Chapter Five #4
He stopped in front of me, close enough for me to see the dust on his shirt and the tight line still in his jaw from Fletcher's name.
"Daphne, what you did was wrong."
"I know."
"It was expensive, stupid, and a terrible use of keys."
"Agreed."
"You should've told me."
"Yes."
His gaze held mine. "But you're not Fletcher."
The words went through me clean.
I swallowed hard.
Zane's voice stayed low and steady. "You didn't put my land in a packet. You didn't dress up my no until it looked like an access path. You didn't sit across from me pretending to offer options while you sold other people on something I'd already refused."
"No."
"You saw it, and you came here."
"I was scared you'd think I was part of it."
"I don't."
The shed blurred.
I blinked fast. "You don't?"
"No."
"You believe me?"
"Yes."
It was too much.
My breath broke, and I covered my face with one hand. "That's very inconvenient of you."
"Believing you?"
"Yes." I wiped under one eye with my thumb before mascara could betray me further. "I had a whole disaster scenario prepared."
"I'm sure you did."
"It involved you being furious."
"I'm furious."
I dropped my hand.
Zane's eyes were on mine, but the anger in his face wasn't aimed at me.
"Not at you," he said.
My throat tightened.
He reached for me, then stopped with his hand half-raised.
I stepped into him.
Zane's arm came around me.
The first contact stole the air from my lungs. His hand spread between my shoulder blades, warm and broad through my blouse. My cheek pressed against his chest, and I caught the familiar scent of sun, work, cotton, and Zane. Not office toner. Not coffee. Not fear.
For one second, I let myself hold on.
His other hand settled at the back of my head, careful with my hair clip. "You should've told me."
"Yes."
"You're telling me now."
"I am."
His chest moved under my cheek as he breathed. "We deal with Fletcher next."
We.
My fingers curled in his shirt.
"I still have four hours left," I said, because apparently paperwork had staged a coup in my brain.
Zane's hand stilled against my back. Then he gave a short, quiet laugh.
The sound rumbled against my cheek.
"What?" I asked.
"You just told me my brother may have used my land to prop up a development packet, confessed to a parking-lot tire catastrophe, cried in my shed, and now you're worried about your hours."
"When you list it that way, it sounds busy."
"It is busy."
"I don't want you to think I came here to get out of anything."
Zane eased back enough to look at me. His hands stayed at my waist, steady and warm.
"I don't think that."
"I also don't want this to make your work harder here."
"Fletcher already did that."
"But I'm connected to Cascadia."
"You work there. You didn't make the deal."
"I touched the packet."
"You prepared materials assigned to you by your boss."
"Your brother is the broker."
"I noticed."
His dry tone almost made me smile.
Almost.
I looked toward the open shed door. From here, I could see the bright path, the edge of the tomato row, and beyond it the south fence where his land began. "The map showed the P-Patch like a community amenity."
Zane's eyes narrowed. "Of course it did."
"It wasn't drawn as part of the acquisition. But the route curls close. It makes the garden look like proof the project cares about community while the access pressure moves right beside it."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"You didn't draw the map."
"No, but I understood it."
"That's why you're here."
I looked back at him.
Zane lifted one hand and brushed his thumb under my eye, catching the damp place I'd missed. The touch was gentle enough to hurt.
"You came here," he said. "That counts."
My pulse moved under his thumb.
"We need to tell Monica more tomorrow," I said.
"We will."
"And Fletcher?"
His face hardened.
For this moment, in this shed, I only needed the truth sitting between us without breaking what we'd started.
"Fletcher doesn't get to hear this from anyone but me," Zane said.
"Okay."
"And you don't talk to him alone."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
My shoulders eased.
I touched his wrist. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"I'm sorry my brother put you in the middle of this."
"He didn't know I was here."
"No." Zane looked past me toward the workbench, where my note sat beside the hours clipboard. "But he knew I said no."
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
I slipped my hand into his.
His fingers closed around mine immediately.
"You believe me," I said.
Zane looked down at me. "Yes, Daphne. I believe you."
My eyes stung again.
"Please don't be nice about the tire thing forever," I said. "I'll get weird."
His mouth curved. "You're already weird."
"That sounded affectionate."
"It was."
I let out a breath that almost became a laugh.
Outside, the sun stayed bright over the P-Patch. The repaired drip line kept doing its quiet work in the soil. Somewhere down the road, a truck engine faded toward town.
Zane folded my note into his palm. His other hand stayed around mine.
"We'll handle this," he said.
I pressed my thumb to the rough edge of his knuckle and pulled in one clean breath.