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He had a problem with it.
And he didn’t want to tell her.
Which he knew didn’t make sense. It had been his idea after all. He was more frustrated with himself than anything. He’d spent the week, notavoidingher, but not reallynotavoiding her.
They still had breakfast on the terrace in the mornings and played music together most nights of the week. But he’d successfully dodged any more heartfelt conversations and lingering looks.
Which really just made him feelawful.
He was all twisted up inside and kept waking up in a cold sweat, worried she’d gone back to New York before he’d had a chance to…
To what?
That was where his mind stopped and he’d start the spiral at the top again. It was disorienting, like getting off a carnival ride right before it got fun.
Kissing the most beautiful woman in the world with zero obligation or strings sounded like a literal dream come true.
So what the hell was his problem?
Did he want the strings?
He froze and his vision lost focus as that final question echoed in his mind.
Did he want the strings?
“What’s wrong?”
He lifted his eyes to Zara sitting across from him on the terrace. The early morning sun lighting up her bronze skin exposed by her pale blue tank top and black sleep shorts. Her hair down and tangled and everywhere.
“Is it bad?” she asked, her amber gold eyes wide and worried.
“Huh?” he asked, sounding like the idiot he was.
“The omelet.” She nodded at his plate. “Is it that bad?”
He glanced down, trying to reorient himself in time and space. “No. What? No, the omelet is great.” He took a huge bite of the French omelet she’d made that morning.
She sat back, her dark eyebrows knit into a frown. “Then why did you look like you’d just swallowed a pinecone.”
He cracked a smile. “I was just thinking about something.” He cut into the omelet and raised another bite to his lips. “What have you got going on today?” he asked.
She cradled her coffee cup in both hands and gazed towards the city horizon. A soft hum came from deep in her chest and she clicked her nails on the ceramic mug. “I’m working on something.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” he asked.
Her eyes came back to him and he sensed her hesitation. Something soft settled in his bones as he realized he knew her. Knew her expressions and tone and intention. He only had that with a handful of people in his life. Some of them were due to survival instinct—being able to anticipate a mood in someone could make or break a day.
Learning Zara had happened much the same way he’d returned to writing music—reluctantly at first, unsure and untrusting; followed by gentle steps that eventually led to a place that felt familiar and golden.
Both ways left him feeling thankful and undeserving.
His mind circled back around to wondering if he wanted the strings. And why he wasn’t kissing her breathless at every opportunity.
When he considered what it would mean to pursue her, to admit his feelings and everything that came with it, he paused.
Because she was the kind of woman who deserved full consideration.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew what they had was limited. They existed in a bubble of peace and uneventfulness. It was the elephant in the room they never talked about and always talked around.
