Page 54 of Stuffed

"No idea." I type back quickly.

Me

Very…

"He's being mysterious." I show her the exchange. "And asking me to trust him."

"Do you?"

I think about his texts last night. His admission that he wants to try. His vulnerability.

"Yeah," I say softly. "I really do."

The rest of the day crawls by. I try to focus on work—we have our final health inspection tomorrow before opening next week—but my mind keeps drifting to tonight. To Zane. To what this means for us.

At exactly seven, the bell above our door chimes.

"Wow." I nearly drop the clipboard I'm holding.

Zane stands there in dark jeans and a black sweater that makes his eyes look impossibly blue. But it's his expression that catches me off guard—he’s smiling, yet he looks nervous. It’s cute.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi." I set down the clipboard. "Just let me grab my coat."

He helps me into it, his hands lingering on my shoulders. "You look beautiful."

"I'm in work clothes."

"You're always beautiful." He turns me to face him. "Tessa, about last night?—"

"We don't have to?—"

"Yes, we do." His hands cup my face. "I'm sorry. For doubting. For projecting my issues onto others. For not believing that something this good could be real."

"And now?"

His thumb brushes my cheek. "Now I'm done doubting. Done questioning. Done looking for reasons why this won't work."

"Yeah?" My voice comes out breathless.

"Yeah." He kisses me softly. "Let me show you?"

I nod, letting him lead me outside. Instead of his usual sleek Audi, there's a familiar black Corvette parked at the curb. I stop, my mouth hanging open when I spot it.

"Is this?—"

"The same one." He opens the passenger door. "Thought it was time to revisit some old memories. Make some new ones."

"I used to watch you lean against this car," I admit as I slide into the leather seat, letting my hand run across the cold material. "Pretending I wasn't looking."

"I always knew when you were looking." He starts the engine, the deep rumble awakening something in my chest. "It was the highlight of my day."

“You always looked so sexy, keeping your secret cigarette down low so nobody could see it,” I murmur half to myself, “but I always smelled it when you walked past, a little sweet and stale.” I glance over at him, a few lines now framing his eyes that weren’t there when we were teenagers.

“Not one of my proudest habits.” He reaches his hand out, sliding it gently up my thigh, giving it a squeeze, then moving it to the gearshift. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” I reach for his hand, folding mine around it after he puts the car in drive.

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