder, fighting a smile. “You’re being dramatic. It’s the same name, only pronounced slightly differently.”
“Still,” I mumble.
Daphne doesn’t seem to notice my confusion. She’s back on her flower tangent. “It would have been very cool if you were named after the Camano Zoe, but it’s okay. French origins are pretty cool too.”
She bounces in her seat a little. “I have this huge encyclopedia of all my favorite flowers in my room. It’s super thick, with pictures and everything.
It helps me keep track of them all.” She looks at me, questioning, and I nod.
She turns back to Zoey, eyes glittering with anticipation. “Wanna see it?”
“Of course,” Zoey says, far too eager for someone about to go through a hundred pages of botanical jargon. “Bring it down.”
Like a little tornado, my sister dashes upstairs.
I drop the dishes in the sink and round the table. When I get to Zoey, I swivel the stool she’s seated on until she’s facing me.
My heart is so full it’s going to burst into tiny fragments if I don’t open the valves at least a little.
I run my fingers up her thighs, the cotton of the too-big sweatpants the only thing separating us, and when she parts her legs to make room for me, I let out a shaky breath.
At her waist, I bunch the fabric of my shirt in my fists.
“Thank you,” I whisper, dropping my forehead against hers. Some of the hair trapped behind my ear falls out and shrouds us in our own bubble.
With her hands on my forearms, she steadies herself against my hold. “Nothing to thank me for.”
I twist the shirt in my fists a little more tightly, relishing the way earthy notes of my shampoo infiltrate my nose and spike my dopamine levels. She smells like me, stroking a primal chord deep in my gut. “Not true in the slightest, beautiful.”
She shivers. “I love when you call me that.”
The instant her admission is out, her breath catches, like she didn’t mean to share that with me but the words couldn’t be kept a secret any longer.
“It doesn’t even come close to doing you justice.”
She’s just inches away. I could dip a fraction of an inch closer and my lips would be on hers, and—
Rushed footsteps on the stairs startle me, and I ease away from Zoey, putting a healthy distance between us.
“Wait till I show you what I’ve found on the Cosmos atrosanguineus,” Daphne says as she drops the heavy book on the table. “It’s gonna blow your mind.”
For two hours, my sister gives Zoey a masterclass in flowers, their origins, and the symbolism associated with each one.
She tells her how they’ve been used by different civilizations, which ones are becoming extinct, and which new species are emerging.
Hell, Zoey is absolutely right. Even I don’t know that much about them.
Zoey can’t get a word in. At some point, she and I exchange glances. Silently, I ask, “Do you want me to come and save you? Do you need help?”
She responds by smiling in a “don’t worry about it” way.
So I stay leaned against the kitchen sink, arms folded tight, like I’m holding myself together, and watch the two of them for the rest of the evening. Daph talks and talks, swaying at times, tapping her fingertips on the table at others.
I have to swallow hard. Once. Twice. Again.
Anything to keep my emotions bottled up.
Between Mom’s unwillingness to understand her own daughter and Andie’s insistence on casting her as the villain, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen my sister so comfortable with someone she’s just met.
And here she is, glowing and laughing with Zoey like she’s known her forever.
When Daphne is free to stim and share her passion so openly, without limits or restrictions, that’s when she shines the brightest. I would fight the entire world to keep her this happy.
I swallow again, though at this rate, keeping myself under control is a losing battle.
Two weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined that this beautiful woman, who’s from a reality so different from ours, would fit into my life so seamlessly.
A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. Then another. As they melt into my beard, I tear my gaze away.
She has no idea the gift she’s giving me tonight.
And I don’t have the first clue how to repay her.
With every day spent with her, a small light grows brighter inside me, like a quiet voice telling me I wouldn’t mind trying to do so for the rest of my life.
But that feeling is still too fragile, flickering too wildly like a candle flame in the wind, for me to fully embrace just yet.
I sniffle back the tears, reining myself in. At the sound, Zoey looks up from the page Daphne is showing her and meets my eyes.
“You okay?” she mouths, her brows bunched together.
I nod and smile. Of course I’m okay.
I haven’t been this okay in years.