10. Zoe
Zoe
“ S o,” Levi says as we step out of the escape room after posing for the requisite ‘We escaped the room’ photo, “I believe with the win comes a chance to let me explain.”
I shove my hands into my pockets as he gestures left, and we turn down the sidewalk, falling into step together.
“Having second thoughts?” There’s an edge of uncertainty in his voice that makes me glance up at him.
“A little,” I admit, taking a deep breath of the city air, heavy with the scent of cherry blossoms. “I mean, I’ve spent five years wondering why you were such an asshole at brunch but also hating your guts because of it.”
“And…” he prompts.
“And maybe, that was easier.”
“Because the truth might change things between us?”
“Things are already changed between us,” I scoff. “I mean, you have to admit running into each other and the auction and the coat closet and now this,” I say, waving my hand between us, “proves there’s still chemistry. It’s…”
“Confusing?”
I heave a sigh. “Maddening, really. That night, at the wedding, everything between us just felt so…”
“Real?” he finishes softly.
Damn. It’s almost worse that he confirms it. But I’m not ready to admit that aloud.
“Where are we going?” I ask, glancing down the treelined street.
“Somewhere you’ll hopefully enjoy more of that respect and the unforgettable evening you won. If I’m delivering so far, that is?” he adds, fishing for a compliment.
I arch an eyebrow. “The jury’s still out.”
He nods toward a converted brownstone, halfway down the block. There’s a chalkboard sign out front I can’t quite read. “Thought we could try something different. For us, at least.”
“So not a coat closet?”
He chuckles and dips his chin. “There’s probably a utility room in the back, but I meant staying sober.”
“Worried if I have a cocktail in hand, it might end up thrown in your face?”
“No,” he admits quietly. “I’m not worried about that anymore.”
The gentle gruffness in his voice makes my pulse jump. Cocky used to be his mode of operation, but not tonight, it seems.
“I know what you were doing at the auction, by the way,” I say as we stroll. “With the whole ideal woman being someone intelligent and driven thing.”
He feigns ignorance. “Not sure I remember what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” I say, not believing his faulty memory for a minute. “What a coincidence your perfect first date is dancing under the stars on a rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen and talking until sunrise.”
“Coincidence or reality?”
“I wouldn’t exactly refer to that night as a first date.”
“Maybe not, but you were a captive audience at the auction, and I have learned I can’t waste a single opportunity when it comes to you.”
“That so?”
“It is.”
I don’t have a comeback for that, so it’s good it’s only another few yards until we arrive at the brownstone. The chalkboard A-frame out front welcomes folks to a mocktail masterclass. Not what I would have expected, but I’m finding, with this new Levi, things aren’t always what they seem. And the mystery is still something I’m trying to unravel.
We step inside the speakeasy-style space, all exposed brick and copper accents with hanging herbs. After checking in, the instructor, sporting a man bun and elaborate sleeve tattoos, shows us to the last open station. Half a dozen or so fill the room and are set up in pairs facing a demo table, complete with a video screen mounted from the ceiling above.
“You’d better watch out, Reyes,” I murmur, scanning the assorted ingredients at our table, including fresh mint, cucumber, lime, simple syrup, and a variety of bases including some bottles of fancy artisanal tonic water.
“Why’s that?”
“I have everything here for a virgin mojito.”
Levi’s mouth quirks up at one corner as he rolls up his sleeves, exposing those tempting forearms that draw my gaze. But before he can respond, the instructor blows across a pan flute to get everyone’s attention.
Yes, a pan flute. But we are in Williamsburg, after all, and this part of Brooklyn tends to be rather artsy.
“Everyone, please welcome your ingredients into your space,” our instructor intones. “Connect with their energy before we begin.”
Other participants don’t appear fazed by the suggestion, but Levi and I glance at each other and share a mutual eyeroll, the kind that says everything without words.
Levi picks up a sprig of rosemary and twirls it dramatically.
“Namaste, rosemary,” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
I stifle a laugh, grateful we’re not the ones taking this seriously.
“Pretty sure pan flute guy teaches goat yoga on weekends,” I murmur back.
Levi’s eyes dance with mischief, and I can’t help but feel the look down at the soles of my feet.
Ten minutes later, we’re muddling organic spearmint in the bottom of highball glasses. The sharp, clean scent mingles with Levi’s spicy cologne.
“You don’t need to go at it that hard,” I say, watching him attack the herbs in his glass with a vengeance.
“That’s not what you said the other night.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that fills my face as I shake my head.
“What?” he asks, playing innocent.
“And there’s the Levi Reyes I remember,” I say, my voice betraying how much I like this playful side of him.
He eases up on the mint. “Sorry,” he murmurs into his glass as if the mint is his new best friend. “It’s just this date here tonight…it’s important. And see this gorgeous woman, here?” He tilts the glass in my direction. “Yeah, well, I’m about to bare my soul to her, and I’m not sure how she’s going to take it.”
Not only do I not know how I’ll take whatever he has to say, but I’m also not sure how to take the fact he’s confessing his fears to a handful of mashed mint leaves.
“Press the herbs gently, my friends,” the instructor’s voice calls out over the room. “They should feel your loving intention!”
“See,” Levi says, meeting my gaze. “I’m just following directions.”
“So that’s what’s coming? You baring your soul?”
“That’s the plan.” He glances up through unfairly long lashes. “Unless you’d rather keep pretending there isn’t something real here.”
My heart pounds so hard it threatens to crack my ribs, but before I can respond, our instructor interrupts again.
“Now, everyone switch to your shakers!”
Levi’s knuckles whiten around the muddler, and he shoots a frustrated glance at Mr. Man Bun.
“You’re the one who did the pretending last time,” I remind him, grabbing a paring knife to slice the cucumber.
“You’re right, Zo. I did.” He sets down the muddler and blows out a long breath. “Because I was terrified.”
“Of Alex?”
“Of you.”
The raw honesty in his voice snaps my gaze up to his face.
“Of how you made me feel,” he continues. “Christ, I’ve known you since you were in elementary school, when you were just Alex’s annoying kid sister trailing after us. Then suddenly here you were, this brilliant woman with your entire future mapped out, already crushing med school, and I was…” He trails off, grabbing a bottle of tonic water as if it might escape.
My grip tightens on the knife handle. “You were what?”
“A guy who barely made it through high school. Didn’t go to college, worked dead-end jobs and hadn’t even been accepted to the academy yet.” His jaw works.
Understanding floods through me, hot and sharp. “You pushed me away that morning because you were scared? Because you thought you weren’t good enough for me?”
“And now, time for the fun part—garnishing!” The instructor’s voice grates on my last nerve as Levi sets down the bottle and lays both palms flat on the butcher block.
“Seemed easier than watching you figure out I wasn’t worth your time.” His voice drops low enough only I can hear. “And better than losing Alex when he inevitably would have killed me.”
“Did he say something?”
“He didn’t have to. I knew exactly what he’d think about me going after his sister. Hell, I knew what everyone would think.” Ice cubes clink as he drops two into the stainless-steel shaker. “And they’d have been right. I didn’t deserve you.”
“And now?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His gaze snaps to mine, those dark eyes intense enough to stop traffic. “I still don’t, not even close. And I’m still terrified. The difference now is, I’ve realized the truth.”
“That you should have let me have a say in us?”
“Well, that, too,” he admits before lifting his gaze to latch onto mine. “That I can’t live without you.”
My heart is doing its best to escape my chest cavity as I process his words. All this time, I thought I was just another conquest, when really…
“I never got over that night,” he admits quietly. “Never got over you.”
I reach for the strainer, needing something to do with my trembling hands. “It wasn’t just physical for me, either,” I confess. “That’s why it hurt so much when you acted like it meant nothing.”
“Zo.” He catches my wrist gently. “I’m sorry. Really. That night meant everything. I didn’t know how to handle it.”
The truth is plastered across his face, visible in every line crisscrossing his forehead, in every wrinkle around the firm set of his lips. The vulnerability. The hope. The fear. All the things he’s been hiding behind that cocky grin.
We’ve still got my brother to deal with, but for now, this moment feels like the beginning of something real.