Chapter 27
RED
KAT ~ ONE MONTH LATER
Ibreathe in slowly, savoring the peace in the air and all around me.
The past month has been a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline, and more cursed publicity.
But now… now it felt like something new.
Something was blooming. I relished these quiet moments back at Pearson House with Zayn and Bundy, drenched in peace and an easy quiet.
I pull the brand new, blood-red sweater over my head, and tousle my dark waves over one shoulder.
I emerge from the closet and slip on my black high-heeled boots.
Entering the foyer, I lift my head to see Zayn struggling with the wine key in the kitchen.
Bundy perches on the edge of the counter, watching with large, saucer-like eyes.
After a moment, Zayn stills where he is in the kitchen and just stares down at the bottle of white wine in defeat. A slow smile spreads over my lips as I watch him. The killer… the ex-marine… so fucking capable but stumped by a goddamn wine cork. It was almost poetic or something.
“God damn it! I don’t know why I can never seem to get the damn cork out straight,” Zayn exclaims underneath his breath, presumably to himself. But Bundy meows in reply.
I come up behind him and quietly say, “It’s okay, baby, you have other strengths.”
“Mmm, like what?” he retorts, not turning to look at me.
“Well, for instance, parallel parking… making me come so hard I cry… killing off the Demon of the PNW. You know? That type of stuff. So why don’t you let me handle the wine?” I grin, as I wrap my arms underneath his body and reach for the bottle opener.
I feel Zayn freeze as he looks down and notices my sweater. He whips around, pinning me with an electrified gaze.
“Baby…” he exclaims with an incredulous tone in his voice. “Red? You’re wearing red.”
I meet his eyes, an easy smile playing over my lips.
“Mhmm,” I respond. “My new color.”
Zayn smiles at me, and there’s a light in his eyes so bright it could break through cloud cover. I offer him a radiant smile right back.
We are supposed to be celebrating today. But with the look Zayn is giving me, I’m not sure we will be making it out of the house at all. His gaze trails down the form-fitting sweater, taking it all in.
“Just wait until you see the color of my panties,” I whisper with a naughty wink of my eye. Zayn groans and leans into me.
“Come on,” I say, still smiling, as I put the last of the food and the wine bottle into the picnic basket. “We have a celebration to get to.”
And I grab his hand, which is now trailing down to my ass, and pull him out of the kitchen. We walk into the foyer, and I reach for my keys and cell phone on the entryway table there.
A few days prior, I had the bulky fiberglass cast cut off my ankle, finally.
And on Tuesday, I head back to the office.
I am itching to get back to my patients and back to a somewhat regular schedule.
But today. Today, we are also celebrating Rae moving out of Pearson House, and into her long-term rental, which is situated nearby.
Pearson House will return to just ours.
The way it should be.
My phone pings and I swipe up to accept a reminder about my upcoming therapy appointment.
I smile as I reflect on the progress I’ve made over the past few weeks.
Zayn had diligently taken me to all of my appointments, and waited for me in the parking lot to bring me home when they were done.
Just always collecting my broken pieces. And seeing to their mending.
I stick my nose in the picnic basket and inhale the divine smell of fresh sourdough, soft French cheeses, and sweet berries.
Zayn’s long arms wrap around my waist and his hands settle across my lower belly.
His thumbs glide over my new red sweater, back and forth.
I lean into his touch. I let my head rest against his chest, our breathing falling into a rhythm together, steady and calm.
For the first time in so long, I feel safe.
Not trapped in thoughts, but fully here, anchored in my body.
As if by magic, Zayn produces a rhododendron, and gently tucks it behind my ear.
We find what we need when we need it. My father’s words replay in my head. I believe them now.
Zayn had found Dad when the moment called for it. Bundy had found me when I was unraveling. And I had found Zayn. Again. And he has healed me in ways I hadn't known that I needed.
And in the quiet certainty of that truth, I make a silent promise, not to repay, but to honor. By living. By thriving. By tending to this garden we’ve planted, from the wreckage of loss.
THE END