should.”
I laugh-sniff. “Sweet of you to say, but I know I’m weird.”
He fists his hand in the fabric of my gauzy dress, sending a warm hum across my skin. “You’re not weird. You’re perfect.”
I search his gaze, but there isn’t a hint of irony in his expression. Arching a brow as I bring my fingers to the front of his sunflower-print shirt, I pluck at the button at the top. “Again. Sweet. But I’m not perfect, and I know it. And you should, too. No one’s perfect.”
“Maybe just perfect for me, then,” he whispers so softly I can’t be sure that’s what he said.
But I’m not about to ask him to repeat himself.
This is already dangerous.
Too dangerous.
I should have taken Theo up on her offer to launch a rescue mission. Zack and I need to be saved from ourselves before we break each other’s hearts into a million bruised and bloody pieces.
But he’s like champagne. I can’t quit him, though I know a third mimosa is never a good idea.
No, he’s not like champagne. He’s like…air. When I’m with him, it would be easier to stop breathing than to stop leaning into him, kissing him, making it clear with everything except words that I’m falling madly, deeply, stupidly in love with him.
He’s just so beautiful. So kind and funny. So interested and curious and always paying attention.
I’ve never met a man who pays attention the way I pay attention—the way most of my female friends do, too. I’d always assumed that deep, fixed concentration on the object of one’s affection, that awareness that borders on a sixth sense, was a uniquely feminine trait.
There’s a reason women are always the ones asking, “What are you thinking?”
Because we know when our partner is holding back.
We can sense it.
We’re paying attention.
But so is Zack.
“Tired?” he murmurs, proving my point.
I am tired—exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I stayed up most of the night making love, let alone done it for nearly a week. But I’m not about to complain.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Kissing his freshly shaved cheek, I smile against his skin as he laughs and hugs me closer. He smells like soap and sunshine and Zack. I let my nose linger near the curve of his neck, inhaling the best smell on earth.
I never want to forget his forest and seashore scent, or anything else about him. When he’s gone, I want to have a treasure trove of memories to choose from, to hold close whenever I wish we hadn’t had to say goodbye.
I smile, pushing the thought away before it can make me misty-eyed again.
There will be time for tears later. Today is for beauty and fun and more good memories.
“Let's find the best picnic spot ever,” I say, twining my fingers through his.
“And eat all the food.” He nods toward the backpack he wears, which Nancy stuffed with enough provisions to feed an entire band for several days. She insisted on making us huge slabs of french toast for breakfast, and while we were out picking cherries, she whipped up a gourmet picnic to sustain us through the rest of our day of adventure.
I’ve never felt so spoiled, but Nancy truly seems to love cooking and feeding people as much as Zack and I love eating. I’m going to miss her, too, and Jed and this beautiful home that isn’t nearly as spooky as I thought when we first arrived. I’m starting to look forward to the footsteps I hear pitter-pattering in the night.
Sleeping with Zack helps everything seem less spooky, of course. The only thing I feel when I’m wrapped up in his arms is safe. And happy. And eager to go to sleep so I can wake up and spend more time with him.
“Yes, all the food,” I agree, holding tight to his hand as he leads the way deeper into the orchard. “And then we can take a big hairy nap.”
“The biggest and the hairiest.” He glances over his shoulder, his grin making my heart zing again. He turns my body into a musical instrument, this man, and plays me like he’s been loving on my strings for years.
“I want to draw you,” I say, admiring the way the sun brings out the copper highlights in his hair as we pass from sun to shade and back to sun again. “I’m going to bring my pastels next time.”
He laughs.
“I’m serious.” I squeeze his fingers. “I don’t draw people very often, but I can.