Chapter 6 Zoey #3
He nods toward the back kitchen. "Twenty pounds all-purpose, ten pounds bread flour, vanilla extract, and I threw in an extra bag of the good chocolate chips because…. Well, I might have been snacking on them a little too much."
"Thank you, Colt. For everything."
Colt finally turns to face me, and his gaze drags down my body, something hot flickering behind those blue eyes. My skin prickles everywhere his gaze touched.
He shakes his head, and blows his cheeks out.
"She's right, you know. You look incredible, Zoey," he says quietly. No wink. No charm. Just words that melt my insides to goo.
He's close enough that I can smell him, that scent that's been haunting me for days. If I reached out right now, I could grab the front of his jacket and pull him toward me.
Don't. Don't you dare.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides, holding me back as he throws his jacket on and pauses at the door, looking back at me over his shoulder.
"Oh, if it's okay, I gotta swing by The Den for a check-up in the morning. I'll see you around nine?"
"Sounds good. Goodnight, Colt."
He smiles, and something warm flickers in those blue eyes.
"Goodnight, Morrison."
I watch him go, my gaze dropping traitorously to the way his jeans fit around his cute backside. I press my back against the doorframe, letting the cold wood ground me.
The bell chimes softly behind him, and I quickly turn to head upstairs so I don't give in to the urge to call him back and drag him into the kitchen to let those big hands have their way with me.
I find Morgan in bed, already burrowed under her comforter with her braids fully destroyed. She's place the Colt Lane–signed lunchbox carefully on her nightstand and I can't help but laugh.
"Alright, girlie. Teeth?"
"Brushed."
"With toothpaste?"
"…Yes."
I narrow my eyes but let it go. Just for tonight.
I sit on the edge of her bed, smoothing the comforter around her shoulders.
"Did you have fun tonight?"
She nods through a yawn, rolling onto her side to face me. Her hazel-green eyes are heavy with sleep, but there's something working behind them.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, baby?"
She picks at a loose thread on her pillowcase.
"Can you tell me about my dad again?"
Oh, god.
I've answered this question before. Dozens of times, in dozens of ways, each version a little more carefully edited than the last. Your dad loved you very much. Sometimes people need to go find themselves. It's not your fault, sweetie. It was never your fault.
But tonight, sitting here with shimmering nails and new hair, with the echo of Colt's laugh still ringing in my ears, the practiced answer feels thin.
"What do you want to know?" I ask softly.
"Ummm…" Morgan is quiet for a moment. "Was he funny?"
I think about the boy I married at nineteen who could make an entire lunch table laugh. Then about the man he became… quiet, distant, a stranger on the other side of the mattress.
"He used to be," I say. "When we were young."
"Did he play games? Like card games?"
And there it is.
The comparison she's drawing without knowing she's drawing it.
"Not really, baby. He wasn't much of a games person."
She nods, accepting this with the quiet gravity of a child who's been filling in blanks her whole life.
Then, just as I'm about to kiss her goodnight, she asks a question I'm not ready for.
"Mom? Is Colt going to keep coming to the bakery?"
My heart clenches but I try to keep a straight face. "For a couple more weeks. It's part of his job with the hockey team."
"But after that?" She blinks up at me. "Will he still come around?"
I brush the hair from her forehead, buying time for an answer I don't know.
"I don't know, Morgs."
"Do you want him to?"
The honesty of the question nearly levels me.
Because the truth is that yes. I do. I want Colt Lane and his goofy charm around my bakery.
But wanting things is dangerous when you've spent eight years learning to survive without them.
"I think," I say slowly, "that right now, we should just enjoy having him around. And not worry too much about after."
It's a terrible answer.
But Morgan nods, satisfied enough to close her eyes. "Okay, Mom."
"Goodnight, baby." I kiss her forehead. "And remember, if you stay in your own bed all night, we'll get ice cream after school."
I pull the door halfway shut, pressing my back against the hallway wall, and breathe.
Morgan's question loops in my head like a song I can't turn off.
Is he going to keep coming around?
Will he stay?
Nobody stays. That's the lesson. My father wasn't around. Daniel walked out. My brothers love me, but they're scattered across the country, living their own lives.
I've built everything in my life on the assumption that I'm the only one who will take care of myself.
And then this man walks into my bakery, drops a tray of muffins, and arranges a three-hour beauty appointment like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Like taking care of me isn't an afterthought or a negotiation.
Like it's just something I deserve.
I press my palm flat against my stomach, where that warm, dangerous feeling still lingers from Debbie's words.
His girl.
Could I really risk everything to be exactly that?
Could I be Colt Lane's… girl?