Chapter 12
Zinnia
Jesus help her, she wasn’t going to make it. Wylie had managed to break six more glasses in two minutes. There was no way he hadn’t been trained in psychological warfare.
This had to be the worst group activity so far.
She didn’t think anything would ever surpass baking knockoff Girl Scout Cookies in the kitchen, inspired by former troop leader Lulie.
A room full of sharp knives and heavy stoneware with people who thought tripping someone was the height of humor—Zinnia’s nerves had been shredded down to nubs that day.
Now, full-on dread was sitting right between her hunched shoulders, puppeting her body into a defensive stance.
While Jordan patiently explained how each liquid had a differing density, Zinnia did her best to dutifully follow along. She was trying to memorize the specifics for each bottle…and then he began rolling up his sleeves, one at a time, revealing his forearms.
What.
She’d never seen that man in anything that didn’t have long sleeves. He filled out all his shirts as if they’d been tailored to his exact measurements. Broad shoulders, wide chest, strong arms…
Something else caught her eye—a distinct, thin dark line curved around the crook of his right arm. Jordan had a tattoo.
Her thoughts slipped straight into a spiral: What did it look like how big was it how many did he have?
?? If someone walked up to her and asked about it, she wouldn’t know what to say.
He’d never told her about it! She’d never seen him naked!
What kind of wife didn’t know about her husband’s tattoo? !
“Zinnia?”
She held her breath as she looked at his amused face.
“Where did you go?”
Breathe, just breathe. “Nowhere. I’m here. I’m paying attention.”
“No, you weren’t.” He laughed warmly. “Unlike earlier, I can tell when I lose you.”
“Mmm, no. You just think you can.” She tried to squash that failure feeling coiling in her stomach the only way she knew how.
“I think you’re severely underestimating me. I pay attention to you, Zinnia.”
The intense look in his eyes silenced her comeback before she even had a chance to think of one. Somehow, he always managed to disarm her in the exact way she didn’t know she’d been missing, saying the exact thing she didn’t know she needed to hear.
Being watched and paying attention weren’t the same thing.
She recovered, naturally, ready to put him back on his toes for the camera. “Does that mean you watch me sleep too?”
His indulgent grin appeared as readily as she’d hoped. “Still working my way up to that, actually. I’m a heavy sleeper. There isn’t much that can wake me up before I’m ready.”
“You also snore.”
“You know, everyone always tells me about that. Like I’m supposed to care or something.”
Her laugh was cut short by another glass loudly crashing into the ground.
“My bad,” Wylie called out.
They exchanged a look and got started. Zinnia poured the grenadine base without any issues. Creating a thin orange layer with the pineapple juice on top of it was trickier than it seemed.
“Your hands are steady, which is half the battle.” Jordan demonstrated the technique again. “You have to slow down. Let the spoon do the work.”
He was standing right next to her, supervising over her shoulder, but he was also, inexplicably, under her skin.
His body heat burned through her cardigan. Every inhale was him—the striking combination of his lotion and cologne. Picking out individual notes felt impossible. They all blended together until the scent became uniquely Jordan in her mind.
Her concentration never stood a chance because part of her was fixated on him at all times anyway. Where he was, what he was doing, if he was going to touch her—she had to be ready to look like she was in love without knowing the first thing about it.
She recognized it on TV and in movies, with her friends and her family. But how was it supposed to look on her?
FIONA: Whatever you do, don’t give friendzone vibes
ZINNIA:…what the fuck are those?
Because Zinnia loved her friends so deeply that even her parents asked if she was dating one or both of them. So, what was the difference? There obviously was one, since her friends fell in love with each other without her.
Having a conversation about suspected polyamory with her very Christian, very supportive parents had been life-changing for an unexpected reason. As soon as she finished explaining, they immediately asked if she was dating anyone else. Didn’t she want to get married and have kids someday?
She realized she definitely wanted that first part. Later on, she decided she didn’t need to fall in love to have the life she wanted. It gave her the courage to try.
“Blue next,” he instructed. “Pour it slowly over the back of the spoon.”
She studied the side of his face instead. His nearly invisible freckles, the hint of gray under his dark brown eyes, his cute nose and balanced lips. The subtle beginnings of a beard peppered his jaw. He’d told her he only shaved every other day.
“What?” His lips twitched—an easy smile at the ready. A single joke from her and he’d unleash it.
Except she felt like being honest instead of funny.
“Just felt like staring at you.”
His eyes flashed with curiosity. “Why?”
She’d been saving her next line for the perfect on-camera moment. “Because you make me happy.”
His cheeks never turned red, but his ears sure as hell told on him. She turned away first, picking up the spoon and placing it in the glass.
“LOOK OUT!”
A shot glass flew into their station, landing with a dense thud—Zinnia flinched and accidentally knocked over her glass. Her ruined drink splashed everywhere, including all over her lime-green cardigan sleeves.
The entire room went pin-drop quiet. Everyone stared at a wide-eyed Wylie, who said, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to hit you. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you need to stop,” Lulie snapped. She threw a quick, tense glance Zinnia’s way before turning back to her brother. “You obviously can’t juggle.”
“Yet,” Wylie promised.
Zinnia exhaled through her nose, emptying her lungs, and closed her eyes. It was just food coloring. The giant dark splotches would come out this time. It was fine. She balled her hands into fists, pressing her fingernails into her palms until they hurt.
A hand touched her back and she jumped again, letting loose a startled gasp. “Jesus.”
“Nope, just me,” Jordan said with a weak laugh. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just need a minute.”
Her camera pod was suddenly a lot closer to her than it had been a second ago. She made a show of smiling at Jordan, who then touched her hip, pulling her closer…and she knew the camera caught her flinch again in response.
Honey Brown’s sky-high eyebrows confirmed it—an unmistakable Yikes.
“Actually, I think I need a break.” She didn’t dare look at Jordan.
Zinnia was allowed to take fifteen-minute camera pod–supervised breaks.
She usually spent them wandering around the house, counting to calm down and trying to memorize the layout.
A quick reset to get her head back in the Zaffre game when the stress got to her.
She didn’t go far, ending up sitting on the staircase near the front door.
She took off her cardigan and neatly folded it, careful to make sure the stained patches didn’t spread. Her chest shook from trying not to rage-cry again. She didn’t want Jordan to think that he married the wrong person for the job, but she just couldn’t get her act together.
Why did his family have to make being there so impossible for her?
“Now, who left this flower on the stairs?” Damon leaned against the banister while his camera pod stood off to the side.
Like father, like son, but they carried the same face so differently. Damon was colder, quieter, with yellowed dark eyes. He had a calming edge to him that Jordan didn’t inherit—nighttime in a cool, dry desert versus high noon at the shameless corral.
“Most people don’t even know what my name means.” She blinked up at him. “How was work?”
Wholly committed to the we’re just like you bit, Jordan’s parents went to work every day.
Amber’s home office was clear on the other side of the estate.
She spent a minimum of ten hours a day doing…
something. Running a dynasty in the making apparently involved secret meetings, two full-time assistants, and minimal distractions.
They—“the children,” which now included Zinnia—were forbidden from interrupting her during business hours unless someone was “dead, dying, or bleeding.”
Damon, a former college basketball star turned physician, had rotations at a family clinic in town. He left before sunrise, returned midafternoon, and she usually didn’t see him until dinner.
“Good.” His white coat was slung over his arm, and he was holding a large black bag. “Feeling all right?”
“Yeah.” She tried to smile.
“Hmm.” He regarded her for a moment, head tilted to the side. “Alfie was right—you are a bad liar. Mind if I sit?”
Jordan
Things were getting progressively worse with Zinnia.
“Does she even like you?” Wylie had finally given up trying to juggle and slinked over to Jordan’s station with guilty puppy dog eyes. “She always looks hella uncomfortable, like she doesn’t want you to touch her.”
Zinnia didn’t even let herself relax while sitting down.
She kept her back ramrod straight, sitting on the edge with her hands on her knees.
One wrong move or loud noise and she’d be off like a runner at the start of a race.
It was impossible to make her laugh or smile if anyone else was around. Her phone stayed glued to her hand.
Mabel wanted to take it away from her during filming hours. Jordan fought her on it—he knew that if anyone tried, she’d simply leave. No discussions, no pleading. Gone. Having access to Grace and Fiona made being there easier for her.
No, he wasn’t jealous.
But he was…something. Waiting on the outside, watching through the window, hoping to be let in…