up with a jolt and checked my screen, telling myself that I wasn’t hoping Zac had sent a text with an update—and that was mostly true. I wasn’t hoping. Just wishing that he had good news.
But there wasn’t a message. He hadn’t updated his Picturegram account either, I learned after I’d scrolled through my feed. There was nothing about him or San Diego or anything.
Fingers crossed.
Then I went to bed.
Three days later though, I found myself pulling my car into an open spot in front of the house Zac was living in. I didn’t want to park in the circular driveway. There were three cars parked in it, including the BMW that he had gone to pick up, and I didn’t want to block anyone in.
Grabbing the big insulated bag I used when I bought cold stuff at the grocery store, I hefted the weight of the four containers inside of it: two were for the frozen yogurt I’d made the day before, and the other two were of cake. Two for Zac and two for CJ. No pressure.
I’d been surprised as shit when the night before, I’d been tweaking the almond cake recipe I’d sort of nailed in a video a couple years ago—the same one Zac had asked about—when my phone had beeped with an incoming message. Like fate.
512-555-0199 had stared back at me on my phone screen. Along with a message of: You free?
And that was how I found myself walking across a front lawn to get to the pavestones that led up to the front door before ringing the doorbell and taking a step back to wait. I wasn’t surprised to see a familiarish figure approaching. I waved.
CJ’s slightly smiling face greeted me right back as he unlocked and then opened it.
“Hi, CJ.”
“How’s it going? Come in.” He tipped his head toward the inside of the house.
“I’m good. How are you?” I asked, stepping in and holding my hand out.
CJ dipped his chin as he shook it. “All right.” He closed the door. “Zac hollered down, said to give him a minute.”
I followed after him down the hall into the main room. “Okay.” Unzipping the bag in my hand, I pulled out the two containers I’d brought just for him with “CJ” written on a note at the top of them and held it out when we stopped in the kitchen. “Here. I brought you some frozen yogurt I made. It’s strawberry. The other one has strawberry almond cake in it.” I smiled. “They had frozen strawberries on sale, and I went a little apeshit.”
Those brown eyes lit up, and he didn’t waste a second before plucking them out of my hand. I was pretty sure I wasn’t imagining the fact he pulled them toward that wide chest hidden beneath a gray college T-shirt and held it there either. “Is it as good as your nice cream?”
He’d made my nice cream too? How else would he know it was good? I’d ask him later. Maybe. If there was a later. “It’s different, but it’s good, I think. But I’m biased.”
I was pretty positive he really did pull the containers in even closer to his chest. “Thank you.” Brown eyes flicked down to his frozen yogurt. “You made it for a vlog?”
“Yeah. The almond cake is one I made before; I just changed a couple things to the original recipe.”
“By yourself?”
I nodded. “I don’t have anyone who can do one with me any time soon.” And because I had no shame, I grinned at him. “If you ever want to do one, let me know. But no pressure.”
The buff man blinked. “Serious?”
“I’m for real, if you’re for real. Anytime you want, but you don’t have to.”
CJ nodded, but I could tell he was thinking about it.
Or maybe he was thinking I was out of my damn mind.
“Sorry about that, Peewee,” echoed through the living room and into the kitchen.
Feeling high from CJ hinting that he’d made my recipe and sounding so interested in guest starring in a video, and also a little bad because I figured Zac hadn’t gotten good news about the team in San Diego since he was back here, I glanced at Zac who was walking across the living room from the direction of the back staircase and gave my longtime friend a smile that was even bigger than any of the ones I’d given him before.
Here. Now. Trying. That was my motto with this guy from now on. The past was mostly still