Chapter 8 #2
The bridge of his nose isn’t straight with a small hump in the middle.
There’s a scar on his forehead, right above his left eyebrow, and another that sits on the left of his cupid’s bow on his lips.
He’s wearing a plain gray t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and worn jeans faded at the knees.
A black ball cap shadows his golden-brown hair, but I can still see the way it curls faintly at the edges.
Hazel eyes meet mine as his brows draw together, an expression halfway between surprise and something heavier. I swallow, clutching the container of soup a little tighter.
“I thought you might be hungry,” I say, stepping closer toward him. “Ashton mentioned it’s been a rough week.”
Zane’s jaw tightens, and he shakes his head. “I already ate at my mom’s tonight, but…thanks.”
He reaches out and takes the container, his fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second, making my skin tingle unexpectedly. He studies the clear container for a moment before carefully setting it in his lap. I glance down and notice a book resting against his thigh.
A golden cross gleams on the spine and front cover. “It’s a good night for reading,” I say softly, trying not to seem intrusive, and hold up the book I’m still clutching onto. “I was going to do the same.”
He stiffens for a heartbeat then exhales.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll…let you get back to it. I’m sorry for intruding.”
He pauses, those dark brows of his furrowing again, as he lifts his eyes to mine. “You can stay, Max.”
I’m not sure why, but hearing him say my name, only Max, elicits a shiver from me. I settle into the chair beside him, the fire casting shadows across both of our faces.
“Thank you for the soup.”
“You’re welcome. It’s tomato basil. I made it from scratch, out of my dad’s garden.”
He perks up a bit, seeming impressed. “So, not only do you have a green thumb, but you cook too?” He grins, and it must be contagious because I do the same. “I can’t wait to try it.”
“I’ve been trying to have dinner ready for Ashton when he gets to Dad’s after work. I can tell these summer hours have been hard on him, and I want to help in any way that I can.”
His smirk transforms into something genuine. “He needs that. I know he’s grateful to have you around. If you keep cooking him delicious meals, he might not let you leave at the end of summer.”
I chuckle, already knowing it’s going to be hard to leave Ashton in a few months, so I try to push those uncomfortable thoughts away and shift the focus onto Zane.
“How has it been for you this week? We’ve both been leaving early and coming home late and have hardly bumped into each other.”
He takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“Work is the same for me as it’s been for Ash.
Today’s just an extra-heavy day because it’s the anniversary of my grandfather’s passing.
” He traces the edge of the Bible with his thumb.
“I came out here, hoping to find some comfort in The Word, but grief doesn’t just leave, you know? ”
I nod, hearing the ache in his voice, and a twinge of guilt hits me because I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone. Luckily, my mom’s parents are still alive and well in a retirement home in Florida. Dad’s parents passed away before I was born, so I never had the opportunity to know them.
“That’s understandable,” I add. “Did it help, in some way?”
He looks at the fire as his jaw twitches. “Yeah, in a way. I was reminded of God’s faithfulness. It lifts some of the weight, but grief is always lurking around.”
I hesitate before offering, “Do you read the Bible often?”
Zane looks at me thoughtfully. “I try my best to read it every day. What about you?”
I pause, fingers brushing at the spine of the book in my hand. It’s about plants that are native to Kentucky. Nothing like the one he’s holding in his hands.
My answer is embarrassing, but I tell him the truth. “Not lately.”
He gives a slight nod and studies me. “Ashton told me y’all didn’t go to church a lot growing up.”
His question catches me off guard. “Yeah. I remember going as a child, but after Dad left, the church we went to sort of shunned us because my parents divorced, and they didn’t believe in that.
It put a sour taste in my mouth about it all.
We tried to visit a few places after that, but it seemed like we were constantly being judged, until my mom decided to quit going altogether. We haven’t been since.”
I glance down at my book just to escape his gaze.
My heart races, caught between nerves or sheer embarrassment—I’m not sure which one.
Braving a glance back at him, I catch him studying me again.
His small smile carries no demands or potential lecture.
It leaves me feeling a little less exposed, as if my uncertainty isn’t wrong or disappointing to him at all.
“I’m sorry for how those people treated you and your family. Church hurt is never easy to heal from.”
I shrug, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, unsure of what to say. My throat tightens at the memory of how my mom was treated back then. I know it still bothers her, even to this day.
He tilts his head so he can get a better look at me, his eyes remaining gentle. “They weren’t a good reflection of Jesus. They’re human, flawed and often afraid, so try not to let their actions shape your view of Him.”
I stare into the fire, considering his words. It’s a truth I hadn’t allowed myself to really hear before. Hope stirs in my chest that maybe my anger and resentment toward church isn’t a permanent mark on my heart. If that’s true, it could be the same for my mother too.
Sven sits down beside me and places his head into my lap.
I grin down at him, giving his ear a scratch, before I glance back up at Zane.
His eyes soften when he looks toward the fire.
I’m curious about his faith, and how he’s survived the grief that still seems to linger around him.
Something about the calm strength he radiates makes me wish I could hold onto it for myself.
Sven sighs, his head heavy on my knee, and I continue to stroke his soft fur absentmindedly, grounding myself in the motion.
Zane glances at me and clears his throat. “Do you remember what you said last weekend?”
I blink at him, trying to catch up. “About what?”
He gives me a half-smile, a glimmer of warmth breaking through his earlier heaviness. “About wanting to start living for yourself. Doing the things you love.”
“Oh, that. Well, I spent the weekend doing a whole lot of nothing.” I glance at the fire and shrug. “And this past week, I’ve been so focused on helping out at my dad’s that I haven’t really taken any time for myself.”
I peek up at him as he adds, “You should make time for yourself. What kinds of things would you want to do?”
“I’ve been wanting to go hiking again, maybe even try kayaking. I love being out in nature and surrounded by plants.”
“That’s fitting for you. There are a few trails around here I think you’d love,” he says. “There’s one near the creek that opens up to a view of the whole valley. Another out by the state park with fields of wildflowers.”
He stops there, his gaze drifting to the ground instead of me, his thumb brushing along the edge of the Bible in his lap. The silence stretches, as if he’s weighing whether to say something more but decides against it.
“They sound beautiful.”
“They are,” he replies, still not looking at me. His tone is kind but carries a faint distance now. “You should go sometime.”
I give him a nod. “I think I will.”