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How’d she get this much crap up here?Dane glanced suspiciously behind Zara but saw no sign of furtherFitzgerald offspring or other interlopers. He grabbed the tote fromthe floor. “I’ll take care of it.” The plastic was still warm, sohe set it on the counter. “Who’s with you?” he asked, heading backto check the hall.There’s no way Adam let her out on herown.He glanced both ways with increasing anxiety.Nobody?Not a single fucking soul?He closed it and turned a wary stareon Zara.
“No one, technically.” She’d followed himinto the kitchen and was busy pulling food out of the cases.
“Christ, Zara! You can’t screw around rightnow. I know your dad doesn’t tell you fuck-all, but even you oughtto guess—”
“D! Chill.” Zara smiled. “Vince has my phonetracker on, and I had to check in when I got here. Dad’s got halfthe known world occupied with other stuff, including that ragingparty they’re calling a funeral. You might remember it from rightbefore you snuck out?”
“How’d you—”
“Sawyer, of course.” She reached into herpurse and held up her phone. “When I head out, I’ve got to callVince again.” She grimaced. “I’m almost looking forward toclasses.”
“It’ll be nice to get back to normal.”Whatever the hell that’s going to be.With that thought, hefinally let himself look at her because she would be gone soon. Hewouldn’t see her in anything but social media posts until winterbreak. She still wore her modest black dress from the funeral, herdark, wavy hair corralled into a perfect ponytail. Not a strand outof place. He wished he could tell her to let it down. She watchedhim back, waiting for something, but he had no idea what. “How’dyou really get here?”
Zara’s head tilted like he’d said somethingstupid. “I did live here, once upon a time.”
“For six weeks. When you werefive.”
“They were good weeks.”
He couldn’t argue. He’d been almost eightwhen his best friend’s least-annoying sibling had to stay with themfor obscure adult reasons while her other siblings got shuffled offamong relatives and friends. He knew now it was a flare-up amongthe Irish families with some Albanians in the mix for shits andgiggles, and there’d been threats against Adam’s kids.
At the time, Zara turned out to be fun for akindergartner—when Ben wasn’t making her cry—capable of keeping upwith him to sneak episodes ofFuturamawhen they thought theadults were safely asleep. Years later, his dad had laughed at thememory.“You two were trying so hard to be stealthy. We didn’thave the heart to interrupt.”The memory drew blood. “Fuck.” Heturned his back to her.Tears. Fucking tears.Jesus.
“Hey.” Her fingers pressed into his palm,and he felt the heat of her body at his side. If he breathed in,he’d catch her flowery, vanilla perfume. “Go sit down,” shewhispered. “I’ll make you up a plate and get the rest of this stuffput away.” She wasn’t commenting about the tears.Is that betteror worse? Shit. The fridge’s a disaster.He had a rebuttal, anargument, and sixteen reasons for her to let him handleeverything.
And then he was sitting on the couch with abottle of Jones soda he knew didn’t come from his fridge, plus aplate of Mrs. Mac’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Zara wasstill in the fucking kitchen.
“Please. Stop.” He scooted to the edge ofthe couch to glare at her.
“Why? Someone has to clear this fridge out.The milk looks like it’s been here since Frank Nitti owned thebuilding.”
“Seriously, Zara. You don’t have to do …whatever you’re doing.” He set the soda down next to the plate andwiped his cheeks. “I’ll take care of it.” It seemed wrong.Everything seemed wrong, but with the world turned upside down, hecouldn’t handle the paradigm shift of Zara helping him. She’d doneit twice, and it felt like grinding glass into a wound. One hedidn’t want to admit was there.
“It’s taken care of,” she called back. “Yourfreezer’s stuffed to the brim, but the fridge’s cleaned out, andyou have food for a month. Or you can throw a massive party for aweek. Either way.” Zara stepped out from behind the island thatseparated the two spaces, holding a bottle of soda and a smallerplate. “I’m claiming some of the chicken as tribute for dealingwith that milk.” Her nose wrinkled. “Did you forget it for a wholeyear?”
Dane slumped back and shook his head. “Itwas Dad’s. He needed it for his Cocoa Puffs.” He surprised himselfby chuckling and grabbed his drink.
“Uh-huh. His Cocoa Puffs. I believe you,Count Chocula.”
“In my defense, I haven’t been home much.Work’s been brutal all summer. These two clients keep dragging myass all over the goddamn city.”
“How else would you learn the best partyspots? If it weren’t for those clients, you’d be moldering in alibrary somewhere.” Zara settled on the other side of the couch.The gap between them felt wrong. Probably because he’d gotten usedto being in crowded SUVs or packed clubs with her.Yep, that’sit.He tried not to breathe too deep—he’d only catch anotherwhiff of that damned perfume. She’d been wearing it since she camehome from France, and started looking right through him.
She didn’t ask permission to flip the TV onor to turn the channel. “If I miss the next episode ofGhosts, Brenna will shoot me via text,” she explained.Her roommate,he remembered, picturing a cute redhead who’daccompanied Zara and Gia out during previous college breaks. “Shesays sitcoms must be viewed weekly, not binged. Or streamed. It’svery retro, apparently.” Zara rolled her eyes. Dane stared at thetelevision like it’d materialized out of nothing.
“We don’t normally watch anything but ESPN.I almost forgot other channels exist.”
“That tracks with the general feral bachelorvibe.”
He listened to the show’s opening, absentlypicking at his plate. He didn’t feel hungry, but keeping his handsbusy seemed like a good idea. “Can I, uh, ask you a question?”
That startled her into turning hisdirection. She looked like he’d spoken Greek. “Of course? Askwhatever you want.”
The question hovered on his tongue, but hedidn’t speak. It was a bad idea, but he could blame the grief ifshe called him out later. And the half bottle of bourbon he’ddowned before getting in the taxi.But if you say it, it’ll beout there. You’ll never unhear it.“Never mind.” He focused onthe food.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Come on!” Zara leanedtoward him, oblivious to the effect the angle had on the V-shapedneckline of her black dress. “You never ask me things! Don’tchicken out now.” She pouted.
“It wasn’t important. Watch your show. Itlooks interesting.” He set the bottle down again and pretended tocare about the mashed potato-to-chicken distribution on hisplate.
