Chapter 12 #2
“She’s over Erik. I know it.” John’s voice dropped, a quiet certainty threading through. “Last night felt different. Real. Like we weren’t just getting there—we were already there.”
Michael was silent for a beat. Then, gently, he said, “You’re falling for her.”
“Yeah.” It came out before John could think of tempering the words. He swallowed. “I am.”
“That why you called?”
“In part.” He shifted on the couch. “Got a message from the silent-auction committee this morning. There was a school fundraiser last night. I bid on a package at the Pfister and won.”
Michael chuckled. “Big spender.”
“I thought about asking her. But I don’t want to rush things.”
“Does it expire?”
John glanced at the text again. “It’s good for a year.”
“Then there’s your answer. Don’t use the hotel as a test drive for where you stand. Use it when you know where you stand.”
John nodded slowly. “You’re right.”
“Usually am.”
John scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I liked her from the get-go. I remember thinking, ‘Why is she with someone like him?’ I mean, Erik is a fun guy and all, but I wouldn’t let our sister date him.
Before Zoe, he went through women like water and cheated on most of them.
But with her, he seemed different. I thought maybe he’d finally figured it out. ”
Michael’s voice lowered. “And when you found out he hadn’t, you gave him the ultimatum—tell her or you would.”
“Yeah.” The memory twisted in John’s chest. “He promised he would. But months passed. Then, three months out, I found out she still didn’t know, so I told him time was up, I was going to tell her.”
“And that’s when he finally did,” Michael said.
“She left him.” John exhaled. “And he hasn’t spoken to me since.”
“No big loss.”
“No,” John murmured. “No loss at all.”
His gaze dropped to his hand as he remembered the warmth of hers tucked inside it. The way she’d leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t want to lose her.”
“Then don’t,” Michael said softly. “Be the good, irritatingly honest guy I know you to be. Oh, and don’t eat with your mouth open. Trust me—she won’t be able to resist you.”
John laughed. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Just keeping it real, bro.” Michael’s voice was warm. “Just keeping it real.”
After they hung up, John sat for a long moment, thumb brushing absently over the edge of his phone.
Then he opened the auction message again.
He skimmed the words, but it wasn’t the hotel or dinner that made his chest tighten—it was the image of Zoe, laughing across a candlelit table, her hand slipping into his across white linen.
He didn’t know when he’d use the Pfister package.
He just knew he wanted it to be with her.
Zoe adjusted the leather strap of her cross-body bag and stepped around a crate of decorative gourds, the cool air brushing her cheeks with the faintest scent of cider and woodsmoke.
She tugged her cardigan tighter as she took in the market—sunflowers spilling from galvanized pails, crisp Cortland apples piled high and the low murmur of conversation winding between booths.
It was brisk, but not cold. That golden kind of September morning that hinted at change. Possibility.
She didn’t need anything. Not really. She’d told herself she came to the final farmers’ market of the season for apples, maybe a pie pumpkin. But if she was being honest, she felt restless. And she was tired of looking at her phone, waiting for a text or a call from John.
Nothing was stopping her from reaching out, except the fear of seeming too eager. Maybe last night hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to her.
Her gaze snagged on a tall figure beside the maple syrup booth, and her heart gave a jolt.
John.
He wore jeans and a slate-gray quarter-zip, his dark hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed, which only made the flutter in her chest worse. He turned slightly, caught sight of her and smiled in that quiet way of his that always felt like it was just for her.
Zoe hesitated, then made her way toward him.
“Morning,” he said as she drew near.
“Almost afternoon,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
He glanced down at the small paper sack in his hand. “Just wanted to check out the offerings. Walked out with cinnamon-maple almonds and a pumpkin candle I don’t need.”
She smiled. “Impulse buys are half the fun.”
He angled his head. “You?”
“Thought I wanted apples.” She held up a lone butternut squash. “Apparently, I wanted soup ingredients and vibes.”
His chuckle was soft, warm. “Last night…”
She looked down, then back up. “Yeah.”
“I keep thinking about it,” he said, voice quiet. “How it felt…real.”
Zoe’s heart pressed against her ribs. “Me, too.”
They stood together, just outside the swirl of market traffic, wrapped in something she couldn’t quite name, something gentle and charged and real.
John shifted the bag to his other hand. “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”
“Just the usual Sunday things. Church. Maybe grabbing something to eat.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “No pressure, but…I could pick you up for church?”
A smile tugged at her mouth, small, sure. “I’d like that.”
The air between them held, soft and certain.
“I’ll text you,” he said, stepping back slowly, like he didn’t want to go but was giving her space.
“I’ll be looking for it.”
She watched him walk away, her fingers curling just a little tighter around the squash.
She’d come for apples.
But maybe this moment was what she’d really needed.
Zoe set her phone facedown on the coffee table and curled her legs beneath her. A half-filled mug of cinnamon tea rested beside a small bowl of roasted almonds—sweet and crunchy, like the ones John had bought at the market. She’d snagged some after he left, almost without thinking.
The butternut squash sat on her counter like a joke and a promise.
The apartment was quiet, lit only by the flicker of a candle and the soft glow of the lamp above her reading chair. She wasn’t reading, though. She hadn’t since she’d gotten home.
She kept thinking about his voice, the way he’d said, Last night felt different. Real.
Her phone buzzed once. She reached for it to see that John had texted her.
Still thinking about you.
Zoe’s heart gave a soft, almost startled flutter. She smiled, her thumb hovering as if the moment needed savoring. Then she typed back. Me, too. Can’t wait for tomorrow.
She stared at the exchange for a long time before setting the phone on the cushion beside her. Pulling the blanket a little higher, she leaned into the quiet, into the hope that had crept in around the edges of her heart and hadn’t left.
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was waiting for something to fall apart.
She felt like she was finally—gently—beginning.