Take a Hint, Dani Brown - Talia Hibbert Page 0,107

the rest of the table was staring at him.

“You what?” Fatima nudged with a grin.

I love her. I miss her. I know that if she can’t love me back, I need to let her go. But I can’t stop remembering that Danika always surprises me.

He shook his head and told Fatima firmly, “This is an adult conversation.”

“I’m eighteen!” But she didn’t sound as outraged as usual. And then he caught her exchanging an oddly significant look with Jamal, which never boded well.

“What are you two up to?” Zaf demanded, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing. You’re paranoid,” Jamal said sweetly, which might as well have been a sign flashing bullshit. “And don’t worry, Auntie Maya,” he called toward the kitchen, “Zaf’s not going to be unemployed. He’s too stubborn for that.”

“I don’t think that’s how employment works,” Zaf said with a snort. “But actually . . . Mum, could you come back in here? I have something to tell everyone.”

Mum reappeared with a bowl of her own and sat down at the head of the table. “What? What is happening?”

“Nothing,” Zaf said. “It’s just, well—things have been going really well for Tackle It since . . . since we got so much publicity.” He paused for a moment to work through the catch in his throat, the pang in his chest. The woman in his mind’s eye.

Danika. If there was one thing he’d learned from their month together, it was that risks were always worth it. Even if you fell instead of flying.

He cleared his throat and started again. “Things have been going well. Really well. You all know I got the chance to offer my program to four local schools in the summer. I got positive responses to some of my funding bids for the first time—maybe because I was more open about what we went through, and how that led me to start Tackle It. Which is cool. But then . . . this week, I got the opportunity to sign a deal with the Titans.” Everyone sat up a little straighter at the mention of his old team. “You know they’re doing a lot better than they were, back in the day. And now they have this whole nonprofit, grassroots campaign to find more kids for their training academy. So they want to—to join forces with Tackle It, I guess. The idea is, they fund me, I carry out my workshops for them and elsewhere, and I funnel talented kids into the academy, too. Plus, the owner gets to look extra charitable or whatever.” Deep breath. “So I’ve decided it’s time to give up security and really go all in.”

The stunned silence went on long enough for Zaf’s nerves to balloon a little bit. Then, one by one, his family’s faces split into slow, proud grins, and the balloon popped, leaving nothing but relief.

“Chacha,” Fatima whispered, wide-eyed, “are you serious?”

He nodded. He knew this was huge, logically. He’d just been having trouble getting excited about it when his mind and his heart ached with other things. But now his mother whooped and clapped her hands, and Kiran was clutching her chest and beaming like a lightbulb, and Jamal was punching him in the shoulder and laughing, saying, “I see you, I see you,” and somehow all their enthusiasm broke down his own cautious, hurting wall and shoved excitement directly into his veins.

And just like that, Zaf was smiling, too.

An hour and another bowl of dessert later, the whole family still buzzing with congratulations, Jamal dragged Zaf into the hall.

“Come on, man. We need to go somewhere.”

Zaf followed along with a frown. “What? Since when?” Then Jamal pushed Zaf’s jacket into his hands and kicked his shoes toward him. “Where are we—?”

“Just taking Zafir for a walk, auntie,” Jamal called over his shoulder. “Be back in a minute. Come on, get your shoes on.”

“Why?” Zaf demanded, but he did it anyway. Jamal just winked. Then he opened the door and they broke out into the cool, spring evening, the sky above them a calm dove-gray. March was officially over, just like Zaf and Dani—but then, that had always been the plan. Yesterday had marked the end of their four weeks of faking it.

So much had happened between them, he barely even thought about that Dr. Rugbae shit anymore. Except when he was scrolling through the practically dead hashtag to find old, creepy pictures of them holding hands all over campus. Which was not healthy behavior, he realized that, but whatever. He