Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Zane
“How do you stay so…” Wren waves her hand vaguely at me. “You know what, never mind.”
I lean back against the counter and grin at my friend. “No, please. Do keep going. I live for compliments.”
She snorts. “It’s not a compliment.”
“Sure it is. You were about to say something along the lines of ruggedly handsome or effortlessly cool. Maybe both.”
Her eyes narrow, the way they always do when she’s trying not to laugh. “You really believe your own hype, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” I deadpan. “If I don’t, who will?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I was about to ask how you live off of beef jerky and candy bars and can still look like you spend six hours a day in the gym.”
I shrug and unwrap my third Twix of the night. “Did you forget that I do manual labor for eight-plus hours a day?”
The corner of my mouth twitches before I return to my task of putting together the ultimate s’mores charcuterie board.
On the counter sits rows of Hershey bars, Reese’s Cups, Oreos, and Twix, all lined up in neat rows.
Graham crackers, pretzels, and strawberries weave through the chocolate chaos.
My love for creating charcuterie boards started earlier this year.
Raine began hosting Thursday dinners, but once she and Ryland started planning their wedding, the meals became a little sparse.
We all tried to fill in, but let’s just say our collective cooking skills topped out at delivery pizza.
Even Olivia, who’s a baker, opts for quick meals after a long day of baking.
So, one night, I rolled in with not one but two boards—meat and cheese on one, fruit and veggies on the other. And just like that, I gained instant legend status. Now it’s become my thing. Build-your-own taco boards, nacho boards, even breakfast-for-dinner boards.
Wren ignores my comment and narrows her eyes at me. “Are you trying to impress someone, or do calories refuse to stick to you?”
“Neither.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her grin turns mischievous. “Maybe it’s a sign that you’re finally ready to date again.”
I choke on my bite. “Absolutely not.”
Wren gapes at me. “It’s been six years, Zane.”
“And?”
“And your standards are so specific I’m pretty sure nobody qualifies.”
“They’re called boundaries.”
“They’re impossible.” She steals a Reese’s from the charcuterie board. “At this rate, you’ll die alone with the little checklist you keep in your wallet.”
“First of all, how’d you know that was in there?” I level her with a look.
Wren immediately lifts her Reese’s to her mouth and takes an unnecessarily large bite, chewing with the exaggerated innocence of someone who has absolutely been caught.
“Secondly, I’m perfectly content with my life right now.”
“So what about your new neighbor?” she asks around a mouthful. “She’s related to Ashton, so I know she’s got to be beautiful.”
I focus on lining up Oreos that don’t need straightening. “Maxinne’s only staying for the summer.”
“So you have noticed her.”
“I mean, I have eyes.”
“And absolutely no interest?”
“Nope.”
Wren hums, unconvinced. The annoying part is I’m not sure I believe me either. I point toward the s’mores board.
“How about you finish this while I go chop some wood so we can build the fire.”
“Yes, sir.” She gives me a salute before getting to work.
I chuckle as I make my way outside, checking on Sven, who’s sniffing around and content for the moment. The air is cooler than it’s been all week, and I’m grateful for it. I grab the ax propped against the woodpile and let the familiar rhythm take over.
Chop. Crack. Thud.
A small stack grows at my feet, each log a promise of flames to come.
I’ve always appreciated a good campfire.
It doesn’t matter if it’s spring, summer, fall, or the dead of winter; there’s something about sitting by a fire that helps me reset.
Maybe it’s the way the smoke curls into the night sky, as if it carries the weight of the week with it.
After pulling double shifts lately, it’s exactly what I need tonight.
Sven barks as headlights appear, and I spot Maxinne’s car pulling into the driveway next door. Right on cue, Sven rushes toward her.
“Hey, boy,” she says, closing the car door and bending down to give him a hug.
I walk toward them, a grin spreading across my face as she stands up. She’s completely covered in mud and is holding a pair of broken sandals in one hand. I’m about to make a funny comment, but the words halt in the back of my throat once I see her expression.
She has mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her eyes are rimmed with redness—evidence she’s been crying. I’m quickly reminded of how I found her crying this morning and that I probably should give her some space.
However, I can’t seem to help myself when I ask, “Are you okay?”
Her lip quivers as she motions toward her mud-covered body. “I’ll survive, I suppose.”
I take another step closer and level my head with hers. “That’s not what I asked.”
She sucks in a breath, her eyes revealing her internal emotional battle.
“No. I’m not okay,” she answers before crumbling in front of me.
On instinct, I reach out and wrap her in a hug. I place a hand on the back of her head and bring her closer to my chest while keeping my other on her back. Her body trembles against mine as sobs begin to escape her, and a sense of protectiveness overcomes me.
Maxinne is Ashton’s little sister, after all, so naturally I want to help and make sure she’s taken care of while she’s here visiting.
Even if warning bells are going off inside my brain, silently telling me ’Warning, warning, you are touching a female you can’t catch any feelings for!
’ That doesn’t mean I can’t offer her friendship.
After a while, she calms down and removes herself from my embrace. She sniffles, and I try not to notice how cute she is when she looks up at me with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be,” I assure her.
“I’m a mess,” she mumbles and wipes her cheeks. “Literally.”
I follow her hands as they motion up and down her mud-covered jeans and tank top. I want to ask her what happened, but decide not to press it. Yet. I will totally be asking her later.
“And I got some on you, I’m—”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing. Your mess doesn’t bother me.”
Her face softens, and something in my chest shifts, like a door I thought I’d locked finally creaking open.
“Plus, I’m a mess too. I’m covered in sawdust from work earlier. No matter what I do, it clings to me.”
“It’s man-glitter,” we say at the same time.
Laughter bursts out from her. “You got that from my brother, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” I admit with a sheepish grin.
“Glitter is, like, his worst nightmare, so sawdust—”
“—is almost as bad, in his eyes,” I finish her sentence, and the smile she gives me almost glows under the light of the setting sun.
We’re silent for a moment before she bends down to give Sven a scratch behind his ear and then hikes a thumb over her shoulder. “Well, I should probably head inside and get cleaned up.”
I get how she might be feeling at this moment. For me, after I open myself up to someone, I always need a few minutes to sort of shut down and restore my sense of privacy. So you’d think I’d back off and give her the space she needs.
Instead, as if an outside force takes over me, I blurt out, “You should come back out when you’re finished.”
She pauses mid-step, arching a brow in confusion.
“Wren and I are about to have a fire and some s’mores. You can join us, if you’d like. There’s nothing that a s’more can’t fix.”
“We’d love to have you!” Wren yells, and I turn to see her walking toward the fire pit, smirking as she winks at me. She’s been spying on us the whole time, I’m sure, and I’m going to hear all about this from her. Great.
Maxinne’s eyes widen as she shakes her head and whispers so that only I can hear, “Oh I can’t interrupt your date. I’ll—”
“It’s not a date, I promise. Wren’s one of my best friends,” I say quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “Think about it while you get cleaned up. And if you’re up for it, you’re welcome to join us.”
She hesitates for a few seconds before nodding. I watch her until I see the front door shut to the cabin and take in a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for whatever Wren is about to put me through.
I make my way over to the fire pit and hold up a hand. “Not a word.”
“Who says I was going to say anything?” Wren’s smirk grows.
I frown at her. “Have you met you?”
She giggles, setting down some extra plates and napkins. “So that’s her, huh?”
“Yup.” I busy myself with getting the fire started then move the cooler to a better spot between us and grab a bag of marshmallows. I open it with my teeth, more aggressively than necessary, sending marshmallows flying everywhere.
Wren starts cackling, and I want to smack myself.
“Why are you so tense, Zane?”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
“Am not.”
“Okay.” She holds up her hands and, in air quotes, replies, “You’re not.”
I raise a brow, even though I’m used to this sort of attitude from her.
“See, I’m using what most humans call sarcasm because telling you that you’re full of crap is considered rude in most social situations. And I’m trying to be a good friend.”
I hold up my hand and, in air quotes, say, “You’re being a good friend.” A sharp sting runs through my left arm as she slaps it. “Ow! What was that for?”
“First of all, I’m an amazing friend. Secondly, I saw the way you were with her. You haven’t been that way with a woman in…honestly I don’t remember.”
“Just because I gave her a hug doesn’t mean anything. I was being neighborly.”
“It wasn’t the hug, doofus. It was how you looked at her,” she snaps, and I flinch as she smacks my arm again.
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out, because unfortunately, I know exactly which look she’s talking about. I exhale in frustration and move over to another chair so she can’t smack me again.
“Your imagination is getting carried away.”
She scoffs. “It’s not. I have twenty-twenty vision. I know what I saw.”