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Last night when I finally got around to checking my phone, after Tris dropped me off, there were multiple texts from Zara.
Not unexpectedly.
“So go ahead. Spill.”
I reach for my water. “How much of this will be printed?”
Zara puts her chin on both fists as if she’s intently curious, waiting for me to speak. “All of it.”
I laugh, knowing the exact opposite is true.
“From the beginning, please.”
So I explain. Tris, and his brother’s plan. Us seeing Lee on Sunday and his impromptu kiss.
“Hold on a second,” she says as Mrs. Snider, our retired third-grade teacher turned Wheelhouse part-time employee, puts down our plates.
“Thanks,” we murmur at the same time.
“I can see Gian DeLuca coming up with this plan. And even you guys going along with it. Actually . . .” She cocks her head. “It’s not a bad idea. Better than any press I could give you.”
Which Zara has already done in the past. One-off stories are one thing, but being top-of-mind in an ongoing and well-read piece, quite another.
As Tris reminded me.
“Right?” I ask.
She takes a bite of her cranberry walnut salad.
“Mmm.” Zara chews. “But that does not explain last night, m’dear.”
“Yeah, well,” I hedge, “that’s why we’re here.”
Although I’ll be heading just down the street to the restaurant after lunch, I needed to talk to someone.
“Let’s just say, last night made Sunday’s kiss look like a peck on the cheek.”
Zara’s jaw drops.
“Did you . . . ?”
“No, but . . .” I cover my face with my hands. “Ahh, what the hell am I doing?”
“You’re beating yourself up for nothing, that’s what.”
I take a bite of my sandwich. Delicious. There’s nothing quite like good food to fuel the soul.
“I know you’re worried about, you know . . .”
“The fact that we are competitors?”
“Yes. That.”
I take another bite.
“But that’s not the only problem. Is it?”
My shoulders sag.
