Page 53 of Show Me How to Heal
Zayne nodded a couple of times.
“So… you didn’t really need this job?” he asked, brows furrowed, a thoughtful expression on his face — but he wasn’t pissed off, so I’d count it as a win.
“I absolutely did,” I answered honestly, my heart still hammering in my chest, my mind screaming at me to stop telling him stuff, to stop making myself vulnerable. “Just not for financial reasons.” I took a deep breath, shoving the voice inside my head aside. “For my mental health, however? This job has been a godsend. I’m incredibly grateful for your offer. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. And you gave me so much more than a job.”
Tears glistened in Zayne’s eyes, and he audibly drew a breath. “You can’t say something like that,” he croaked. “You’re making me all emotional, and we have to open the shop in about five minutes.”
“Sorry not sorry,” I said, leaning down to get another taste of his sweet lips. “Are we good?” I asked, my stomach still on a rollercoaster ride.
“Yeah.” Zayne nodded slowly. “We’re good. And… you don’t need to feel bad. I don’t think you ever said you didn’t have money. I assumed. You just didn’t feel comfortable telling a stranger or a then-hookup about your financial situation. That’s totally fair. Now that we’re closer — maybe even boyfriends-close? — you told me the truth.”
“Boyfriends?” My mind got stuck on that word.
Zayne’s smile turned a little bashful, cheeks heating. “I mean, maybe? If you want to?”
“What about not having the time?” It was stupid to remind him of his own words, but… he wanted to beboyfriends. And I still hadn’t told him the whole truth. Worse even, he’d basically told me a minute ago how he hated lying — and I’d done plenty of that over the last couple of weeks.
“I think it’s safe to say that since we spent a lot of time together over the last few weeks, we apparently manage our limited spare time just fine. Don’t you want to be boyfriends?”
“I do!” I blurted, cringing inwardly. “I want to be your boyfriend.”
“So it’s… official?” Zayne asked, dark eyes full of hope.
“It’s official.”
I leaned down, pressing my lips to his again. Our first official kiss as boyfriends. A shiver ran down my spine, excitement warring with fear.
How long would I get to have him like this? If I told him the truth, it’d be over in the blink of an eye.
“How big of a problem would it be if I brought a dog to work?” I asked Zayne that evening while we were closing up the store. My gaze fell towards the corner behind the register. There was more than enough space for a comfy dog bed.
“What? Since when do you have a dog?” Zayne looked up from where he was counting the money we’d made today. It’d been less busy than yesterday, but damn, the shop had still been full.
Originally, Zayne had planned to stay the morning and drive over to his house afterward to make more soap. The grand opening was only six weeks away, so he’d already made all the soaps for that day since they needed time to cure before you could use them; otherwise, you risked skin irritation or even burns. But he hadn’t gotten the chance to leave because apparently everyone who had missed yesterday’s opening came today instead.
And they came bearing gifts.
The back area was filled to the brim, but not with our soap storage. Cookies, chocolates, and flowers filled the space. A few cupcakes here, a fucking casserole there.
What was wrong with people?
I mean, it was a kind gesture, but they’d kill us with their kindness because we’d end up in a food avalanche, buried beneath homemade meals and baked goods.
“I don’t have a dog — yet. I’m contemplating if it’s fair to get one,” I said, my mind already drawing up pictures of me and Zayne with a dog. All three of us curled up on my huge ass couch.
“Oh, uhm… I’d have to check the laws, but since we’re not handling any open foods or produce or anything, I think it should be fine,” he responded, brows knitted in thought. “Why do you think it might not be fair to get a dog?” he added before turning his attention back on the daily revenue while I cleaned up the store, picking up all the misplaced soaps and getting them back to their rightful place.
“Because of my knee.”
“I don’t understand,” Zayne said. “Your knee’s getting a lot better, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I won’t ever walk normally again. I’ll always have a limp. And I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to take him on long walks.”
“So?” Zayne asked, walking over to me and grabbing my hand.
“I just think it’d be pretty unfair if I can’t give him that.”
“So… don’t get an active dog. Hell, I know plenty of dogs whose owners are the ones forcing them to go on long walks.” He giggled. “I swear my mom’s best friend’s dog hates her. My mom’s best friend, I mean. She got him as a puppy from a shelter, and they told her he was an active breed… well, he’s lazy as fuck. My mom’s best friend, however, is not. She’s the hiking-on-the-weekends kind of person, and her poor dog has to accompany her. If you really want a dog, there’s a shelter the next town over. The staff will probably be able to tell you which dog might be a good fit.”
