Chapter 8
“There’s no way you could fit me in?” I ask, fiddling with my hands as nervousness bubbles in my stomach. There are people behind me, muttering about their reservations while I stand in the third restaurant I’ve tried to get a table in tonight. “I’m only one person. I’ll eat really quickly.”
The hostess doesn’t look at me. Instead, she swipes through her tablet, letting out a disgruntled hum as she does.
I bite back all the things I want to say. I know it’s not going to help the situation. I’ve already tried begging at the last place.
Shifting on my toes, I look over my shoulder at the long line of guests I’m holding up, before turning back to her with a pleading look.
“Why didn’t she book?”
“She’s holding up the line.”
“We just want to eat.”
I bet that’s what they’re all saying.
No. They’re not.
I shake my head and glance back at the counter.
These people are not St. Michael’s students. They aren’t Jenni, or my dad. They are just here, relaxed and ready to have a good time. They probably don’t even notice me.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but since you didn’t make a reservation, you’ll have to wait until eleven.”
“Eleven?” My voice cracks; my stomach rumbles. I can’t wait until then, and I’m desperately trying to avoid spending the first night of my cruise alone in my room.
The hostess glances at the line, then back at me with an apologetic smile. “Maybe you could come back in an hour and try again.”
That’s what they’ve all said when they’ve wanted me out of their hair.
“I understand.” I nod, annoyed at myself for being too busy stressing over Tiff and Jamie’s wedding to properly prepare for this trip. It did say in the email to book in advance.
I lean a little closer so the family behind me can’t hear me. “Is there any way I could just sit and eat at the bar? I’m happy with fries.”
The hostess’s pleasant smile is a little less pleasant now. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t serve our dinner menu at the bar. We’re completely booked, but if you really want, you could sit at the bar and I’ll let you know if there are any no-shows.”
Well, that’s further than I got with the last two places.
“Okay. What’s on the bar menu? Is it just drinks?”
“Yes, and snacks.”
“She doesn’t need to go to the bar.” My stomach drops. “She can sit with us.”
No.
I close my eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Especially not after upchucking my breakfast into the sea this morning.
“There’s plenty of space.”
Is he still talking?
“I think you should take his offer, honey,” an elderly lady says beside me. She’s looking at the man behind me with a wide smile. “I would.”
Zach laughs softly behind me.
“Ma’am, please don’t encourage her,” he says, and the hairs on the back of my neck start to rise as he steps closer. “I already spend half my life trying to get her to say yes to me.”
I can’t see his face, but judging from the look on the lady’s face, I’m sure he’s giving her a megawatt smile. “And does she?”
I cross my arms, shaking my head.
“Rarely,” he replies. He playfully knocks me on the side as he steps beside me. “She likes to keep me humble. It builds character.”
“Smart girl,” the woman says. “With a face like yours, you wouldn’t have to build much of one otherwise.”
She cannot be seriously flirting with Zach right now, can she?
Why is it also infuriating that she’s right?
Zach isn’t just beautiful; he’s athletic and smart and dedicated. Just one of those qualities would make him win in life. Annoyingly, he got them all.
“Cruel girl,” he corrects, looking right at me. “But I’m committed.”
He’s not going to stop, is he?
He is going to keep pushing me until I’m left with no other option.
Resigned, I turn to look at my ex, and I see exactly why the lady was beaming at him. He looks unfairly good in dark jeans and a fitted hunter-green button-down that makes his eyes pop.
I’m lucky that I managed to put on a navy dress and boots before heading out, otherwise I’d look ridiculous compared to him.
“It’s not necessary,” I say quietly, pretending I don’t know everything about the man beside me. “I’m not hungry.”
I cringe as the words come out because my stomach gives me away, grumbling loudly at the worst possible time.
I grab my stomach, drawing Zach’s eyes to it.
“You sure about that, Honeycomb?” His voice drops lower and he leans toward me so the other patrons can’t hear him.
“It’s past your normal dinnertime. You must be starving.
” His eyes track my body, stopping by the V at the front of my cress.
“I know I am after seeing you in that dress.”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I hate—hate—that he can still do this to me with just a few words. That he can make me feel seen when all I want is to disappear into the background.
“Just have one dinner with him,” the lady butts in again. “Enjoy that look in his eyes while you can. My husband died three years ago, and I do anything to see that look from him again.”
Zach dips his head respectfully.
“I’m sorry about your husband, ma’am.”
She smiles sadly.
“Thank you, sweetie, but don’t pity me. I had a great love, and now I have a wonderful family. Not everyone gets that.” Her gaze shifts between us. “If you find yours, you hold on. Even when it’s hard.”
Zach goes quiet for a second, then looks at me. “That’s the thing,” he says softly. “I did find mine.”
He holds his hand out to me, waiting for me to accept.
I can feel the eyes of the entire line of guests watching me now as I swallow down the guilt. It’s not like I can say no now. Not after that declaration.
My stomach rumbles, and a slow smirk starts to grow on his face. He knows he’s got me.
“Fine,” I agree reluctantly, and I swear I hear a few sighs of relief.
The older lady exhales dramatically.
“Bless you,” she says. “Because I’m starving, and if you turned him down again, I was fully prepared to accept the invitation myself.”
A few people in line laugh.
She waves us off. “Go. Eat. Resolve your unresolved tension somewhere that isn’t blocking the hostess stand.”
I look down at his outstretched hand and flick it away, walking a few steps past him, only to realize I have no idea where I’m going. So I turn back to him. “This doesn’t mean anything. I’m just hungry, and I’ll book a place tomorrow.”
He raises his hands with a full-on beaming smile across his face now. The sleeves of his shirt ride up with the move, and I can’t help but see the hints of his gold and black tattoo.
The honeycomb.
My honeycomb.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says happily.
When his hands drop, he offers me his arm instead, and I reluctantly thread my hand through it. He knows where we’re going after all, and this feels marginally less intimate than handholding.
When we’re away from the line and weaving through the tables, Zach leans in and says, “Although, we both know what actually helps you sleep.”
“Zach,” I say sharply.
His eyes widen. “What? I’m talking about melatonin. It’s a very effective sleep aid, and whenever you used it, it always had you out like a light.”
Despite everything, my lips twitch. “You're impossible.”
“And you're beautiful. I believe I already mentioned that, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t think I was just complimenting the dress.”
I look up at him, narrowing my eyes.
“You know, there was a version of tonight where I quietly ate fries alone and avoided this entire conversation.”
He nods thoughtfully.
“Sounds terrible. I’m glad this happened instead.”
As we approach a curved booth near the windows, I spot two people sliding out of the other side. I recognize the tall guy immediately. Drew McCallister. The quarterback for the Santa Monica Rattlesnakes. Zach’s talked about him a lot. A gorgeous blonde takes his hand as we head toward them.
“You guys heading out?” Zach asks them.
“Yeah, man.” Drew clasps Zach's hand briefly. “Early excursion tomorrow. Bella wants to do the snorkeling thing at sunrise.”
“I want to see the reef before it gets crowded,” the woman with him—who I assume is Bella—says, leaning her head against Drew’s shoulder. She smiles at Zach, then turns to me. “So, you’re Honey.”
I freeze.
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Uh,” I say.
“He undersold you.”
It's a compliment, technically, but the way she says it makes me wonder what Zach has been saying about me.
“Enjoy your dinner,” she says. That’s it. No more explanation, and I’m supposed to just be okay with it.
Drew nods, looking between us. “Have a good night.”
“Night,” Zach says easily. “Hopefully see you around.”
The second they are out of earshot, I ask, “What exactly have you been telling people about me?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs.
“Zach.” I don’t stop looking at him.
“They asked why I was alone on the cruise. Not wanting to make it awkward, I may have very casually mentioned that I was here with my girlfriend, and she was feeling a little sick after we left.”
I stare at him. “I am not your girlfriend.”
“Noted.”
“You can’t keep going around telling people—”
He holds up his hands. “In my defense, I thought that explanation was a little better than, ‘I’m currently chasing the love of my life who’s pretending she doesn’t feel the exact same way as me.’ Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
“Zach.”
“You're right. I'm sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.” He says it simply, without the grin, and it takes the wind out of my sails in the most infuriating way. “Sit down and eat something. You're hangry, and I'm an idiot. Both things can be true.”
My hands turn into fists at my side, and I clench my teeth. I want to say something so badly to him, but I’m too hungry to care at this point. I slide into the booth, slowing as I take in the used plates.
“Uh, you’ve already eaten.”
“I have.” He slides into the booth across from me. “I’d highly recommend the chocolate torte for dessert when you get there. It was delicious.”
He takes what I assume is his old napkin, flicks it out, and then places it back on his lap.