Page 95 of Hidden Echoes

I burst out laughing, and he shakes his head, though I can tell he’s enjoying himself. He starts making dry, pointed comments, and it only gets funnier.

Carrie starts to over-dramatize about Big again, and Zane just lets out a sound of pure disgust. “Is she stupid?”

“Quite a lot.”

“Hasn’t she realized yet that this guy is trash?”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “I kind of think he’s cute.”

He stares at me, genuinely shocked. “For God’s sake, Mia, you have terrible taste in men.”

“Okay, husband,” I laugh sarcastically, emphasizing the wordhusband, and he rolls his eyes, continuing to eat and watch.

Then Samantha comes on screen, delivering an iconic line about how no one has time for emotional games, and Zane points at the TV.

“See? She’s the only one who’s any good.”

I laugh so hard I almost drop my popcorn. “Zane, you’ve officially become a fan. It’s over.”

He mumbles something but doesn’t deny it. And honestly, that’s the best part.

We’re comfortably sunk on the couch when, out of nowhere, I remember something very important.

“Pause!” I shout.

Zane flinches, squinting his eyes. “What the fuck was that?”

I’m already leaning over to grab the remote. “I have face masks.”

He blinks slowly, as if I just spoke in another language. “And?”

“And we need to make one.”

He stares at me, then glances at my hand as if expecting me to be joking. I’m not.

"No."

I roll my eyes, already standing. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

I hear a resigned sigh as I run to the bathroom, rummage through my things, and grab the clay pots. When I return, he’s still in the same position, arms crossed, expression grim.

I smile and sit right in front of him. “Close your eyes.”

"No."

I open one of the jars, sinking my fingers into the cool texture of the mask. “Come on, it’s just clay. You’ll thank me later.”

He sighs deeply, as if he’s about to make the greatest sacrifice of his life, but eventually, he closes his eyes.

I take advantage of the moment, running my fingertips over his face, spreading the mask carefully. I feel his skin warm under the cold clay, and my touch is light, almost a caress.

Silence stretches between us, and before I know it, I’m smiling. He notices.

“What is it?” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

“Nothing. You just look like a spa babe.”

He opens one eye, peering at me suspiciously. “If you take a picture, I swear—”

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