Page 46 of The Little Things

“Is it your birthday?” I asked, my mind reeling as I tried to think of how I could get a gift on such short notice. Gift giving was kind of a love language of mine, and I needed at least three weeks to guarantee I find the perfect present.

“It’s his adoption day party,” Becky answered.

I was turned partially away from her, so she couldn’t see the look of pure shock on my face, but Zach didn’t miss it. His eyes communicated everything he was thinking. I’ll tell you all about it.

I silently responded. You damn well better.

“She’ll be there, Gram. We’ll see you guys in a bit.”

He picked up the pace, hustling me out of the lodge before anyone could drop any other bombs.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rae

Icouldn’t pull my gaze from Zach’s profile as we bumped along the gravel lane in his truck, the lodge growing smaller in the rearview mirror. We reached the T in the lane that would take us off the ranch if we made a right or toward the barn if we went left. Zach cranked the wheel to the left.

“Where are we going?” I asked as a country ballad played at a low volume through the truck’s speakers.

“I’m taking you to my place. Thought I might make lunch for you there.”

My brows winged up toward my hairline. “You cook?”

He grinned and nodded his head without taking his eyes off the road. “Sure do. Grandma was an incredible cook and taught my mom everything she knew, and in return, Mom taught me.”

I felt a tiny smile pull at my lips. “Is that your roundabout way of saying you’re a pretty good cook?”

He glanced in my direction, his smirk wolfish. “No, baby. That’s my roundabout way of telling you I’m a fuckin’ awesome cook.”

My head fell back on a laugh. I liked that he wasn’t humble about it, that he didn’t hesitate to brag about his skills. It wasn’t narcissism or false bravado. He knew what he was good at and he owned it. There was something insanely attractive about that.

He pulled his truck up beside his house, ordering me to stay put as he hopped out and jogged around the hood to my side to open my door and help me out. I looked at his place, taking in the outside and noticing that it was kind of a cross between a grownup version of the cabin I was staying in and the large ranch house his grandparents used to live in, the beautiful one near the barn that sat empty.

I’d been curious about Zach’s place since I first spotted it tucked into the grove of trees. I wondered how a man like him would decorate, which way his tastes leaned. Was he a messy bachelor, or did he like things tidy? What did he do in his downtime? Did he like videogames or did he prefer to relax in front of the television? There was so much about Zach I wanted to know, and now that we were... whatever we were, I could finally put some of those curiosities to rest. Starting with how he kept house.

A few pairs of boots, all dusty and well used, were beside the front door for easy access, but the living room was spotless. There was a large television mounted above the fireplace, facing a buttery leather couch the color of tobacco, but there were no gaming consoles in sight. Instead, I noticed rows of paperbacks on the built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. Thrillers mostly, with some murder mysteries thrown in.

“You’ve got quite the collection here,” I said as I moved in the direction of the shelves while he headed for the kitchen at the back of the living room. The open concept of his house made it easy for us to carry on a conversation. I dragged my fingers along the spines. “Have you read all of these?”

“About half, maybe. Some more than once.”

“Is that what you like to do when you’re trying to relax? Read?”

“Mostly. I also like to watch the sunset from my back deck with a beer or a glass of bourbon. Much better quality than that shit I was drinking in the barn. Or there’s a place I have on the ranch where I like to go to clear my head.”

I spotted a couple picture frames and bent forward to get a better look. One of the pictures was of Zach and a group of guys. Some I recognized like Connor and Raylan, but the others weren’t familiar. Then there were the obligatory family photos, high school graduations, a couple family Christmas photos. But the one that caught my eye was of a much younger Zach. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old in the photo. He was all arms and legs in the picture, at that awkward age where the growth spurts start, but the weight hasn’t quite caught up yet. He was lanky, his hair overly long and falling across his forehead and into his eyes in a style I assumed was popular at that time. The photo was taken in front of a small, red brick courthouse. On either side of Zach stood Rory and Cord Paulson, his parents.

The three of them stood on the wide cement steps, all of them beaming brilliantly at the camera. In Zach’s hands was a very official looking piece of paper. I squinted and leaned in to get a better look, reading the words Certificate of Adoption across the top.

The picture warmed my heart at the same time a pang of sadness worked its way through me. If that was a picture from the day he was officially adopted by Rory and Cord, how long had he been in the foster system?

My curiosity got the best of me, and I moved away from the bookshelves and into the kitchen where Zach was in the middle of preparing some kind of pasta salad. I sat on one of the stools across the island from him and rested my chin in my hand as I watched him work.

“How old were you when you were adopted?” I finally asked.

“Twelve.” He answered the question easily, like it was nothing at all. “I was raised in foster care my whole life up until that point.” He offered the information like he knew how badly I wanted to know, but was too nervous to ask.

When I remained quiet, he lifted his gaze from the tomatoes and cucumbers he was slicing and looked at me. “I don’t mind talkin’ about it, baby, so if you have questions, just ask.”

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