Page 61 of The Hearts We Fumble
And maybe it does.
There was a time when Zane practically lived at our house. Back when his parents were going through a rough patch, and his older brother, Miles, was holed up in the guesthouse, he spent more time in our kitchen than his own. Even after Colter moved out and got a place with the guys, Zane still dropped by constantly—checking in on my mom, raiding our fridge, and sitting at the counter while I baked.
Taking care of the people I love in the kitchen has always been my thing. Cooking. Baking. Making sure they have something to eat, whether they ask for it or not.
And right now, standing here in Zane’s kitchen, serving him breakfast before his game, I realize something—I like doing this for him.
Maybe I always have.
Zane saunters toward me, his large frame commanding the space between us, effortlessly pulling me into his side. His touch still sends a jolt through me—warm, firm, and possessive, like he has no intention of letting me go.
He lowers his head, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the crown of mine before inhaling deeply, his breath stirring the loose strands of my hair. I brace myself for whatever words might follow, expecting him to say something—maybe a warning, maybe something teasing. But instead, he just exhales, his voice a whisper against my skin.
“Thank you.”
The words are so soft, yet they wrap around me like a slow-burning fire.
His fingers trail up my jaw, cupping my chin, and tilt my face toward his. His gaze locks onto mine, dark and unreadable, before he leans in and presses his lips against mine.
It never fails to catch me off guard. The way Zane kisses—like he’s staking his claim, pulling every ounce of air from my lungs, leaving me breathless and weightless all at once.
A slow smile tugs at my lips when he pulls back, and when I blink my eyes open, I find him smirking.
“It’s almost like you know you render me speechless when you do that,” I murmur, my voice still laced with the remnants of our kiss.
His smirk deepens. “Oh, so you’re onto me now, huh?”
I swat at his chest, and he chuckles, releasing me. With effortless ease, he rounds the counter, slides onto a barstool, and shoves an entire sausage link into his mouth in one go.
I shake my head as he chews, groaning in satisfaction. The sound sends a ripple of warmth through me—knowing he appreciates the effort, that this little act of care means something to him.
“I didn’t think I’d get to see you before the game,” he admits between bites, and my heart stumbles at the hint of his disappointment.
“That’s why I snuck over,” I say, grinning. “Had to steal a few minutes with you before you take off.”
He nods, shoveling eggs into his mouth, then chasing it with a bite of peanut butter toast. The combination has never sounded appealing to me, but he loves it, so I just smile, letting him enjoy it.
“You get your suit jacket ironed, or do you want me to do it?” I ask casually, though my stomach flips the second the words leave my mouth. It’s such a domestic thing to say, but the offer is genuine.
Zane shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nah, I got it. Took care of it last night before bed.”
I nod, biting back a smirk.
Truth is, I might have an ulterior motive for asking.
But I keep it to myself. For now.
Instead, we chat about the game—his strategy, his predictions, the rivalry with Keaton—until he disappears down the hall to brush his teeth and fix his hair.
The moment he’s out of sight, I slip off my stool and make a beeline for his bedroom, moving swiftly toward the closet where I’d seen it hanging.
His jersey. The one I plan to wear today.
Braysen is the away team today, which means Zane will be wearing their crisp white jersey with teal and navy details. I spot his navy home jersey hanging neatly in his closet, and without a second thought, I swipe it from the hanger. Moving swiftly, I fold it up and stuff it into the arm of my coat, my heart pounding with anticipation.
I barely make it two steps before I turn and collide straight into a solid wall of muscle.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, my hand flying to my chest.
