by Arthurs, Nia
“A date?” Ollie asks with all the gravity of a big brother in concern.
The word barrels through my skull.
A date.
“Yup.”
“I hope this punk’s better than the last one.” Ollie glowers at the wall. “That Damion guy was a piece of work.”
Griff nods in agreement.
Urgency pounds in my stomach.
I feel like I’m about to throw up. Or punch something.
I scramble to my feet. “Where is she?”
“Huh?” Griffin blinks.
“Where’s Zania?”
“I don’t know.”
I run past Griff and Ollie and grab my duffel.
“Where are you going?” my brother calls.
In the background, I hear Griffin mumble, “Why does this scene feel so familiar?”
It’s the last thing I hear before I crash through the door. Stumble down the stairs. Past Jenine.
With one hand, I call Zania. The other fumbles for my car keys.
The line rings and rings.
Goes to voicemail.
I curse. Fling my door open. Call again.
My stomach roils.
My head pounds.
This feeling…
I don’t know what it means. And right now it doesn’t matter.
My fingers are glued to the phone screen.
I press Zania’s number.
Call again.
14 Zania
“I think someone’s calling you.”
“No.” I scrunch my nose. Dig my fingers tightly around the phone that’s vibrating like a possessed doll on the wooden table. Freaking Teale. I paste a smile on my face. “I’m sure it’s not important.”
The vibrating stops.
Brown eyes lift from my phone to me.
“See?” I cock my head. Lean forward. “Now… where were we?”
The man across the table lifts plump, dark pink lips in an answering smile. It’s slight and tinged with barely discernible unease, but at least he’s choosing to be amused rather than annoyed.
I press my hands into my red dress, amazed by the amount of sweat that’s gathered on my palm.
I’m nervous.
But can anyone blame me? I’m staring at my future.
My future husband. Potentially.
Anderson Smith.
Zania Smith.
Has a nice ring to it.
You’re getting ahead of yourself.
I brush away the thought. This is what we’re both here for, after all. To determine if we’re willing to spend the rest of our lives with each other.
So far, my answer is maybe… leaning toward ‘yes’.
My eyes sneakily appraise Anderson’s broad chin, wide nose, dark brown eyes and thick, black hair.
This guy’s way more handsome and appealing than I’d hoped. I mean, yeah, I saw his picture on the portal when Kayla first sought my approval for a meeting, but I thought…
I don’t know what I thought.
Maybe that his selfie had been photoshopped? Or was from ten years ago?
When I walked into the restaurant tonight, I hadn’t expected such a dashing gentleman to be waiting at the table. In fact, I’d already talked myself into lowering my standards a little just in case my future husband came with a paunch and a biker moustache.
Thankfully, Anderson has neither.
“Ah…” He moves his fork around the white noodles in his plate. Fettuccini alfredo. I ordered the same. “You were telling me why you joined the marriage agency.”
“Right.” I lick my lips. Daintily swat at my chin with the cloth napkin. This restaurant is so nice they use actual cloth instead of tissue paper. “I’ve always wanted to get married. It was my dream to have a family and ki—”
I’m interrupted, once again, by my dancing phone.
Anderson leans back. This time, there’s no smile on his face and no amusement in his voice when he says, “You should answer.”
“No. It’s fine.” I duck my head in embarrassment. Grab my phone. Glare at Teale’s name as it blazes on my screen. Stroking my thumb over the END button, I cancel the call and then take my phone off completely. “There.” I turn the device over, face-down, and shove it aside. “No more interruptions.”
An eyebrow arches. “Boyfriend?”
Hell no. “Just… a concerned colleague.”
“I understand.” The frown around his mouth softens. “I had my fair share of naysayers when I decided to go this route.”
“Can I ask why you did?” I tilt my head. Look him over. “You don’t seem like you need any help getting women.” I realize what I’ve said and clear my throat. “Not that there’s anything wrong with—”
“It’s alright, Zania.” He chuckles.
I feel something funny in my stomach.
The stirrings of a connection.
Anderson is older by more than fifteen years and, although I was a little iffy about that at first, I can see why Kayla made the match. He’s calm and quiet but in the most self-assured way.
He’s also a gentleman, given he pulled out my chair when I arrived and politely asked if it would be okay to order for me.
I felt taken care of in a way that none of my boyfriends have ever managed to do.
And who cares about age anyway? Anderson doesn’t look as old as he is and there’s not a hint of grey in his thick black hair. Unlike some people who act like teenaged boys in their twenties, Anderson is all man.
“My wife died ten years ago, and I coped with the loss by throwing myself into work.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
He shakes his head. “If she’d seen the way I lived, she would have been disappointed. Sharon was thirsty for life. She pulled me into all sorts of shenanigans, but we somehow managed to escape unscathed each time.”
“Sounds like she was a lot of fun.”
“She was.” His eyes glisten with loss and longing. “We were complete opposites, but we worked.” He sniffs. Ducks his head. When he looks up again, it’s with a hint of sheepishness. “Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to talk about my past relationship when we’re here to discuss the present and the future.”
The present.
The future.
Not our future.
Am I overthinking this? He’s a widower. He obviously loved his wife. Should I even compete with that? Do I want to?
“No, it’s fine. I enjoy learning more about you.” My eyes skitter to the left.
“Don’t worry,” he says quietly. I glance up. Notice him studying me. “I’m not looking for a replacement.” A tan hand lifts. Rubs the back of his neck. “To be honest, I tried the online dating world. The women I met were frivolous, loud and obnoxious.” A chuckle. “I’m not saying everyone who’s online looking for love is like that, but those are just the ones I seemed to attract. I figured a woman looking for marriage would be more intentional, more serious.”
“Serious… as in boring?” The word is bitter flying off my tongue.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I huff out a breath, realizing I overreacted. “I’m sorry.”
He arches an eyebrow. “That your battle scar?”
“Huh?”
“From your past.”
I chuckle. “You can say that. I was told I was ‘too boring’ before.”
“Were you?”
“I’d like to say no.” I scrunch my nose. “But to be honest, I don’t have much evidence in my favor. All my life, I did the right thing. Chose the right path. Made the right decisions.” Until Teale. I clear my throat. “I’m not impulsive by nature.”
“Then why be ashamed? It brought you here, didn’t it? You’re a beautiful, educated pastry chef with no baggage. Most people would kill to have such a story.”
What story? I have none to tell—none save for my mess of a parentage with a dead mother and a jailbird father.
But me?
I did nothing.
Took no r
isks.
And that was fine. Because all I ever wanted was a family. Kids.
So why do I feel like I’ve been cheated of something profound now?
My heart turns heavy. “I guess.”
He seems to pick up on my mood and gestures to a waiter. “Shall we order some wine?”
I agree to the drink.
After, we head to the lake nearby and stroll side-by-side on the grassy path. Anderson holds my shoulder. His touch is warm. I feel no spark.
Not that I need a spark.
I remind myself that this is an unconventional arrangement and feelings have nothing to do with it.
Besides, I see nothing worth complaining about. Anderson’s pretty perfect from everything I’ve seen so far.
So why can’t I get the word ‘boring’ out of my head.
I’m boring.
He’s boring.
We’d make a beautiful, boring home.
Gah! What’s wrong with me? Why am I suddenly channeling Damion and his stupid break up speech?
The walk ends.
Anderson asks if I’m ready to go home. He seems a little disappointed when I say yes, but I’m tired and confused.
We get in the car.
As Anderson drives, I don’t say much.
He’s also quiet.
The silence isn’t awkward so much as it is telling. We have nothing more to say. Nothing more to share. We’ve discussed every relevant piece of information that’s interesting enough to entertain another person and now we’re stuck, struggling to find a new thread of conversation.
Boring.
I guess this is what Damion felt when he was with me. How many variations of ‘I baked a cake today’ can one say without turning someone completely against them?
Anderson pulls his car in front of my house. Stops. Sighs loudly.
“I had a nice time…”
“This was nice…”
Our words overlap.
I chuckle.
He wipes his jaw with a hand to hide his smile. “I really enjoyed getting to know you, Zania.”
“So did I.”
“We’re… probably not going to meet again, are we?”
“It’s not you—”
“I know. We’re just a little too much alike.”
“Maybe.”
He opens his door. “I’ll walk you up.”
I’m not necessarily gung-ho about that idea. I’d prefer if we just ended things here. Keep things nice and blunt. No room for awkwardness. But I don’t argue. From everything I’ve seen of Anderson tonight, he’s a gentleman through and through. Walking me to the door is more of a ritual than anything else and if it’ll keep him from having regrets, I’m all for it.
We stroll to my front porch.
I turn to him. Stare into his eyes that are shimmering with a golden orb thanks to the lights on the verandah. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“You too, Zania.”
I smile. Get my key in the lock. Hear the click and release. Sensing that Anderson is still behind me, I twist around to wave at him.
He snatches my out-stretched arm.
Tan fingers curl around my wrist.
I inhale a quick breath of surprise.
Gaze on my face, Anderson whispers, “Can I… kiss you before I go?”
“Uh, well, um…” My eyes skitter back and forth.
Anderson holds fast to my hand. He leans in. Lips puckered.
I squirm.
Debate pulling away.
Hold still.
It’s just one kiss, right? And he’s obviously aiming for the cheek instead of the lips. What can it hurt?
I brace myself for impact when a voice echoes from the corner of the porch. “Put your lips on her if you have a death wish.”
Anderson freezes.
My muscles tighten.
That voice…
Footsteps thump against the wooden planks. A form steps out of the shadows.
Dirty blonde hair.
Blue eyes.
Sharp chin.
Long, lean body.
Teale.
15 Teale
I wasn’t going to say anything. I swear. I would have waited until Zania’s date left to make my presence known.
But he asked for a kiss.
And I have a problem with that.
A big one.
Zania jumps back like a wild deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes are big, lined with some kind of dark makeup. Her lips are red.
Like her dress.
Damn. That dress—
She looks too good in that fitted, cherry-red thing.
Way too sexy.
It shows off her hips. Her tits. Her waist.
No wonder the old guy got it twisted and thought he could make a move on her. She’s temptation in fire-engine red.
I stride leisurely closer, but my fisted hands betray my mounting irritation.
Grampa steps away from Zania. Stares me down. “Who are you?”
“I’m—”
“Nobody.” Zania grabs my arm. Yanks her front door open. Pushes me in.
I stumble inside. Almost plummet to the ground.
One of Zania’s curvy legs is near my head. I hear her cooing to Grampa, “Thank you, Anderson. You have a good night.”
The screen door flaps closed.
That one leg is joined by the other.
My eyes are lined up with red heels. Four-inch stilettos.
Sexy as hell.
Pushing myself up, I jump to my feet. Catch a glimpse of her gorgeous face. Plump lips are stretched out in the fiercest of all the glowers she’s shot my way since Day One.
“The hell, Teale!” she hisses.
I brush my sleeve down. Jerk my chin to the screen door where I can see Old Guy’s outline. “I just wanna talk.”
“Talk my backside.”
My eyes rove to the part in question. It’s perfectly outlined in that tight stretch of fabric.
Grampa croaks from the other side of the door. “Zania, everything okay in there?”
“Everything’s fine, Anderson!” She yells sweetly. Turns to me. “What are you doing here?” Her voice, when aimed my way, is devoid of all the sugary breathlessness offered to Grampa. “Are you stalking me?”
“Stalking?” I scoff, offended.
Grampa knocks on the door. “Zania?”
“He’s the stalker.” I point outside. Shout, “Did you hear her, Old Guy? She said she’s okay? Why don’t you head home before arthritis kicks in?”
A hand shoots out.
Wallops me in the chest.
“Teale!” Zania shout-whispers.
“If he’s bothering you…”
“I can handle it. Thanks. You can go now.” To hammer in the point, Zania closes the wooden door, hiding Grampa completely from view.
I smirk in victory…
Until she swerves.
Faces me.
The storm of fury on her face warns I should duck for cover.
Like a fool, I hold my stance. Offer a smirk intended to piss her off even more. “Had a nice time?”
“Who told you?”
“Griffin.”
“Freaking big mouth.” She stomps across the room. Bends down. Grabs one of her spiky heels.
I step back. “You’re not gonna stab me with that, are you?”
“I’m thinking about it.” She twists. Gives me a deathly glare over her shoulder. Bends down again and takes off the other shoe. Loses several inches. She’s back to being a fun-sized goddess.
Tossing the shoes to the side, Zania whirls completely and faces me, eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”
Question of the century.
One I can’t answer straight.
So I deflect.
Turn the tide back on her.
“What are you doing dating an old man?”
She unties something from her hair. Beautiful braids spill down her back. “It’s none of your business whether
I date an old guy or an alien. Now, why were you sneaking around my house?”
“I wasn’t sneaking.” My voice trembles.
Not because I’m nervous. Or guilty.
It’s because she’s…
She’s stealing my breath.
Every graceful movement.
Every heave of her chest.
A braid snakes over her shoulder. Deep black. Golden clips.
I’ve never had this feeling.
My focus shatters.
My throat tightens.
I take a step forward.
A sensation I’ve never felt before wells in my chest.
Turns my heart heavy.
Jealousy?
Maybe.
It’s deeper than that.
Mine.
It rakes through my head. Tears through my subconscious. Blinds me.
She’s mine.
And not in a possessive, I’m her owner way. In a I want to do everything I can to protect and care for this woman way.
But damn.
I can’t be feeling that.
It’s not Teale the Jerk.
It’s not the persona I’ve built for myself.
I take another step, eyes on her lips. Down her shoulders. To her chest. Waist. Hips.
All the places I could touch.
Kiss.
Caress.
I force my mind back on her body. Where it belongs.
Zania holds up a hand. Brown palms. Brown eyes. “Don’t.”
I stop immediately.
Stare at her.
She shakes her head. “Is that what you came for?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
“You’re the one talking in riddles, sweetheart.”
“I’ve seen that look.” She points at my face.
“What look?”
“Bedroom eyes.”
I laugh.
She doesn’t. “Did you come to screw me, Teale?”
“No.” That urge came afterwards.
Pretty hard to keep it in my pants when she starts glaring in my direction.
“Yes, you did.” She laughs bitterly. “I must really seem weak to you.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then why are you here?”
Damn. Why can’t I answer?
We stand there. Staring at each other.
Time stretches.
I feel every breath. Every thump of my heart. Every raging breath in my head.
Suddenly, Zania storms forward.
I start to step back, but she throws her arms around my neck. Thrusts her body to mine.
