manipulating, who gave more than he took and never, ever stole. Who wasn’t exempt from her anxieties, but didn’t exacerbate them either.
A churning stomach and sweaty palms were Rae’s habitual responses to confrontation. But now they’d faded, she realised what was absent from her usual post-argument cocktail of emotions: fear. She wasn’t afraid to follow Hannah’s advice. She wasn’t afraid to go looking for Zach. She didn’t dread trying to fix things, the way she would with her mother, or Kevin, because she knew Zach would never try to hurt her.
And she had no idea how to handle that knowledge. It felt a little bit like trust.
She found him in the weights section, suspiciously alone, as if the dark cloud around him had driven other gym-goers away. She’d always hated gyms, with their salty-stale tang of other people’s sweat and their shiny chrome machines that mocked her general lack of fortitude. She’d long wondered why people used places like this when they could take a nice walk instead. But as she approached Zach in his grey, low-slung joggers and the thin, white vest that displayed so much chest, she understood.
Obviously, people went to the gym to spy on works of art like him. What a eureka moment.
He was lying on a bench, pushing a barbell stacked with weights up over his chest, which perfectly fit her cartoonish ideas of what people did at gyms. At first, he seemed to be grunting with each push, but as she drew closer she realised he was talking, muttering acidly under his breath.
“Baby. Baby, baby, fucking baby.” Like he wanted to rip the word to shreds and stomp on it.
Something twisted nervously inside her, but she gave that something a stern talking-to and pulled herself together. She walked into his line of sight, making enough noise that she wouldn’t startle him, before speaking. “Isn’t someone supposed to watch when you do that? To make sure you don’t drop it and die?”
His bitter chant halted the minute he saw her. Though his pale skin was already flushed with exertion, she could’ve sworn he was blushing. Still, he didn’t avoid meeting her eyes. The blue fire of his gaze burned her from head to toe. He heaved the barbell higher and said, “This is about one-sixty. I’m not going to drop it and die.”
“I have no idea what one-sixty is.”
“Approximately one of you. But you’re right; come and spot me. It occurred to me today that I should cut the macho bullshit and use my brain more often.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She went to him, her nervous wreck of a heart leading the way. Placing a knee on the bench and her hands on his legs, she said, “I’m watching.”
“Uh…” His heavy thigh muscles tensed under her touch. He put the weight he’d been lifting on the bar above his head, then cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
“I’m holding you down,” she said, “like when someone does sit-ups.”
His laughter was rich and musical. Even though he was clearly laughing at her, she found herself smiling along rather than dying of mortification.
When he stopped chuckling and sat up, she said dryly, “I take it that’s not what I’m supposed to do?”
“Not really.” A chunk of hair had come loose from her braid, and he twirled it around his finger. “But don’t stop on my account. I’ve got no complaints.”
“You’re not even lifting anymore.”
“No, I’m not. Something more interesting came up.” They were both straddling the bench now, face to face, her hands still on his thighs. He sighed. “I really am sorry, Rae. I was thoughtless and selfish, and… I know I fucked up.”
“I’m sorry, too. I was just trying to avoid confrontation—”
“Which you don’t need to apologise for,” he said firmly. “Really. You don’t. Please don’t.”
She almost choked on her relief, not because he didn’t want an explanation, but because he was so eager for things to be okay again. She’d never fixed a mistake with someone she loved without paying a pound of flesh. He was the only one who cared like this.
Just to be sure, she asked, “Are we okay?”
He met her eyes. “We’re always okay, sunshine.”
“Baby,” she blurted, the word landing between them with a thud.
He blinked, arching his eyebrows. “Uh…”
“That’s my name,” she explained hurriedly, wetting her lips. “Baby Ann McRae.”
He blinked again, harder. A faint smiled curved the corners of his mouth. But the last thing she expected him to say was, “Ann?”