Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
JENNY
M y heart nearly stops in my chest. Zack crouching down to tie my tennis shoes is the sweetest, most unexpected thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t stop processing it, the simplicity of the act making it all the more profound. And now, as I stare at him…taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his dark shirt fits perfectly under that leather jacket, and those jeans…I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. About us. About every single moment we’ve shared.
His words from a few days ago echo in my mind: “Since it is a secret and just between us, I don’t see why it can’t continue on for our time here. We expect nothing out of each other. No rules are being broken, so keep your mind open.” At the time, I hadn’t allowed myself to even consider what he was really saying.
But now, being here with him, his quiet presence impossibly close, every word from that conversation feels heavier than before. His suggestion had been simple on the surface…almost too casual. A way to put the weight of what had happened between us into a neat, manageable box. A way to let it exist without overtaking us.
Yet, the more I think about it, the harder it becomes to ignore the storm he’s unleashed inside me. How can I compartmentalize this? The way his touch lingers in my mind, the way his voice draws me in, the way his presence seems to bend the very air around us.
It’s impossible to separate the man in front of me now…calm, collected, quietly breathtaking…from the one who made me feel things I never thought I could. The way he looks at me, even when he’s trying not to, sends my thoughts tumbling into places they shouldn’t go.
“I was thinking,” I say, breaking the silence as we begin walking again. “Maybe we should stop somewhere in the village for lunch. You know, something authentic.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Not a bad idea. I saw a few places on the way here that looked promising.”
“Perfect.” I nod quickly, hoping my enthusiasm doesn’t give away just how badly I need the distraction. “Somewhere with wine,” I add with a small laugh.
Zack gives me a sidelong glance, his smirk faint but unmistakable. “Wine, huh? Feeling indulgent?”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “We’re in Italy. It’d be rude not to.”
His chuckle is low, and it sends a ripple of warmth through me. “Fair enough. I’ll find us a place.”
We continue down the path, passing through a series of ancient archways and open courtyards.
Finally, we make our way back to the car, the vintage convertible gleaming in the sunlight like something out of a movie. Zack holds the door open for me again, and I slide into the passenger seat, grateful for the momentary reprieve from my thoughts.
As we drive toward the village, the countryside unfolds around us in a stunning panorama of rolling hills, olive groves, and terracotta rooftops. The wind tangles my hair again, but this time, I don’t bother fighting it. Instead, I lean back and let the breeze carry away some of the tension I’ve been holding onto.
“There’s a place up ahead,” Zack says, nodding toward a small cluster of buildings in the distance. “Looks promising.”
I squint, catching sight of a quaint trattoria with wooden tables set up under a vine-covered pergola. It’s charming, the kind of place that feels hidden from the world. “That’s perfect,” I say, my excitement bubbling over. “Let’s stop there.”
He pulls the car into a small gravel lot, and we step out into the warm midday sun. The air is fragrant with the scent of herbs and freshly baked bread, and my stomach growls in anticipation. Zack places a hand lightly on the small of my back, guiding me toward the entrance, and the simple gesture makes my pulse quicken.
We’re seated at a table near the edge of the pergola, overlooking a sprawling vineyard that stretches toward the horizon. The server brings us menus, and I can’t help but smile as I scan the offerings…fresh pasta, wood-fired pizza, and an impressive selection of local wines.
“What are you thinking?” Zack asks, his voice low and steady as he studies the menu.
I skim the menu quickly, barely registering the words. My focus flickers between him and the faint hum of desire stirring in my chest. The truth is, I don’t care what I order. I don’t care about this lunch. All I want is an excuse to let go of the tension between us, to feel him against me again, to stop pretending I don’t remember every second of that night.
“Would you like red or white wine?” he asks, his gaze lifting to meet mine.
I glance at the drink section and spot something that makes me smile…a Long Island iced tea. Perfect. Strong enough to blur my thoughts and sweet enough to mask the alcohol. “Actually,” I say, feigning nonchalance, “I’ll go with this.” I tap the menu, showing him my choice.
He raises an eyebrow. “A Long Island iced tea? You know that’s a little… aggressive for lunch, right?”
“It’s what I want,” I say lightly, brushing off his concern. “I can get things I want, can’t I?”
The question is layered with a double meaning, one I hope he can read in my eyes. Exactly what I want right now…and how it has nothing whatsoever to do with lunch or this restaurant.
His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he closes the menu and signals the waiter. As he places our orders, I lean back in my chair, satisfied with my small victory. The waiter disappears, and Zack folds his hands on the table, his eyes steady on mine.
“You’ve been busy lately,” he says, breaking the silence. “How are you feeling about everything? The contract? The shoots?”
I know he’s trying to steer the conversation into safer territory, but his measured tone only makes me want to push back. “It’s fine. Busy, but good. The contract will give me a solid cushion, so I’ll probably take a break after this run.”
His brow furrows slightly. “A break? Back to New York?”
I nod, swirling the water in my glass absently. “Yeah, for a little while. But it might not be for long. They’re moving the shoot location to Paris soon, so when I come back, that’s probably where I’ll be heading.”
“Paris.” He repeats the word like he’s testing its weight, something in his expression shifting subtly. “What about the apartment you planned to get in New York? You mentioned moving out.”
“Yeah,” I reply. keeping my tone casual. “I don’t think that’s possible anymore. I’ll be traveling too much to settle anywhere right now.”
The waiter returns with our drinks, setting the tall glass of iced tea in front of me and a glass of sparkling water in front of Zack. I don’t miss the way his eyes narrow slightly when he sees my drink, but he doesn’t say anything as the waiter leaves.
I lift the glass, the condensation cool against my palm, and take a sip through the straw. The sweetness hits first, followed by the slow, warm burn of the alcohol. It’s exactly what I need.
“You should take it slow,” Zack says, his voice low but firm. “That’s not exactly a light drink.”
I smile at him over the rim of my glass. “Are you always this concerned about what I do?”
“Yes,” he says without missing a beat, leaning back in his chair. “Especially when you’re making choices that might lead to regret.”
My grip on the glass tightens, and I tilt my head, feigning innocence. “Regret? Like what?”
“Like the last time you got drunk.” His gaze locks on mine, steady and unyielding. “Remember what happened?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I refuse to look away. “I remember everything, Zack. You don’t have to remind me.”
“Then don’t make me,” he says simply, his voice soft but laced with meaning.
The tension between us feels like a living thing, curling around the table and pulling us closer. I take another sip of my drink, slower this time, the straw a convenient distraction. When I glance back at him, his expression is calm, but his eyes express something deeper…something I can’t quite name.
“I’m fine,” I repeat firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “I have no regrets.”
“Alright,” he says, his tone even as our food is delivered. I welcome the reprieve from being the sole focus of his attention, but the lingering discomfort pushes me to drink more…and faster…than I had intended.