His hand in my hair is soothing, so much so I froze when he first began doing it because it’s such an oddly intimate gesture.
“That lady from tonight . . .the one in the front row with the black polka dotted shirt on—”
“The one who monopolized your time? I felt bad for you but I couldn’t exactly extricate you without looking like a dick.”
“It was okay,” I murmur as his fingers begin to massage my scalp. “She seemed so lost, so desperate to find someone to love . . . it broke my heart.”
And here we’re pretending to have the perfect . . . well, not so perfect love if you watch the videos Robert has had made showing us arguing on the trust course, flinging flour at each other during cooking, and possibly cursing at each other as we fell with our legs tied together.
“You can’t save everyone, Cinder.”
“I know.” I sigh. “I just hope she finds what she’s looking for on SoulM8 whether it be companionship . . . a boyfriend. Her prince.”
“Life’s not a fairytale.”
“For some people like my mom it is. For others . . . they have to write their own.” When I open my eyes, his attention is diverted from the news and he’s looking down at me. Green eyes and a soft smile. And I hate that every part of me sighs knowing how normal this feels. How much this feels like a boyfriend and girlfriend late on a Thursday night as they unwind.
How much I have to remind myself that it isn’t.
“You look tired,” he says softly and brings his thumb to brush gently beneath my eyes.
Don’t be sweet, Zane. Please don’t be sweet because that’s only detrimental to my heart.
“I’m okay.” I’m exhausted, tired beyond words, but this is a rare moment when Zane is not working and I’m going to enjoy it while I can.
“Mmm.” He leans his head back against the couch and falls silent. “If you could have one thing right now, what would it be?”
I turn my face into his hand cupping the side of my cheek and just close my eyes for a beat and think. “A night off.”
“A night off?” His eyes are back on me, his thumb rubbing back and forth on my cheek. “I do know your boss, you know.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. If you needed a night off, you should have told me. I’ll tell Robert to back off and cancel whatever it is.”
“Don’t you ever need a night off?” I ask.
He rocks his head from side to side as if he’s figuring how to answer. “Typically Smudge is the only one who cares where I am—or rather, I should say he’s the only one I care about who cares where I am . . . so no, working doesn’t bug me. It keeps me sane.”
“Everybody needs down time.”
A brush of hair off of my face. A tuck of it behind my ear. “Maybe I haven’t found the right person yet to make me care.”
Silence falls between us because I damn well know he said that wasn’t something he felt or believed in.
So why is he saying it now?
I hate that a little sliver of hope opens up before I have a chance to shut it down. A little sliver just like that lady tonight was so desperate for.
“So a night off?” he prompts.
It takes me a minute to find my thoughts again—off of him and onto what we were talking about before he made that statement. “I don’t know. It’s not that I need a night off . . . maybe it’s more that I want to go do something without being watched constantly. When we do the shows we have an audience. We do interviews and we’re being scrutinized by those asking the questions and those watching. Now we do adventures to be filmed and there’s another audience.” I shake my head as I try to put my feelings into words. “I just want to go somewhere—out—where I can be myself and not care who’s watching if I slurp through my straw—”
“You slurp through your straw?” he asks with a laugh. “I can’t imagine the always well-mannered Harlow Nicks slurping anything.”
“Exactly!” I say and throw my hands up to emphasize my point. “You won’t know if I did or didn’t because I’m always on my best behavior because I’m being watched.”
“Ohhhh, now I want to know what it is that you do when no one is watching,” he teases.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and do my best to push against his chest from my prone position. “You know what I mean.”
“Do you pick your nose? Eww. Slurp your spaghetti noodles too? Maybe you—”
“Stop.” I laugh as I push back against his chest and he wraps his fingers around my wrists and holds them still. We playfully struggle for a minute, until I give up and just flop my head back down on his lap. “I do all of them!” I joke.
“I knew it!” Zane’s smile is wide. His eyes alive. “I have an idea.”
“What?” I ask, sitting up and looking at him.
“Just give me a second.” He holds a finger up and reaches for his phone. I sit there as he types something in and then scrolls down. “Hey Mick?” he says rising from the couch.
“Yeah, Zane?” Mick says from his driver’s seat.
“Slight detour.”
“I love detours,” he says with a chuckle. “Where to?”
Zane holds out his phone so Mick can see whatever is on his screen.
“My kind of detour,” Mick says.
“Zane?” I ask. “What are you doing?”