Chapter 7
Lisa
The smell wakes me before my alarm does. For a moment, I don’t know where I am.
The ceiling above me isn’t mine. The light coming through the window isn’t filtered by James’s heavy blackout curtains. The air feels different. Lighter. Warmer somehow.
Then the smell reaches me again.
Waffles.
Real waffles.
Mom’s waffles.
I sit up so quickly that the blanket slides off my lap and lands on the floor.
“No way,” I whisper.
For a second, I sit there, listening. There’s movement in the kitchen. Cabinets opening. Something sizzling. A plate is being set down.
Zane.
A smile spreads across my face before I even realize it’s happening.
I pull on a sweatshirt and make my way toward the kitchen, following the smell like it’s a trail of breadcrumbs leading me home.
When I step into the hallway, I can already hear him humming.
“Please tell me that’s what I think it is,” I say as I walk into the kitchen.
Zane turns around, wooden spatula in hand, looking far too proud of himself.
“You doubted me?” he asks.
“I didn’t doubt you,” I say, stepping closer to the counter. “I just didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
“Well,” he says, gesturing toward the stove, “prepare to be impressed.”
There’s a bowl of batter on the counter, strawberries already sliced in a small dish, a stack of waffles resting on a plate under foil, and…
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “You even did the strawberries.”
“I even did the strawberries,” he confirms.
I laugh and lean against the counter.
“Did you call mom for instructions?”
“I resent that,” he says immediately. “I watched her make these at least a hundred times growing up.”
“That doesn’t mean you paid attention.”
“I paid attention,” he insists.
“We’ll see,” I say suspiciously as I reach for a strawberry.
He slaps my hand away with the spatula.
“Sit.”
“Yes, chef,” I say, sliding onto one of the barstools.
Zane plates the waffles carefully. It’s like he’s presenting something important instead of breakfast. He adds strawberries, whipped cream, and the right amount of powdered sugar. He puts the plate in front of me with a big smile.
“There,” he says. “Moment of truth.”
I pick up my fork slowly, cutting off a piece as if this were some kind of formal taste test.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says nervously. “Just eat it.”
I take a bite. And immediately close my eyes.
“Oh,” I say softly.
“Oh, good, oh?” he asks.
“Oh, perfect, oh.”
His shoulders relax instantly.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously,” I confirm. “This tastes exactly like mom’s.”
He grins.
“I knew it.”
“You absolutely did not know it,” I laugh.
I take another bite and let myself enjoy it properly this time. For a moment, everything feels normal. Easy. Familiar.
Safe.
“I missed this,” I admit quietly.
“Me too,” Zane says.
We eat in comfortable silence for a minute before he looks at me again.
“So,” he says casually, “how was your first night back?”
I keep my eyes on my plate.
“It was good,” I say. “Quiet.”
“Quiet good or quiet lonely?”
“Quiet good,” I answer honestly.
He nods as he believes me.
“And?” he asks. “Did you do anything exciting?”
“I unpacked. Ordered pizza. Watched a movie.”
“What movie?”
“Dumplin’.”
He pauses mid-bite. “That tracks,” he says.
“It’s a great movie.”
“I’m not arguing with you.”
I hesitate for a second before continuing.
“Oh,” I add lightly, “and Blake stopped by, of course.”
“I’m so sorry I forgot about that,” Zane groans. “ Did he scare you?”
“I almost called the police on him,” I say.
Zane laughs.
“I’m serious,” I continue. “I was in the middle of dancing to Dolly Parton wearing a face mask and bunny slippers.”
He nearly chokes on his waffle.
“I wish I had seen that.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t,” I say. “Your friend is lucky he survived.”
“I told him to stop using the key,” Zane says immediately.
“He said he needed blades,” I shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Still,” Zane says. “I should’ve warned you.”
“It’s fine,” I repeat. “He left after a bit.” Technically true. Zane studies me like he’s trying to decide if there’s more to the story.
“So,” I say, changing the subject, “tell me about your date.”
His entire expression shifts instantly. There it is. The smile. The nervous one. The hopeful one.
“It was good,” he says.
“Just good?” I ask.
“Really good,” he corrects himself.
“Better.”
He laughs softly and leans back in his chair.
“We went to this new restaurant,” he begins. “Nothing fancy. She said she didn’t like places that were too formal.”
“I like her already,” I say.
“Yeah,” he nods. “Me too.”
“What’s she like?” I ask.
“She’s funny,” he says immediately. “And kind. And she pretends she’s not nervous, but she absolutely is.”
“That’s adorable.”
“It is,” he agrees.
“And?” I prompt.
“And she challenges me,” he continues. “Not in a bad way. Just… she doesn’t treat me like I’m a hockey player.”
“That’s rare,” I say.
“Very rare.” He looks down at his plate for a second before continuing. “She told me she almost didn’t come to the charity event where we met.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She said she felt out of place.”
My chest tightens a little. “I know that feeling,” I say quietly.
Zane glances at me.
“You won’t feel like that here,” he says.
“I know,” I reply quickly.
He watches me for another second but doesn’t push.
“I think you’ll like her,” he says finally.
“I already do,” I smile.
“And I think she’ll like you too.”
“We’ll see,” I laugh. “Don’t scare her away by introducing her to your entire family too fast.”
“I’m not introducing her to dad yet,” he says quickly.
“Smart.”
He hesitates. “But I do want you to meet her soon.”
“I’d love that,” I tell him honestly.
We finish breakfast slowly, neither of us in a hurry to end the moment.
Then Zane clears his throat like he’s about to bring something up he’s been thinking about for a while.
“So,” he says, standing up to refill his coffee. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” he says. “It’s actually the opposite.”
“Now I’m suspicious.”
He laughs. “The team is hosting a party next Friday,” he explains. “Just something casual. Teammates, staff, friends.”
I nod. “Ok.”
“I was thinking maybe you should come.”
I blink. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I don’t know,” I say immediately.
“It’ll be fun,” he insists. “It’s not a big public thing. It’s people hanging out.”
“I don’t really know anyone,” I point out.
“You know me.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“You know Blake,” he adds.
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Barely.”
“He’s harmless,” Zane says.
“That’s not what his reputation says.”
Zane rolls his eyes. “He’s not what people think he is.”
“That’s what everyone says about guys like him,” I counter.
“He’s my best friend,” Zane says simply.
That stops me.
“I trust him,” he adds.
Something about the way he says it makes me pause.
“I think it would be good for you,” he continues. “You’ve been through a lot. Getting out, meeting people, doing something normal again… that matters.”
I stare down at my mug. Normal. I’m not sure I remember what normal feels like.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Zane says gently. “Just think about it.”
I nod. “I will.”
“And if it helps,” he adds, “Gwen will be there.”
That changes things. “Oh,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“Well then,” I shrug, pretending not to care too much. “Maybe.”
“That’s progress,” he smiles.
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.”
I sigh.
“You’re annoying.”
“I’m persuasive.”
“Debatable.”
He grins. “Think about it,” he repeats.
I nod again, but this time I mean it. Because maybe he’s right.
Maybe it would be good for me to go. Maybe it would be good to start living again.
Even if that means running into Blake Saxon somewhere between the snacks and the music.
And for reasons I don’t fully understand yet…
that thought doesn’t scare me nearly as much as it probably should.